The Elder is ancient.

Not old the way Maren is old—worn but vital. The Elder is ancient the way the gem is ancient. His robes are white, heavy with silver embroidery that depicts the founding of Eldermoor. His face is a map of wrinkles, his eyes clouded with age but somehow still sharp. He moves slowly, supported by two attendants, but there’s nothing frail about his presence.

When he speaks, his voice carries across the entire gathering without effort.

“Children of the light.”

Silence, absolute.

“Three hundred years ago, four founders came to this place. They built a city from nothing. They raised the crystal that would protect it. And they gave us—all of us—a future worth fighting for.”

He gestures to the gem, and its light pulses in response.

“The gem-born are the crystal’s gift. Each generation, children emerge who carry its light within them. Special. Chosen. Destined to serve Eldermoor in ways ordinary citizens cannot.”

His clouded eyes sweep across the circle of gem-born.

“Today, you leave childhood behind. Today, you take your oaths. Today, you become who you were meant to be.”

He raises his arms, and the gem’s light intensifies—but unevenly, flickering.

“But first, a word of truth.”

The Elder’s voice drops. The crowd leans in.

“The founders were not gods. They were not perfect. They made sacrifices to give us this city. One of them—”

He stops.

His eyes, for just an instant, seem to clear. To focus. And they find you.

You, specifically, among all the dozens of gem-born.

“One of them is still watching,” he whispers.

Then his attendants steady him, and the moment passes. The Elder straightens, his ceremonial voice returning.

“Let the oaths begin.”

But you saw his face. You saw the fear in it.

And you felt, just for a heartbeat, something else watching you too.

From somewhere very close.