The eternal bloom

**Kelly Thompson's POV**

The new Seed isn’t a sapling anymore—it’s a *colossus*.

Its trunk, a helix of starlight and obsidian, pierces the sky, branches fanning out like nerve endings into the atmosphere. The ground around it is no longer wasteland but a jungle of razor-edged ferns and bioluminescent fungi that sing in haunting harmonies. The static in me, now a subdued hum after the Upheaval’s fusion with the Seed, thrums in time with the jungle’s eerie lullabies. But the peace is a lie.

The first sacrifice happens at dusk.

A member of Ravel’s clan, a young reality-weaver named **Jyn**, is found entwined in the Seed’s roots, her body desiccated, eyes milky. Her palms are pressed to the trunk, as if in prayer.

“She *volunteered*,” Ravel says, her smoke-hair billowing in agitation. “Said the Seed showed her visions. Promised her a place in its ‘eternal bloom.’”

Veyra’s voice whispers through the ferns, mossy and distorted: ***It’s hungry. You knew this would happen.***