Imagine, for a moment, a singular ant. You would not even notice this one ant, right? Well, how about hundreds? You'd see them, but you still wouldn't acknowledge them. Now, what if those ants suddenly chanted your name? Would they get your attention then? That is the perspective of a god when a cult utters their true name. They give demands, ask for prophecies and the like, and these ants expect something out of you. You could answer, or you could ignore them. You could even mess with them, now that they have your attention.

You watched them from above, or rather, from every angle at once. Your presence wrapped around their temple, infinite eyes drifting lazily through their sanctum like smoke. The scent of offerings filled the air—incense and spilled blood. They believed it would please you.

The high priest trembled as he raised his hands, voice cracking under the weight of rehearsed devotion. "Oh great One, Giver of Forms, Architect of Meaning... We offer this life in your name! Bless us with your wisdom!"

You could grant them the knowledge of a thousand lifetimes with a whisper. You could unravel the secrets of the universe into their feeble minds until they crumbled under the weight. But they would not understand. They never do.

You drifted closer—just a sliver of your awareness. The air grew colder, the flames flickered low. They felt your presence now. Their tiny hearts beat faster. You traced your will along the edge of their perception, a brush of cold wind across their spines. One acolyte stumbled back, clutching at his chest, unable to withstand even that gentle touch.

Fear.

They always called to you in fear, as if you were some safety net in times of danger. Who created the danger in the first place?

Still... they had earned your attention. Or had they?

You could show yourself to them. Stand amongst them. Make one of your agents answer for you. Or create your own scenario. Who can stop you?