Five planetary cycles had passed since the Warlord of Oakhaven firmly secured the Golden Age.
The valley was peaceful, prosperous, and thriving. But within the walls of the primary manor, the biological reality of raising the ascendant heirs of the physical world was proving to be an entirely different kind of battlefield.
Orion and Elara were now twelve years old. The Vanguard's son was already remarkably tall, his shoulders broadening as he grew into his massive solar domain. Elara had matured into a quiet, graceful shadow, moving through the estate with the chilling efficiency of a master assassin. Zenith, now a highly observant seven-year-old, had traded his toddler logic-tantrums for a sharp, analytical intellect, viewing the universe as a vast puzzle waiting to be optimized.
Inevitably, the children decided they required their own forward operating base. They wanted independence from the highly regulated manor. They wanted a treehouse.
