The young god stopped. His eyes, glowing white, without pupils, stared at Moulin as the words drifted in his ears. He could hear the rapid beating of the mortal's heart, like the beatings of a drum when a deity ascends into the welcoming heavens. He sensed anticipation, curiosity, and dread. Galadin had never imagined someone uttering that name before his presence. The silence that seemed so calm to him began to surge with tension, crowding around him, suffocating him. However, he was at ease... for some unknown reason.
"How do you... know that name?" He finally spoke.
Moulin's forehead creased, and he sat on the mirror-like floor before the god. They are two bright beings surrounded by infinite darkness. He replied, "I... know him."
"You do..." Galadin's throat constricted. The youth's sincere eyes held no lies. "So he speaks to you?..."
"...Yes."
"Ah..." The deity lowered his eyes, staring at Moulin's gentle hands. "How is he?..."
