Silence pooled in the dim office, thick and breathless.
Orthran sat perfectly still, hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles had gone white. His eyes stayed fixed on Charlotte and Noel—two young people who now carried a truth heavier than anything he had borne in decades of service.
And then his voice broke the quiet.
"If not the truth we knew," he whispered, each word trembling, "then what? What should the faithful believe now?"
Charlotte inhaled softly.
Noel felt her hands tighten on her lap beneath the table, and he discreetly brushed his fingers against hers in reassurance.
Orthran leaned forward, eyes searching—pleading.
"You say we cannot reveal the whole truth. That we cannot continue the lie," he murmured. "So tell me… what survives? What do I tell the elders, the priests, the children who pray every night? How do I lead people who suddenly have no ground beneath them?"
His voice cracked on the last word.
