Gazes swept across the room, though there were no facial expressions to betray what any of them thought. The elders sat like statues, their faces carved from stone, their eyes glittering with centuries of malice and ambition that made the air feel colder. So the fourth elder continued.
"Braxson has a special DNA." His voice was low, careful, each word placed with precision that carried its own quiet threat. "Even the dark spells meant to keep his soul to us never worked on him. Still, he's growing darker than the warriors with the dark spell." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the room like a heavy fog. "Brax can do the job, no doubt, but he's just twelve. We have to wait until he turns eighteen."
