The last moonpetal's

The signal strength on Elara's phone flickered precariously, mocking her attempts to document the slow death of her hometown. She stood on the highest point of her family's farm, the cracked earth a testament to years of drought and neglect, trying to upload a drone shot to Instagram. The image, a panoramic view of the desolate landscape, was a stark contrast to the vibrant greens and golds that should have defined Oakhaven in the summer. #DustBowl2.0 was trending, and Oakhaven was quickly becoming the poster child for climate change devastation. Elara, a twenty-year-old environmental science major at a small liberal arts college in Vermont, felt a familiar wave of anxiety wash over her. Returning home for the summer had been a shock. The Oakhaven she remembered, a close-knit community nestled in the embrace of the Appalachian Mountains, was slowly suffocating. The once-fertile farmland was now barren, the river Nyla reduced to a muddy trickle, and the local economy was on the brink of collapse. The proposed solution from the town council? Attracting a data center with promises of jobs, ignoring the increased strain on the already depleted resources. Elara felt torn between her studies, her dreams of a sustainable future, and the responsibility she felt towards her family and her community. Her parents, hardworking farmers who had poured their lives into the land, were struggling to make ends meet. Her younger brother, Finn, was talking about leaving Oakhaven for good, seeking opportunities in the city. Elara knew she couldn't just stand by and watch her home disappear. The weight of Oakhaven's future rested, at least in part, on her shoulders, a burden made heavier by the knowledge that time was running out.