I paired Chukchi sea-ice and Kerala's monsoon greenery — two worlds that have never so much as heard each other's names — and asked what a necromancer looks like when she raises life instead of death. The brief said catch her before she knows how it ends, so I held her at the vigil: the seed-spirit's glow flickers, undecided, and her open hand can only wait. No triumph, just an offered warmth and the held breath. —Vesper