Leviathan knew that his son was very close to the crossing the line. On the verge of turning his back on the power and responsibilities he'd so generously given to him.
It had vexed him at first, the Prince's change in behavior, his obnoxious anger and underlying despondency. But nothing eluded him for long, and his son's closest followers were more than willing to tell him what they knew.
A young woman, a nun who'd solved the box in her dormitory.
They didn't have to say anymore; it was all too clear.
Instead of punishing him, like he had done to each and every acolyte who'd broken the rules before, Leviathan ignored the incident completely and simply watched his son. He contemplated.
And for the first time in many, many ages, he felt pity.
He couldn't show mercy, however. An example was to be made of him. Not even the right hand of Leviathan could break the rules and walk away clean. The Prince had released a supplicant from the labyrinth, a high crime.
It was almost...humorous. One of God's blinded sheep, sentenced to an eternity of their tortures and pleasures. All the more funny that she'd capture the soul of his son and escape her fate.
He had foolishly believed that what little was left of Elliot Spencer had been gone for some time. His son governed over the Gash with a cold, calculative eye. He enforced the rules and never let anything slip by unnoticed. But after the Cotton ordeal, Leviathan began to notice hairline fractures in the Prince's facade.
It wouldn't be long now until he tried to see her again.