Warmth bloomed up her arm.Not heat—something gentler.Like sunlight through a window on a winter morning.Like her grandmother's kitchen.Likehope.
The feeling came with knowledge:pecan.
She knew it the same way she knew her own name.The seed was a pecan, and it would grow into...something.The knowledge was fuzzy at the edges, but the certainty was absolute.
Wren pulled her hand back, clutching the seed.It was ordinary—looking, just a pecan, but it thrummed with potential against her palm.
The rain was coming down steadily now.Her dress clung to her skin.She was shivering so hard her teeth chattered.
Shelter.I need shelter.
She looked at the seed, then at the muddy ground.This was insane.But everything was insane.The white void, the AI, the monsters, the magic purse—what was one more impossible thing?
"Okay," she said to the seed.To herself.To the empty field and the uncaring rain."Here we go."
She set it on the ground.
"Grow."
The warmth in her palm flared up her arm, through her chest, and down into the earth.The pecan split.A shoot emerged, pale green and impossibly fast.It thickened, branched, leaves unfurling in a rush of living green.The trunk widened, bark forming in real—time.Branches spread.
And then it wasn't just a tree.
The trunk hollowed and shaped itself.A door formed—round, with a brass handle.Windows appeared, shutters already in place.The canopy rose higher, and she realized the top was covered in pecans, clustered thick.
The whole thing took maybe five minutes.
She stood there, rain pouring down, staring at the treehouse.It was long and low, built into—grown from—the pecan tree.The round door looked like something from a fairy tale.
A gust of wind nearly knocked her over.
She ran for the door.
The door swung open easily.She stumbled inside, slamming it behind her.
Darkness.Almost complete darkness.
She stood there, dripping on the wooden floor, shaking so hard she could barely think straight.Her eyes struggled to adjust.Faint predawn light filtered through shuttered windows—just enough to see shapes.Corners.The suggestion of furniture.
The air smelled of wood—fresh cut timber and something deeper, earthier.Like a forest floor.But it wascold.Just as cold as outside, but without the rain and wind.She could see her breath, and her teeth chattered.The wet dress clung to her skin like ice.
Fire.Need fire.Need to see.Need heat.
She fumbled with the purse again, reaching inside.Her fingers brushed seeds—so many of them, all different shapes and sizes.The warmth pulsed with each touch, and with it, knowledge.
Acorn.Walnut.Sunflower.
Sunflower.The warmth that came with that one felt...brighter.Hotter.She pulled it out.
Normally she would never set a seed directly on a hardwood floor.It made no sense—no soil, no water, nothing to root in.But the knowledge thrumming through her palm said it would be okay.The magic saidtrust this.
She set the sunflower seed on the floor near where she thought the fireplace might be—she'd seen a dark alcove."Grow."
The warmth flared again, rushing down through her arm and into the floor.The seed split.A thick stem pushed up, fast and strong, leaves unfurling.The flower head rose, broad and bright yellow—suddenly she couldsee, the flower itself giving off light as it grew.
Then the seeds in the center began to glow.Soft at first—a gentle amber, pretty.Then brighter.Orange.The air around it shimmered with heat.
"Oh—" Her eyes widened.
