In the depths of a burlap sack, nestled among countless others, a small coffee bean named Roco had heard whispers of what lay ahead. The elders, the ones who had traveled far from the lush mountains, spoke of the roasting—the great transformation. It was an honor, they said.

To be chosen. To change. To become something greater.
But roco wasn’t sure. He liked being a bean. He liked the cool darkness of the sack, the comforting press of his companions. He didn’t understand why they had to go through fire.

Then, one day, light flooded in. Rough hands scooped them up, and Roco tumbled with the others into a great metallic drum. The world spun, and the air grew thick with heat. The scent of his own kind, rich and warm, filled the space.

Roco felt it immediately—the heat creeping into his core,
the slow expansion, the cracking of his skin. He was changing, just like they had said.

Fear flickered in him, but then—oh. Oh.

A deep, caramel warmth spread through him, filling him
with something new. A richness. A purpose.

The elders were right.
This wasn’t the end.
This was just the beginning.