The heat of the riot was inescapable, even from where Daniel crouched beneath the great oak at the edge of the square. The tree had stood for centuries, roots tangled deep in the soil, but tonight even it seemed to tremble.

Shouts of looting echoed through the streets — glass breaking, doors kicked in, lives torn apart.

Daniel clutched the old journal tighter. It wasn’t the jewels or gold they were after. It was what he carried.

And if they found him, no oak, no shadow, no god could protect him.