Paragon - Prologue

A month ago the empty blue sky would have been the complement to a perfect day. Leon would play in the commons of Elzafol, a small city at the edge of the Eastern Forest. Beneath the shade of Elza, the great white tree, he would listen to the village elders reminisce. But now all that remained of Elza was a mangled corpse, nourished by the blood belonging the innocent victims of a faction calling themselves the Orafin, "The Natural Born." The tree had a scarce few leaves remaining, casting only a skeletal crisscross of shadows in the setting sun, still red from the fire, but in seeing the broken bodies of his father and friends it seemed to Leon that Elzafol had been made darker than ever under it's canopy.

Over the course of the last month the Orafin had spread terror throughout the surrounding lands. It was just the beginning of their quest to rid the world of Agirani, a power used by many, including Leon's father, to improve the way they lived. Its power to manipulate the very essence of the world around them allowed farmers to grow more crops, blacksmiths to forge stronger metals, tailors to do quicker work. But this gift of superior craft came a price much higher than any were keen to pay.

The Orafin carefully bred the hatred of Agirani in the hearts of any who would listen to them, and each day their followers continued to grow by the thousands. Within that single month, the new regime swept through cities, villages, and towns, forcing their ultimatum on all in their path. Either you joined, or you were left to die as the rest of the Orafin continued through, killing everyone they saw.

The tree was black with soot. Its fertilizer was the collection of lifeless bodies that lay scattered throughout the streets, its roots drank from the rivers of blood that surrounded them, and rustling the cold dead leaves of that tree was a rugged breeze, carrying with it the echoing screams of the Orafin's victims through the now broken village. It had happened only a couple days ago, but to Leon those days could just as easily have been the long as remainder of each lifetime stolen from his friends. No amount of mourning could bring Leon peace, and only just in time did the roaring hunger of his body pull him from his place under the charred tree.

Leon wandered reverently to the large glassless window out of which his uncle had once sold fresh bread to any who passed by. There were still some loaves on the counter. He took them. They were stale, but edible. He tore at a loaf timidly, chewing for a long while before he forced the bread down his throat, despite the complaints of his empty stomach; soon enough it would shut up and realize it needed to stop nagging and eat. When the first chunk of bread had settled, he quickly tore away two more pieces and ate them, this time with the voracity of a wild dog.