The night was unusually still.
Moonlight filtered through the lattice of twisted metal and overgrown foliage that blanketed the outskirts of the Forgotten Atlanta Expanse, casting long shadows across the moss-covered ruins.
A gentle breeze whispered through the fractured glass towers, rustling the leaves of the ever-growing Rootsite.
But beneath this fragile stillness, beneath the illusion of peace, a storm was gathering.
Clayton stood atop a spiraled tower of bark and bone at the Rootsite's uppermost canopy, his humanoid form locked in a meditative trance.
Genesis Embers pulsed rhythmically through the network of his dominion, washing over his consciousness like ocean tides. Beneath his feet, the Rootsite breathed; alive, responsive, pulsing with latent potential.
He opened his eyes slowly.
At that moment, he made a choice.
It was time to stop holding back.
