Satellites orbit in silence, covering the Earth like a layer of dead scales.
Fires are not extinguished; they simply migrate.
Forests murmur in frequencies that only the most sensitive sensors can hear.
And yet, amidst the noise, a vegetal memory awakens.

Somewhere between collapse, soil exhaustion, and the decomposition of language,
plants will begin to speak again. And this time, we will listen.
Not with ears, but with fiber optics. Not with prayers, but with code.

The ancient magics were rediscovered in the servers of a forgotten greenhouse, in the corrupted data of a bot that dreamed of photosynthesis.

Technology no longer opposes life —it imitates it.
And the vegetal, the humid, the ancestral, invades the digital with its brutal patience.

The new dogma is not prayed — it is compiled.
What blooms in the system’s darkness is neither sacred nor profane.
It is inevitable.