PHC's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

PHC stood alone on the frozen tundra, and the cold was killing him. He was small, green, and barely tall enough to see over the drifts. He had come here to build a hidden home for children like himself, orphans who carried the Force and had nowhere safe to grow up. But the wind sliced through his robe like knives. His fingers went stiff. His breath turned to ice on his chin. He needed shelter now, or he would never build anything. He turned in every direction. Flat white snow stretched out on all sides. No rocks. No trees. No cave. There was nothing to block the wind, and nothing to hide behind. His legs shook. He dropped to his knees in the snow. Then he saw it. Poking up through the drift, a few steps away, stood a bright sunflower. Its wide golden face glowed against the gray sky. Its stem was thick and green, alive in a place where nothing should live. When PHC crawled closer, he felt warmth pouring off the petals. The flower gave off heat like a small sun. He pressed his cold hands to the golden face. Feeling crept back into his fingers. His shivering slowed. But one flower could not shelter a whole home. It could not stop the wind that still tore across the open plain. PHC needed more than warmth. He needed walls. He reached out with the Force. He had done small lifts before, cups and stones. Never this. He closed his eyes and pulled at the ground around the sunflower. Snow rose in a ring. It packed tight, wall by wall, curving up over his head. His ears rang. Sweat froze on his brow. He shaped the last of it into a low roof and let the flower stand at the center. The wind stopped. Inside the snow shell, the sunflower's heat filled the space. PHC slumped against the wall and breathed. It was warm. He was alive. He had made his first shelter. But when he looked at the flower, worry twisted in his chest. Its bottom leaves had begun to droop. The rich green stem was paling. The heat that saved him was draining the flower dry. It could not glow forever. When it faded, the cold would rush back in, and the walls would melt. PHC pressed his palm to the wilting stem. He had bought himself a day, maybe less. To keep the children safe, he needed a warmth that would not die. He needed to find where such a thing could grow, and reach it before this small sun burned out.