Chapter 40: Philosophy
The room is silent, heavy with the weight of my words. Bishop Lark looks mildly stunned, as if he could not believe my audacity to say such things. His intelligent eyes study me like I'm a puzzle he hadn't expected to be this complicated. Cecilia, on the other hand, turns slightly in her chair, her fingers tightening around mine as she searches my face.
I don't know what she's looking for—doubt? Conviction? Maybe she thinks I'm testing the Bishop. Or maybe she's hoping I don't actually believe what I just said.
A few seconds pass, stretched thin, each one dragging out like minutes. Then, finally, Bishop Lark exhales, the tension slipping from his shoulders as he leans back slightly, his expression shifting—not into anger, not into condescension, but something like awe.
"Well," he says, voice measured, "I didn't think we'd be discussing philosophy so early into our relationship, Lord Daath. But I'll answer your question with a simple truth."
He places his cup down, folding his hands over the desk as he watches me.
"You say the gods do not intervene to prevent evil, but is evil not a symptom of the rejection of gods? And do they not attempt to solve that rejection by blessing champions to spread their will? They don't infringe directly upon the free will of man but instead give us shepherds to point us in the correct direction."
I let out a slow breath, staring at him, considering. The idea that gods don't act directly but instead work through the hands of their chosen isn't new—but it still doesn't sit right with me. If they exist, if they really have all this power, why play these games at all? Why let the world become what it is?
Cecilia's grip on my hand tightens just slightly, like she's bracing herself for what I'll say next.
I scoff, rolling my eyes. "Free will? That's what you call it?" I lean forward slightly, my voice laced with poison. "If the gods truly guide people, then why does history read like an endless book of atrocities? If the gods exist to offer us direction, then why do their followers wield their name like a blade?"
Bishop Lark narrows his eyes, his expression cool. "Because men are flawed, Lord Daath. The gods do not create tyrants—men do. The gods do not demand war—men justify it in their name."
My lip curls. "How convenient."