Aviana — Violet Link

"You're awake," said a voice behind her.

Aviana looked back at the sunrise. The gold was spreading, chasing away the last of the night. aviana violet

She lived in Veridian, a city buried a mile beneath the Atlantic, where the "sun" was a holographic projection on the dome ceiling—a pale, clinical imitation that shifted from amber to gray on a twenty-four-hour cycle. Her name, Aviana, meant "bird," which her mother had thought was a cruel joke in a world without sky. "You're awake," said a voice behind her

"Don't get attached," her supervisor, a man named Kael, grumbled every morning. "Flowers don't pay the carbon tax." She lived in Veridian, a city buried a

"The city thinks those orchids are a failed crop," he said softly. "But they're not crops. They're anchors. A long time ago, before the ocean swallowed the land, someone planted them so we'd never truly forget the sun. They only bloom for those who still dream of the surface."

Behind them, the cliff was already stirring. Strangers were helping strangers to their feet. A child pointed at a bird—a real, wild gull—and laughed with a sound like breaking glass.

Then she saw them.