Looming invasion

**Kelly Thompson's POV**

The golden sapling doesn’t grow—it *unfurls*.

By dawn, its roots have devoured the horizon, weaving through the wasteland like gilded serpents. The survivors name it **Aurelia**, a word plucked from dead languages, their voices trembling with awe and terror. They don’t see the truth: Aurelia’s leaves hum with the Rootmother’s cadence, its branches bent in a mockery of embrace. It does not speak. It *compels*.

Ravel stands at the bunker’s entrance, her rifle slung over her shoulder, her gaze sharp as flint. “We need to burn it. Now.”

Veyd disagrees. He’s dismantling the Titan’s remnants, his hands steady as he extracts shards of its core—a bioluminescent alloy that throbs like a heartbeat. **“The sapling’s energy signature matches the Primal Verse’s earliest experiments. This isn’t a threat. It’s a *blueprint*.”**

“For what?” I ask, though I already know. The sigil on my chest, faded but indelible, itches in Aurelia’s presence.