Chris Mastree's Arc

Chapter 1 of 10

Chris Mastree stood in the town square, branches trembling in the cold wind. The golden star on their skull caught the streetlight. Once, their needles had been deep green and soft. Once, they had smelled like fresh pine and Christmas morning. Now their branches were brittle and brown, shedding more each day. They wanted that back—the green, the scent, the feeling of being truly alive. Somewhere in this strange town, an answer waited. Chris walked through empty streets, leaving a trail of dead needles behind. Their roots scraped against frozen pavement with each step. At the edge of town, past the last flickering lamppost, they found it. A greenhouse rose from the snow like a skeleton made of glass and metal. Frost covered every pane. Vines twisted through broken frames where warmth had once lived. Inside, through the clouded glass, Chris saw rows of empty planters and rusted tools. This place had grown things once. Maybe it could grow them again. Chris reached for the door with a branch that shook less than before.