The generator in the center of the village hummed with a low, parasitic drone that sounded nothing like the natural rhythm of the surf. It was a rhythmic, artificial beat—a mechanical heart beating in the chest of a seaside community that had only just learned to breathe on its own. Elara sat on the basalt cliffs, watching the amber flicker of the device's exhaust. It was small, pathetic even, but she knew the nature of the rot. One spark fed the furnace, and the furnace would eventually crave the entire forest.
She did not intervene. She had laid her burden down, and the people had picked up a piece of the wreckage for themselves. That was the tragedy of their freedom; they were free to fail, and they were free to invite their own destruction.
Kael found her there as the sun began to di
