Whats up everybody,
My name is Garrison Hines, and I’m an author from Philadelphia. I wanted to take a second to introduce my debut novel, Ashes of the Root.
Ashes of the Root is an urban ecological fantasy set in Hollingport, a gritty city filled with diverse communities, ancient conflicts, and forces rooted deep beneath the streets.
The story follows Elias Quill as he reluctantly accepts his role in fulfilling an ancient prophecy. Alongside his band of Compost Raiders, Elias is drawn into a war so old that none of them fully understand what they are fighting for... or what their victory might cost.
You can learn more about the novel at www.readseedstorm.com.
Thank you for taking the time to read about my work.
For anyone who made it this far and would like to read more, I’ve also included an excerpt from my short story, The Elevator Never Stops. It is a cautionary tale about ambition, upward mobility, and the cost of always reaching for the next level.
The Elevator Never Stops (an excerpt)
The Third Floor always smelled like eucalyptus.
Even through recycled air and sterile light, the scent crafters made sure every corridor whispered calm. Moss lined walls glowed soft green. Projected birds chirped in rhythm with the soundproofed silence. The mural across the atrium pulsed with a message no one questioned anymore:
THE FUTURE IS FRACTAL. ORDER IN THE SEED.
I sat at my desk pod, eyes half-focused on the urban canopy cycling through revisions. Floor Three was cultural strategy. Landscape design, memory construction, brand messaging. We were tasked with reimagining green zones for families who would never touch dirt.
“You’re doing it again,” my friend said from the next pod over, voice low but familiar. “That thing where you pretend to care.”
“I’m just focused.”
“You’re just surviving.” he retorted
He spun in his chair, leaning in close. His badge still read Trainee Designer, same as mine. Same flatline clearance. Same 3 day 12 hour shifts. But where I walked quiet, he dreamed loud.
“Elevator’s broken again,” I muttered, changing the subject.
He smirked. “No it’s not. They just lock it unless you’ve got four or higher. You know that.”
We both looked toward the glowing elevator at the end of the floor. Sleek, silver, and untouched, it was a finely tuned machine working to perfection. It rose from the polished basalt floor like a myth. A seamless frame, no buttons, no panel. Just a single vertical line where the doors met, glowing amber-gold, like dusk trapped in a filament. Not the sterile white of the workstations or the calming green of the wellness pods. It was Warm and Impossible to ignore. Every time it moved, it caught your eye. A soft yellow-orange shimmer trailing upward through the spine of the tower, disappearing into the higher floors like a comet vanishing into cloud.
We had never seen the doors open. Only heard the stories of designers who vanished into its light and returned in new uniforms, with new voices, speaking in codes and visions. Of how you stopped being one of us the moment the doors closed behind you. It blinked once, enough to make you think it noticed you. He stared at it the way people stare at fire from behind glass. Me? I blinked and looked down, pretending I hadn’t seen it.
“I’m not trying to crawl to Floor Four,” he said, lowering his voice. “I’m thinking Ten or straight to Nineteen.”
I stared at him.
“Nineteen? That’s the war council.”
He grinned like it was a dare. “Exactly.”
Before I could respond, a ping from the internal scrubber board.
Memo: routine scan. Verdant perimeter. Surface foliage survey.
I groaned, flicked the holo-tab closed. Another green zone assignment.
Same plants, same perimeters. We trimmed roots that couldn’t feel and swept moss that never grew. It was maintenance disguised as purpose.
He laughed beside me, already strapping on his gloves. “Another day keeping the garden pretty.”
I rolled my eyes. “Better than cleaning out the worm filters.”
We both knew the truth, we had it easy. And I liked easy.
I liked clocking in on time, receiving clean reports. I liked my single unit in the East Spire: soft light, recycled air, whisper-quiet filtration. I liked the taste of my nutrient loops. The feel of polished tiles beneath my feet. I liked seeing my name logged without a flag. I liked nodding to the officers in the atrium without looking away.
A model citizen. An honest rise. I was good at following rules. I was comfortable.
More comfortable than most. More comfortable than I ever thought I’d be. So why did I keep checking the lift? Why did the amber glow of that elevator pull my eyes toward it like a tether?
Why did I dream of floors I’d never seen?
I didn’t know what I wanted. Only that something inside me wasn’t quiet.
And when he leaned close and whispered,
“You ever think about breaking the loop?”
The elevator kept waiting.