4345.100 · April 10, 2025 AD
Burnt To The Root
Dawn breaks over blackened fields. Daniel knew what to expect—he'd seen the reports, heard the descriptions, prepared himself for devastation. But knowing and seeing are different countries separated by an ocean of grief. The coffee plants his family cultivated for generations are charred husks. The house sags inward like something exhausted. And in the ash, half-buried, a scrap of scorched leather bearing initials he'd recognise anywhere. Some losses cut deeper than others. Some can never be recovered.
The morning air carries the smell of smoke and something worse.
Daniel emerges from the tree line with Isla and Douglas beside him, and the estate spreads before them like a wound. Fields that were green days ago are now blackened wastelands. The barn has collapsed into its own ribcage. The house still stands—barely—its windows shattered, roof caved, the east wing where his daughters' bedrooms once were reduced to rubble.
He knew this was coming. He'd prepared for it.
He wasn't prepared for the journal.
Eloise's journal—her voice captured in ink, the companion that had guided him through grief and growth for years—lies in the ash, reduced to brittle leather and fused pages. Only her initials survive, mocking him with their persistence.
And beyond the ruins, the cottage stands untouched. Perfect. Silent. His parents should be there. Should have called the moment they heard. Should have found some way to reach him.
Three days of unanswered calls. Three days of growing dread.
The cottage waits, empty as an accusation.
Douglas says they need to leave. Isla says there's nothing here anymore.
Daniel turns away from everything he built, and keeps walking.
