Three questions seized Annan's heart like icy hands, leaving him struggling to breathe.
Thinking back, he had trusted the "truth" on the surface too readily and overlooked the shadows beneath the ice.
He had concluded, through logic and intuition, that his Innate Spell could bring trapped Gods to him. It had seemed reasonable enough.
But if they were truly unharmed, who had built a prison to confine them? And who had shattered the Divine Temple?
Because of this, countless despairing Believers had killed themselves or gone to extremes, all to get an answer from the Gods.
As a Faithless, Annan had never realized that.
Now that he had, the thrill of discovering a treasure was doused with cold water.
After all, a Divine Temple made entirely of Mountain Copper, inscribed with Runes and belonging to the Gods, had been reduced to fragments. Even if he built his Mage Tower a hundred stories tall, it would still be a stick that snapped at a touch.
Annan took a deep breath and tried to lighten the mood Lilith's blunt words had darkened. "We have no proof that the ones answering us are Gods, but we also have no proof they're unspeakable beings. Maybe the one answering me is Martin?"
A little sense of danger could be motivating. Too much became despair.
It did little good, though. Everyone present was clever—and only clever people worried about the future.
Clap, clap, clap—
Annan clapped his hands, drawing the Mages' attention with the echoing applause.
"You know I lived with Aunt Susan in Pinglin Town for a while, right?"
The Mages, who spent their years researching and inventing in the Mage Tower, looked puzzled. Still, most had heard at least something of Annan's legendary exploits.
"Aunt Susan and Uncle Holin have a son named Martin.