The Iron Orchard

The Scavenger’s Heart The air in the Iron Orchard didn’t smell like pine or earth; it smelled of wet copper and old rust. Elian pulled his grease-stained cloak tighter, his boots crunching over silvered grass that didn't bend, it snapped. He shouldn't have been this deep into the Orchard. The King’s Sentinels patrolled the borders, their steam-driven lungs wheezing in the dark. But the rumors were true. There, in the center of a clearing, stood the Great Oak. Its trunk was thick as a castle tower, forged from blackened iron, its branches reaching out like jagged lightning. And there, pulsing beneath a ribcage of metal roots, was the glow. Elian reached out, his fingers trembling. He brushed away a layer of iron-dust to reveal a golden heart. It wasn't organic; it was a masterpiece of gears, pistons, and glowing amber fluid. Most importantly, it was beating. Thump-hiss. Thump-hiss. As his skin touched the gold, a shock of warmth surged up his arm, the first heat he’d felt in years. Suddenly, a low, metallic howl ripped through the fog. A Sentinel had picked up his scent. The mechanical hound would be on him in minutes. Elian had a choice: leave the heart and run for his life, or rip it from the tree and change the world. He grabbed the heart. The Orchard screamed.