Zen.
It meant silence. Like one was supposed to experience in the embrace of death. Cold, yet serene.
Darius instantly caught Xion's hand in his own. "Where is it?"
"What is it?" Xion asked. His hazy blue eyes were suspiciously growing darker.
Normally, he would've let it go. If Darius asked, he would have simply tossed the palm-sized stone sitting in his pocket into his hands. But not this time.
There was a gnawing feeling in his gut that if he didn't get to the bottom of this, he would regret it.
And regret was never pleasant. It never had been.
Darius stilled for a moment, silently wondering if he should or should not answer.
And if he did, how was he supposed to explain that he was planning a bloody hunt?
"Darius." Xion leaned forward, catching a silver strand from Darius' temple and tucking it behind his ear—just as Darius had done to him, countless times.
"Tell me what Zen is exactly."
