Listening from their respective locations, the Gods all stood frozen, mesmerized by the child's words, for what he spoke of was not used for manipulating Mana but divinity. Yet here he was, a child, barely Ten spitting theories that had been long proven from scratch.
It frightened them, for they understood he was a mortal who had yet to experience any real tempering of his soul or mind. Altair was a blank slate in their eyes. One who possessed the comprehension of a God despite being a mortal.
The Gods were all but salivating at the thought of possessing the Prince.
Three days Later. When Altair had fully recovered from his cracked bones and torn flesh. He continued his journey once more. With a new profound look than before, like with Dark Moon Blade, Altair kept the Eye of Sacfilage active in a perpetual cycle of his mana. Never allowing it to dim.
