Lira sat quietly beside the sprout, fingers brushing the soft earth. The presence of the Spirit Tree still lingered in the air - not heavy, but watchful, like an old guardian observing in silence.
She reached for the small leather packet she previously put out from her space pouch. It was stitched with faded thread and smelled faintly of lavender and ash. Inside, nestled like precious stones, were more of her seeds — each one collected from a different pile. Some shimmered faintly. Others pulsed with soft warmth.
She drew out three.
One was dark blue, like the sky before a storm. One held a faint flicker of gold inside its shell. And one — the smallest — was plain gray, dull to the eye, but she felt a tug in her chest when she held it.
