Eleazar's eyes drifted toward Xavier again. The glow beneath Xavier's skin flickered like a distant heartbeat of something ancient.
"I am," Eleazar said quietly, "a slave."
Luther stiffened. "A slave? To whom?"
Eleazar shook his head. "Not a person. Not a master. Not a kingdom or throne."
His eyes dimmed a little as he continued.
"A slave to destiny. To a cycle written long before either of us existed. I carry a bloodline I never asked for, a burden I cannot refuse, and a purpose I do not get to define."
He exhaled slowly, the weight behind it old enough to silence a room.
"What I know, I know only because I must."
"What I can do, I can do only because it was demanded of me."
"And for him"—Eleazar looked at Xavier—"I am nothing more than a caretaker sent ahead of the storm he will become."
