Lokiviria rose to his feet and bowed—not out of obligation, but out of a sudden, chilling realization.
The Clown wasn't just lecturing him. He was throwing him a lifeline.
Sometimes, hard truths saved more lives than a shield ever could.
"Show me the way, Mentor."
The Clown didn't answer immediately. He sat hunched over a piece of gnarled wood, his carving knife chipping away with rhythmic, hypnotic precision. He was shaping a reptile.
Thirty minutes passed in silence, broken only by the scrape of steel on wood. Finally, the Clown's voice drifted through the room, low and spectral.
"Second point: Your own strength has blinded you. You're looking at the surface, not the abyss beneath it."
The Clown blew wood shavings off the figurine. "Take the Arch Lords. The Humans, the Giants, and the Dragons all have them. But do you have any idea who actually holds the power?"
Lokiviria remained silent. He didn't know.
