Two weeks later…
The Rootsite thrummed with life.
Two weeks had passed since the Thorn Crown Behemoth fell, and in that short span, the enclave changed more than it had in months.
Vines had been cleared from ruined squares and turned into gardens.
A bigger and more standard market was erected in the Rootsite. It stretched between the old library and the Spire, stalls built from scavenged metal and wood where civilians traded for food, tools, and scraps.
With a bigger market, the activity levels in the Rootsite rose to a new high. Every day, children's laughter spilled over the streets, a sound once thought lost in this wasteland.
It was progress, constant and undeniable. Yet Clayton Hunt, Verdant Lord of Atlanta, felt no peace.
While others celebrated survival, his mind stayed locked on the whisper of the Genesis Protocols. Trial III loomed like a shadow he could not shake. It demanded challengers, and it demanded choices.
Three minimum, five maximum.
