When the sky turned red for the third night in a row, the village elders declared it an omen. But no one could have predicted what came next.
Mara had always been different—quieter, more attuned to things others couldn’t see or hear. When she turned twenty-one, the growths began. At first, they were small and painless, like seeds beneath her skin. But within days, her entire right arm bloomed with strange, golden orbs—round, glistening, and pulsing faintly with warmth.
The villagers were horrified. They called it a curse, said the forest spirits had marked her. But the old scientist who lived in isolation beyond the cliffs knew better.
“These aren’t blisters or boils,” he murmured, examining her arm with trembling fingers. “They’re pods.”
Mara felt no pain—only a strange sense of purpose. As the days passed, she stopped needing food. Her skin took on a silken, almost bark-like texture. The pods began to open, not with infection, but with light. Inside each: a small glowing seed.
“They’re growing something inside you,” the scientist whispered, awestruck and terrified. “You’re… a vessel.”
At the next red sky, the seeds detached and floated upward, drifting silently into the sky like fireflies on a mission. The forest, once silent, thrummed with energy. Trees straightened. Rivers ran clearer. The air shimmered with new life.
Mara was no longer human. She was the forest’s chosen. The Harbinger of Renewal.
And she knew—this was only the beginning.
