Verdant Expanse, Outpost Zeran
The trees here grew in spirals. Their trunks twisted like old rope, bark curling outward in dry flutes. Luma paused at the edge of the ridge, her boots digging into soft moss, her eyes wide.
"This isn't normal," she said softly. "Even for the Expanse."
Below them stretched the settlement of Zeran — a scatter of homes and solar rigs nestled in the valley, surrounded by peculiar vegetation that shimmered faintly under the sun. Metallic vines wrapped around trees like constricting snakes. Iron petals bloomed from stone fences.
Elder Ion stopped beside her, his coat rustling with the wind. "No," he murmured. "It isn't. Entropy has touched this place."
Behind them, the wind carried the smell of scorched copper. Static snapped faintly in the air, as if someone had left a giant radio humming just beneath hearing.
They descended slowly. A few villagers watched them from porches, faces wary. One older woman touched the edge of her headwrap and nodded at Ion — with something between reverence and fear.
The ground here was uneven, subtly pulsing. Luma knelt and pressed her palm to the earth. It vibrated.
"There's something underground," she said. "A pattern. Like—"
"—like signal interference," Ion finished, crouching beside her. "You're feeling the harmonics. Not from a machine… but from the soil itself."
They exchanged a look.
Inside the town's meeting hall — little more than a rounded structure of dried clay and solarglass — the council gathered. Five elders sat around a long, low table. They greeted Ion with a mixture of relief and tension. Luma introduced herself quietly.
"The trees are growing sideways," said one of the elders, a man with a swollen knee and a sharp tongue. "The metal is… sprouting. A boy touched a vine last week and fainted for two days. His ears bled."
Luma's stomach turned. "You've had no contact from the Spire?"
"They sent a courier," the elder woman replied, eyes narrowing. "He said it was a natural anomaly. He left the next morning."
Ion folded his arms. "The Spire knows more than it admits."
The youngest council member — a girl barely older than Luma — leaned forward. "A sound began last month. Not loud. Just… there. Below. Like a murmur. Some nights I can't sleep. Others, I dream of gears turning in the dark."
That night, Luma lay awake in the guestroom of a villager's home. Ion had taken first watch, sitting on the porch like a statue. The walls of the hut were thin. Outside, crickets chirped — then faltered — then resumed.
A rhythmic thrum teased her ears. Faint. Fainter than breath.
She slipped outside barefoot and walked past the houses. Past the grove of crooked trees. Toward the hill she'd seen earlier — the one with rusted poles sticking out like fractured ribs.
The signal got stronger. Not louder — just more present. Like it was under everything.
At the hill's base, Luma crouched. Metal petals lined the slope. Some were smooth. Others had etched markings — no, ripples. Interference patterns.
She leaned closer. One petal had fractured, revealing coils inside — wire, fused glass, and beneath that… a pulse of faint, rhythmic light.
Morse? Some kind of binary? She blinked hard.
And then she felt it — a whisper, almost too subtle to catch.
"Luma…"
She stood suddenly, her breath catching. "Ion?"
Silence. Only the rustle of wind.
Back at the hut, Ion was pacing. He turned sharply when she arrived.
"I heard something," she said. "A whisper. Not a voice exactly—"
He nodded. "It's beginning to broadcast. We need to map the signal flow."
From his satchel, he pulled a battered device — an old wave interferometer. Together, they walked back toward the hill and set it up, wires running between warped metal rods like makeshift antennae.
The readings were erratic.
"Look at this," Luma muttered, tapping the screen. "Oscillations below standard Earth frequencies. Subsonic. But structured."
"Which means it's not random entropy," Ion said. "It's communication."
Luma exhaled slowly. "From who?"
Ion didn't answer right away. His eyes stayed on the trembling horizon.
"Or what," he said.
Later that night, Luma stared into the darkness, unable to sleep.
In her mind's eye, she saw the vines. The petals. The ripple patterns in steel.
The signal wasn't just underground.
It was growing.