Baby Rowan was entirely unaware that he was a weapon of mass evolution.
At three weeks old, the Verdant Heir was a quiet, happy infant with bright copper hair and piercing emerald eyes. He spent his days resting in a woven bassinet in the newly transformed, eternally blooming primary study.
However, his passive aura was staggering. If Rowan sneezed, the moss on the floorboards thickened. If he laughed, the orchids wrapping the stone pillars aggressively released a dense, sweet perfume. His life magic did not require intent; it was simply a constant, overflowing spigot of raw biological acceleration.
During his chaotic birth, a massive pulse of that hyper-vitality had washed across the continent. It had healed the sick and strengthened the crops. But the Warlord's Council was about to learn a terrifying lesson about the fundamental nature of the God of Life's domain.
Life does not play favorites. It empowers everything.
