The earth beneath the altar split, and something rose out of the dark.
It came slowly, deliberately, and when the voice arrived it filled the whole Expanse. It was the voice of a man who had never once in his existence needed to rush a sentence.
"Strength," THE Sealed One said, "is the prediction of possibilities. I want you to sit with that word, Osmont. Prediction. I knew, when I began going for you, that one or two of my Vessels might one day receive a visitor. I knew it the way a farmer knows the seasons. And knowing it, I prepared for it."
The rising figure paused, letting the words settle into the silence.
"Even so. Even with you standing in my sky, I still do not wish to contribute one drop of adversity to you if I do not have to. Because it always comes down to choices. Yours, and mine." A low sound, almost a sigh.
