Mavern looked deeply troubled, the weight of recent events etched plainly across his features, but Soron merely smiled at the sight of his concern— not mockingly, nor with indifference, but with the patient calm of a man who had lived through far worse storms than this.
"The cult has always been at war, my child," Soron said softly, his voice carrying no strain.
"It's been at war since before you or I ever drew our first breath, and it will continue to be at war long after our bones have turned to dust."
He paused for a moment, allowing the silence to sink in, before continuing.
"The land we control may swell like a tide or recede like a breath, but land is not the soul of the cult. It's the ideology that must never die. And it won't. Not even if I perish. Not even if the last fortress is razed and we are hunted to the edge of existence. Even then… the cult will survive. So do not worry about our survival."
