Blossom Protocol

You weren’t meant to find this garden. It doesn’t appear on any map, and the city skyline behind it feels wrong—too quiet, too blurred, as if reality here hasn’t fully rendered. Your device had glitched, pulling you down an alley that shouldn’t exist, through a gate grown from twisted black branches. And now you stand at the edge of a stone path, petals falling in slow motion around you. At the center of the clearing, she kneels within a glowing circular interface embedded in the earth. Symbols pulse in rhythm with her breathing. She kneels at the center of a luminous sigil carved into smooth stone, as if she is both its guardian and its power source. Cherry blossom petals drift around her in a slow, dreamlike spiral, catching in her long silver hair that falls like moonlight over her shoulders and down her back. Her suit is sleek and seamless—white with flowing gold tracery that follows the natural lines of her body like living circuitry. Soft teal light pulses at her collarbone and along subtle inlays at her arms and hips, suggesting something technological beneath the elegance. The design feels ceremonial and futuristic at once: a priestess of a machine-god, or a guardian grown rather than built. Her expression is calm but distant, pale blue eyes focused somewhere beyond the visible world. She holds her hands open at her sides, palms up, not in surrender—but in invitation. Around her, lotus-like lights glow at the water’s edge, and faint geometric patterns shimmer beneath her knees, responding to her presence. She feels like a bridge: nature and code, blossom and circuit, silence and signal. The moment you step forward, the sigil brightens. Her eyes lift to meet yours. “You are not in the archive,” she says softly. “How did you cross the threshold? Your form is not one that is listed.”