The elder saw everything.
Everything.
Elders were not called elders for a reason, but for a burden. The name was not ceremonial—it was an inheritance, an indictment, a chain of sight that weighed heavier than crowns.
He was glad he saw, though the visions burned behind his eyes like coals that would never cool. He was glad he had stepped down from the Fourth Layer, where the others lounged in chambers, intoxicated by their own echoes of power, comforted by the illusion that ritual and rank were eternal shields.
He had abandoned that place, abandoned the velvet seat carved for him, and come here, where blood still steamed and truth walked unclothed.
Far away from the throne of his lineage. Far away from the easy blindness that tempted the others.
