Atticus stepped off amidst the curious glances of the crew. He barely noticed them. His attention remained fixed on his father.
Attimax stood ramrod straight, broad-shouldered and built for war. Every inch of him brimmed with power. Without trying, he radiated a regal aura leagues beyond anything Atticus had ever achieved.
The hatch opened. They disembarked.
"God of Man!"
A procession of people lined both sides of the landing pad, stretching deep into the structure.
Attimax strode forward, chin raised and expression cold. No one dared meet his gaze.
But Atticus was different. He felt countless eyes turn toward him. The son of the God of Man. Word had already spread. He could feel their curiosity, their crutiny. They were measuring him.
Atticus' posture did not change. To react now would be to acknowledge that their opinions mattered. Instead, wisps of smoke curled from each of them, and many abruptly shut their eyes or looked away.
