※ “If faith is required to sustain a god, measure the god—not the faith.”

  A wave passed through the crowd like a collective gasp.

  The Sanctified Flame stared at her.

  “I am a god,” he said, as if the words were self-evident. “I am above mortals. I am beyond question. My will shapes the devotion of nations. My essence transcends your understanding.”

  Lisa waited a beat.

  “That is not a definition,” she said. “It is self-reference.”

  The deity blinked slowly. “I am the source of power for the faithful.”

  “Incorrect,” Lisa said.

  The heat around the god flared, pushing several people back a step.

  His voice deepened. “Mortal, do you presume to challenge the Flame itself?”

  “Yes,” Lisa said. “Your statement is inconsistent.”

  He took a step forward, towering over her, flame rippling along his limbs.

  “I grant power to those who believe,” he said. “Through them, I act. Through them, I channel my will. Without me, they are nothing.”

  Lisa tilted her head. “Then your existence depends on them.”

  The deity’s eyes narrowed.

  “That is not how it works.”

  “Describe how it works,” Lisa said.

  Halden frantically waved his hands. “You do not demand explanations from the divine. You accept them.”

  The god raised a hand for silence.

  He tried again.

  “The faith of mortals sustains a conduit,” he said. “Their devotion shapes a path through which I manifest. It is a sacred exchange.”

  “A parasitic exchange,” Lisa said.

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  The crowd froze.

  The Sanctified Flame’s aura flickered.

  “What did you call me?” he said, voice so quiet it crackled.

  “You require the belief of mortals to obtain power you cannot produce on your own,” Lisa said. “You take from them. You do not generate for them. Parasite.”

  Several peasants clapped hands over their mouths.

  Halden looked like someone had stabbed him through the heart with an accountant’s quill.

  The god’s expression twisted with outrage. “Mortal arrogance. You dare reduce divinity to such a term.”

  “It is accurate,” Lisa said. “You extract value. You provide minimal return. You elevate yourself by redirecting power that originates in the believers. That is parasitic structuring.”

  The deity’s flames surged inward, not toward her, as though the world itself refused to let him lash out.

  He clenched his jaw.

  He drew a slow breath, as if steadying a structure that had begun to tilt.

  “The clergy exists to shape and direct that faith,” he said. “Priests tend the spirit. Acolytes preserve rites and doctrine. The Archpriests hold the burden of great workings and anchor my presence. Paladins bear my will into the world as my arm of justice and protection. Through them, I shield the faithful. Through them, I punish those who would harm what is mine. This is not exploitation. It is stewardship.”

  Lisa regarded him in silence for a moment.

  “You use power you extort from your followers to sell them protection,” she said. “Classic crime model.”

  A few people in the crowd choked.

  The Sanctified Flame stared. “Crime model.”

  “Yes,” Lisa said. “Protection rackets function the same way. A group creates or exaggerates danger. Then offers safety. At a price. You add robes, titles, and paladins as enforcers. Structure is identical.”

  His jaw tightened. “Paladins are not criminals. They are chosen. They fight, bleed, and die in my name.”

  “For your name,” Lisa corrected. “Not for themselves. Not for the people. You route their sacrifices upward to maintain your position at the top of the structure.”

  “That is a grotesque simplification,” the deity said, voice roughening. “The hierarchy exists to carry responsibility. To absorb burden. To protect mortals from the full weight of the divine.”

  Lisa blinked once. “Multiple layers of responsibility. Insulation from consequences. Diffused accountability. That is not protection. That is risk management for the entity at the top.”

  The god’s aura flickered again, hotter, less stable.

  Lisa continued, tone unchanged. “If examined closely, I would expect to find redundant records. Parallel ledgers. One public, for believers. One private, for actual power flows. Double bookkeeping to hide extraction ratios.”

  A murmur ran through the crowd. The words double bookkeeping meant little to some of them, but enough understood coin, records, and hiding to bridge the gap.

  Halden took a step backward, color draining from his face.

  The Sanctified Flame’s eyes burned brighter, but his answer did not come immediately.

  He inhaled sharply, and his voice deepened.

  “Enough. I will not bandy words with a mortal who confuses insolence with truth.”

  He turned with divine gravity.

  “Paladin,” he called.