"Praise be to the most high king."
Bowing his head, Deucalion did not look into the other's eyes. He knew all too well why his father had been imprisoned in the East Sea, and he was fully aware of the Divine King's lack of mercy. As for "hearing their prayers," it was ludicrous; he knew better than anyone that he had never prayed to the Divine King, not for a single moment.
Yet the other had still come. In that moment, the wisdom inherited from his father allowed Deucalion to see the whole truth of the matter, or perhaps the Divine King had never intended to hide it from the gods. He wanted to destroy all the old memories, erase the canvas that had been stained with the colors of others, and then create a new one, a blank slate upon which he could exert his will.
"It seems you have no objections, which is excellent."
