The First Bloom
The tale begins not with man, but with the Deep Echoes. Before the rise of the salt kings, before the shimmer of the tide, there was only the Palmetto, a singular, luminous bloom that rose from the silt of the Sunken Coast. Legend speaks of a time when the coast was a single, unbroken expanse of turquoise, and the Palmetto was the sole voice of the land, pulsating with the energy of the primordial ocean. It wasn't simply a plant; it was a conduit, a receiver of the deep currents' song, a silent witness to the birth of the continents.
Some scholars, those who delve into the fragmented records of the Tide Watchers, believe the Palmetto is a remnant of a forgotten civilization, the Lumina, who harnessed the ocean’s energy. They say the bloom’s light is not merely reflection, but a concentrated shard of the ocean’s consciousness. The Lumina vanished, swallowed by a cataclysmic shift in the tides, leaving only the Palmetto as a solitary, enduring testament.
The name “Palmetto” itself is derived from the Spanish “palmetto,” meaning “palm-like,” a misnomer, as the bloom's fronds are uniquely structured, resembling neither palm nor any terrestrial leaf. It’s a linguistic echo, a reminder of the early explorers and their attempts to categorize the unfamiliar.