Final End
The journal closes with a soft thump, its cover worn smooth by generations of hands that have held it. Outside, the fields stretch into mist where earth meets sky—but there's no need to see the edge to know it goes on.
Children run between the rows now, their laughter echoing over stalks that have grown taller than any building from the old world. One little girl kneels beside a plant, her small finger tracing the spiral on its leaf. "Who was Vivian?" she asks her grandmother, who smiles and brushes soil from the child's cheek.
"She's the reason we know how to make things grow together," the grandmother says. "She didn't build a monument that stays in one place. She planted a way of seeing—and that doesn't die."
As evening falls, lights begin to glow in every plant, each one a tiny flame of connection. They spread across valleys and over mountains, linking every corner where a seed took hold. There is no final page to turn, no last word to write—only the quiet certainty that Vivian's legacy would never die.
It grows, forever.
[The End.]