How fares his mind?

Unsteady. He walks the edge of shadows, seeking balance.

Don’t we all?

Perhaps. But not all carry the burden of sight and depth as he does.

Does he grasp it yet?

No. The veil remains untouched.

How near is he?

No measure exists. He hides behind locked doors, even from himself.

Does it haunt him?

Not the truth—what lies dormant within.

Potential is a blade.

A blade we all fear.