Dawn light flitted through the canopy, scattering flickers across the gardens, treehouses, and freshly planted orchard rows. Jude stepped onto the main platform, slipping onto the cold board without making a sound. Around him the camp stirred into life. Grace tended young shoots at the perimeter of the orchard, Lucy smoothed soil around berry bushes, Emma carried water across the clearing. The day promised warmth, but Jude sensed a deeper current beneath the calm surface. They had planted for permanence, named for unity, reclaimed nodes for memory, now the island awaited the final proof.
He crossed the clearing toward Grace, kneeling to brush a leaf free of dew. "Morning," he murmured, offering her a bowl of warm root-broth. She accepted it, placing her other hand over his.
"Did you sleep?" he asked.
"Uneasy. But I woke knowing what we're meant to do today." She set the bowl aside, following his gaze across the orchard where ribbons fluttered like banners.
