Vaeltharion's ancient eyes did not change.
He raised his hand.
A judicial one, the specific gesture of a being whose authority did not require amplification through theatrical delivery.
"O Prime Causes."
His voice carried the specific resonance of a being speaking to the substrate of existence rather than to the beings standing in it, addressing the foundational truths directly through three integrations that sat at Silurian Paleozoic depth.
"Bind this poor soul. Do not have mercy. No...mercy."
BOOM!
