Larksong Grotto what gods desire

faust watched her, this golden wraith, this woman who spoke of gods with a certainty he could not share. faith was not foreign to him—darukaal itself had been forged upon the backs of belief, of tradition, of blood spilled in the name of what must be. he understood the value of it, the weight it carried among these wolves who clung to their gods like a blade in the dark.
he grimaced, though not in distaste. it was not her reverence that unsettled him, nor her promises of vengeful deities. it was the way she spoke as if the spirits were owed something, as if blood must be paid not by those who wronged them, but by all who walked beneath their sky.
superstition. but he would not say it.
instead, he exhaled sharply, tipping his head toward her. you are welcome on the glacier.
he did not bow to gods. but he would allow her to.