Roots vs. Noise

The headlines came fast.

"New Hope Initiative Launches With 10 Billion Backing""Is This the Next Liam Miller?""ROOTS Faces First True Rival in Sustainable Food Race"

Liam read the articles in silence, scrolling without emotion.

Across the screen were images of sleek white facilities, genetically optimized crop pods, AI-powered tractors with chrome paint. The branding was pristine: New Hope. The founder? Elias Varrin — a tech investor turned "climate crusader," known for being flashy, loud, and everywhere at once.

He wasn't building food systems.

He was building a movement.

"Bro," Jax muttered, reading over his shoulder, "he's literally on a jet right now giving out pre-packaged nutrient boxes like it's a music tour."

Liam sipped his coffee.

"And?"

"He copied ROOTS. Look at this. Community farm hubs. Food tokens for students. Even the name is similar."

"He's not wrong to copy," Liam said. "ROOTS works."

Jax narrowed his eyes. "You're really not bothered?"

"I'm building food security," Liam replied. "He's building optics. That's the difference."

But not everyone could tell.

In less than a week, New Hope rolled out to ten locations — polished, funded, and hyped through every channel. They had celebrity endorsements, documentary crews, and billboards in three cities.

ROOTS didn't have any of that.

It just had soil.

And people.

Still, the pressure mounted.

In one town near Korril's west border, New Hope opened a site directly across from a ROOTS zone. Cameras followed Elias as he broke ground with a golden shovel. Workers wore pristine white uniforms. The scene was perfectly choreographed.

Liam watched it on a small screen, sitting in a dusty tent surrounded by crates of wild garlic.

A farmer next to him, Teera, frowned at the video.

"They paid our mayor to block our water line last week," she said softly. "Said they'd 'take care of everything' once ROOTS shut down."

Liam didn't reply.

He stood, walked to the field, and helped unload the crates.

When a drone flew overhead from the New Hope team, he didn't wave or flinch. He just got back to work.

Later that night, ORION ran a public sentiment scan.

"ROOTS engagement down 22% in overlapping areas. Search volume for 'New Hope' up 700%."

SERA chimed in. "Would you like to initiate a press campaign?"

"No," Liam said.

"Shall we respond to their promotional claims?"

"No."

"Would you like to accelerate expansion?"

He paused.

Then said, "Yes. But not with speed. With meaning."

Jax raised a brow. "What does that mean?"

"We don't outrun flash with flash. We deepen roots."

That night, Liam posted a single message to his private channel:

"Don't follow the noise. Follow the soil."

He added a video clip with no music or editing. Just a woman kneeling in a ROOTS garden, helping her son pick beans. The boy looked up and said, "I didn't know food could grow."

The clip went viral within an hour.

And something shifted.

A journalist named Caren Vos posted a thread exposing New Hope's marketing contracts, showing that many "volunteers" in their ads were paid actors. Several farms had no local hires. One even used artificial grass in press footage.

ROOTS didn't comment.

It didn't need to.

By the next morning, Liam arrived at the Sarellin greenhouse — the oldest, roughest ROOTS location. The place looked like it barely held together. The wind whistled through broken paneling. The solar panels needed cleaning.

But inside?

Life.

Tomatoes the size of fists. Spinach so fresh it smelled like rain. Chickens clucking softly in the back.

He walked through the rows, greeting every worker by name.

"You're not gonna say anything?" Jax asked him as they walked.

"No."

"Not even a counter-video? A press release?"

"No."

Jax sighed. "Then what are you gonna do?"

Liam smiled.

And pointed to the ground.

"Plant something new."

Later that week, Liam announced a new branch of ROOTS: Heirloom Projects — a program where families could donate seeds passed down through generations. Seeds with stories. Memories. Meaning.

ROOTS would grow them, track their genetics, and document their history — letting people around the world experience not just food, but legacy.

A woman from Eldra submitted a packet of onion seeds her grandfather carried during wartime.

A boy from Drydenreach sent in a jar of black corn kernels he said had "magic in them."

ROOTS planted all of it.

And livestreamed the growth.

Thousands tuned in, watching the soil crack and new life push through.

No marketing.

Just wonder.

Meanwhile, New Hope held a flashy tech conference.

They announced a plan to eliminate traditional farming entirely — replacing it with "growth labs" in major cities. No land. No farmers. Just automated vertical towers.

The crowd cheered.

Liam watched the replay, then shook his head.

"Who will teach the next generation what the earth feels like?" he said quietly. "What it smells like after rain?"

SERA responded, "The data suggests most consumers don't care."

Liam looked out at the sunrise.

"I'm not building for consumers."

He didn't say anything else.

He just kept digging.

The next month, ROOTS opened two new sites in remote areas with no press coverage. Just dirt roads, honest pay, and people who had been forgotten.

A girl named Alari started working at the Varnith mountain site.

She couldn't speak.

But she painted.

She painted the plants every day — leaves, roots, water flowing into pipes. And one day, she handed Liam a sketch.

It showed the ROOTS fields as veins inside a human body — soil as blood, trees as lungs.

He stared at it for a long time.

Then framed it.

And made it the official emblem of the ROOTS Initiative.

Not a logo.

A heartbeat.

Two weeks later, Elias Varrin's image faded from the headlines. Reports surfaced of failed equipment rollouts, inflated numbers, unpaid workers.

New Hope's sleek glass farms stood still.

Liam's ROOTS kept growing.

Because real food doesn't need lights and cameras.

It needs patience.

And love.