Emma and Lucas stood in the lab at the research outpost, a glowing K'tharr artifact—a pulsating orb—between them on a cluttered table strewn with tools. Its low hum resonated ominously, driving nearby Touched into frenzied states. Neutralizing it was their priority.
"Careful with that," Lucas said, his voice taut as he adjusted his scanner. "One wrong move, and it'll send out a pulse. Could set off every Touched within a mile radius."
Emma steadied her hands, though they trembled faintly as she worked a precision tool into the orb's casing. "I've handled worse," she replied, her voice calm yet measured.
Their hands brushed briefly, an unexpected moment of warmth amidst the chaos. Emma glanced up, catching a flicker in Lucas's gaze—something like admiration, mingled with surprise.
"You're not what I expected," Lucas admitted, his tone softening. His focus shifted from the orb to her. "I thought you'd be… untouchable. Some cosmic warrior who didn't remember what it means to be human."
Emma gave a small, bittersweet smile. "I'm still human," she said, though the words felt fragile in her mouth. "I've had to be more, yes, to survive. But I'm still me, Lucas."
Lucas nodded, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "You're stubborn, I'll give you that. But you care. That's more than I expected."
Together, they dismantled the orb piece by piece, its hum fading into a heavy silence. Emma exhaled slowly, the smallest victory settling in her chest.
"Let's take a break," Lucas suggested, wiping his hands on a rag. His tone softened. "I have something I want to show you."
They walked together through the ruins of Emma's childhood neighborhood. Her old home stood before them—a crumbling shell, a shadow of what it once was. Memories rushed at her unbidden: laughter, warmth, her parents' voices, her brother's mischievous grin.
"This is where I grew up," she whispered, the words thick with emotion. "It's… all gone."
Emma knelt in the rubble and found an old photo, its edges frayed and faded. Her brother's smile stared back at her, frozen in time. Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to fall.
Lucas rested a hand gently on her shoulder. His touch grounded her, pulling her back to the present. "We'll rebuild," he said, his voice firm yet kind. "Together. You've given us hope, Emma. More than we've had in years."
"Hope's a heavy thing to carry," Emma replied, meeting his gaze. Her hazel eyes shimmered with unshed tears, a quiet vulnerability breaking through her usual resolve. "I don't know if I can live up to it."
"You already are," Lucas said, his hand lingering on her shoulder briefly before pulling back. "You're here. And right now, that's enough."
As the sun dipped behind the ruins, they sat on the broken porch of her childhood home. A makeshift garden nearby carried the first signs of life returning to the barren landscape.
"What was your brother like?" Lucas asked quietly, his voice gentle.
Emma smiled faintly, the grief softening at the edges. "Funny," she said, the warmth of the memory breaking through. "Always making me laugh, even when things were tough. He'd have been a good Seedkeeper."
"He sounds like he was a good brother," Lucas said, his tone warm. "You carry him with you, don't you?"
"Every day," Emma admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I fight for him—for all of them."
The moment held—a fragile peace amidst the chaos—but Emma couldn't ignore the quickening pulse of the WoodDust. It whispered ominously in the back of her mind, a restless hum warning of unseen dangers. The storm on the horizon churned darker, its violet lightning flashing across the sky like a silent omen of what was to come.