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THE SEEDKEEPER
I. THE FIRE IN THE FIELD
Aela was born the year the last tree burned.
She grew up in the Dust Rim, where people wore bone masks to keep out the memory-smoke—the last whispers of the Old Forest. They said the world was once green, though some spoke of it with reverence, others with hunger.
Her father farmed dust with encoded ash. Her mother, long gone, once told stories of orchards buried deep, bearing fruit like tears and fire.
On her seventh birthday, a stranger arrived—no mask, no hunger—carrying a jar of glowing seeds. He said one word:
“Remember.”
That night, Regime drones came. They burned the seeds, the stranger, her home.
They left her with a glowing scar.
They thought the story had ended.
It hadn’t. 1 reply
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