The night air carried the chill of impending death as fifty shadows moved through the tall grass of the outer fields. Vane gripped his curved bow and signaled for his men to halt. They were the Night Blades. Duke Alaric paid them in pure gold to erase political inconveniences and tonight their target sat cross legged beneath the towering Genesis Tree.
The emerald light of the massive trunk illuminated the boy in the simple coat. Leo appeared to be deep in meditation with his eyes closed and his breathing slow. He looked like an easy mark. The surrounding fields were quiet. The peasant crowds had dispersed hours ago to sleep in their repaired shanties. The silver giants who usually guarded the boy were nowhere to be seen. The silence of the dead zone felt heavy and unnatural to the seasone
