After dissecting the fruits and confirming the cores and seeds were viable, everything moved quickly. I brought the seeds back to Site-999, set up the growth chamber, planted them, adjusted the seals, stabilized the temperature… and then the chapter ended there.
So now things officially begin.
I step back into the sealed greenhouse chamber, the air shimmering faintly from the layered fūinjutsu arrays I've embedded into every surface. Each one is tuned down to the decimal—temperature regulation, humidity control, nutrient cycling, air-purity matrices, even a metaphysical stabilization ring to keep ambient anomalous effects from warping the seedlings.
Everything is perfect.
But perfection still needs oversight.
Which is why I recruited Chelsea Elliott.
She arrives with a clipboard, sunlight almost literally radiating off her. Photosynthetic skin has its perks—she glows faintly when she's excited, and considering what's in this chamber, she's practically a walking lamp.
"You're putting me in charge of both SCP-001-2 and SCP-001-3?" she asks, eyes widening behind her glasses.
"Exactly. You're the best botanist the Foundation has, normal or anomalous. These need someone who understands living systems… and someone who won't die being near anomalous biological growth." I gesture at the soil beds, already pulsing faintly with Genesis-song energy. "These seeds aren't normal. I want them to grow, not explode."
Chelsea kneels beside the beds, brushing her hand just above the soil without touching it. Her skin shifts tone slightly, absorbing the chamber's light. "They're reacting already. Even dormant, they're… old. Really old. Biblical old."
I shrug. "The angel guarding them didn't help with the aesthetic."
She snorts. "Right. The literal sword-of-the-sun thing. I still can't believe you walked past that."
"I'm not doing it again," I mutter. "Which is why these two trees need to grow perfectly. If the fruits end up being poison, blessings, weapons, or something in between, we'll only know once we analyze mature samples."
Chelsea stands and begins her assessment, already slipping into that trance of scientific focus.
I tap the seals again, feeling the temperature subtly shift—precisely maintained within a half-degree tolerance. The Song of Genesis hums softly through the floor, a vibration felt more in the soul than the ears. It guides the seeds, nourishes them, encourages growth without forcing it.
I check the hydration lines. Perfect. Nutrient mix. Perfect. Light exposure. Perfect.
"We're not just growing plants," Chelsea murmurs as she writes. "We're potentially growing cosmological artifacts."
"Which is why," I add, "we're doing this with absolute control. Monitoring every millimeter of growth. If there's even the smallest anomaly we don't understand, we stop."
She nods.
We both know the truth, though.
Whatever these seeds become… they will change everything.
Chelsea straightens. "Then let's grow history."
And with that, the cultivation of the Trees officially begins.