Roth did not flinch. He remained seated, hands resting calmly atop his book, as the disturbed mana brushed past him like a breeze.
"Calm yourself," he said softly. "This is not a judgment or damnation. It is something I've learned over long years of observation."
Ethan's breath came unevenly, the edges of his anger colliding with confusion and hurt.
Roth's voice remained even, almost detached.
"Your people could never be as the other godlings are, because from birth, you already differed. You were born from me hence hold most purity of divine blood, Unlike the others who came from you, inherting only but a scoop if the divine essence."
He paused, then corrected himself with slow precision.
"To be more exact… the first generation can be called half godlings. But the second generation, those born of your kind are already distant. Their divine nature is faint, drowned in human blood. Diluted, yet not erased."
He finally looked up again, his eyes locking with Ethan's.
