## The Echo Bloom Rain lashed against the corrugated iron roof of the dig site, a relentless drumming that mirrored Elara’s pulse. The air smelled of damp earth and something else—something ancient, almost metallic. She wiped a strand of wet…
## The Static Bloom Dust motes danced in the single beam of Elara’s lamp. Not sunlight, not anymore. Just filtered glow from a salvaged power cell, barely enough to chase the shadows clinging to the walls of her workshop. The…
The grit of the Dustlands tasted like regret. Elara spat, the particles clinging to her tongue. Thirteen summers she’d spent inhaling it, watching the sun bleach the color from everything. Even hope felt faded. She traced the chipped ceramic of…
Elka traced the brittle edge of the parchment. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of light slicing the gloom of the archive. Each fragment felt less like paper, more like sun-warmed bone. She wasn’t *searching* for anything specific, not…