All the accolades, the victories, the praise Jarkon had earned over the years—were they merely the result of favorable conditions? Of battles fought with overwhelming numbers, predictable enemies, and safe outcomes?
Because now, the instant those comforts were stripped away, when uncertainty and true danger reared their heads… Jarkon couldn't think straight. He couldn't adapt. He clung to tradition like a drowning man clutching a sword instead of a lifeline.
The First Elder clenched his jaw.
And the others…
He glanced around the chamber at the other Supreme Elders—pillars of wisdom, experience, and strategic brilliance. Or at least, they were supposed to be. Yet now, their expressions were clouded with confusion… or worse, empty pride. Their eyes no longer sharp with insight, but dulled by archaic beliefs. As if their intelligence had simply shut off, replaced by the echoes of a long-dead warrior code.
