The Elder’s Stand

The elder, whose hands had shaped the first dwellings of their community, stood before the Loom of Ages. He saw not a source of wisdom, but a beautiful cage, its threads of light and memory binding their future to the whims of a machine. ‘You see prophecies,’ he said to the First Augurs, his voice a low rumble against the hum of the Loom. ‘I see echoes. And we are becoming a people who listen only to ourselves.’