The straightforwardness of his answer seemed to catch the old man off guard.
"I'm not pretending otherwise," Sage added. "This Guild will generate revenue; it has to. Without it, it collapses, and those who depend on it scatter. But there's a significant difference between profit and predation."
He locked eyes with the old man. "To you, wine is an art form. To them," he gestured toward the hall, "it represents relief, memory, celebration, sometimes even grief. If your work becomes part of this place, it will be respected as such. I don't need it to deceive; I need it to endure."
The old man's fingers tightened slightly around his cane. "…You sound less like a merchant," he murmured, "and more like someone trying to build something that will outlast him."
Sage offered a thin smile. "That's typically the only kind of thing worth building."
For a long moment, the old man was silent.
Then he turned his head slightly to look at Pax.
