The wind carried dust and whispers across the lower valley. Something had shifted in the spiritual veins beneath the farm—something deep, ancient, and slowly awakening.
Ikenna could feel it as he walked barefoot across his newly restored eastern terraces. Each step echoed differently. The rhythm of the soil had changed. Its heartbeat, once steady and calm, now thrummed with an uneven cadence. Not fear, but caution.
He crouched, pressing his palm into the soil.
"Show me," he murmured.
The Farming Scroll fluttered open beside him and pulsed with soft golden light. Glyphs rearranged themselves, displaying a fresh warning.
[Soil Disruption Detected – Subterranean Tunneling Expanding Westward]
Depth: 30 meters
Qi Resonance: Inorganic, Dull-Class
Threat Assessment: Unclassified
⚠️ Recommendation: Consult Earth-Aligned Practitioner
Ikenna narrowed his eyes. "We need someone who knows the underground."
Professor fluttered down to his shoulder, ruffling his feathers. "That would mean… the Hermit."
Jalun groaned. "You mean the madman who lives inside a rock?"
"He's not mad," Amara said from where she leaned against a shovel. "Just eccentric. He once grew a spirit orchard inside a sandstone boulder. They say his farm could survive a volcano."
"And he moves?" Ikenna asked.
Amara nodded. "He rides his land. It rolls across the plains."
By noon, they'd packed light provisions and prepared the Sky Beetle wagon. The direction was set: southwest across the Valley's Ridge until the trail curved toward the Singing Hills—named for the winds that howled across their sandstone cliffs.
As they rode, the air turned dry and full of static. The earth underfoot felt unusually dense, packed like it was layered with secrets. Then, far ahead, a round shape appeared on the horizon, bobbing slowly.
It looked like a giant stone wheel rolling on its side. Atop it, a strange silhouette stood with arms wide open, as if greeting the wind.
"Is that it?" Jalun muttered, squinting.
"Yes," Professor said. "That's no myth."
The Rolling Stone Farm came to a halt just as they arrived. With a loud grinding of stone and a huff of steam, the massive boulder slowly lowered itself into a crater, revealing an intricate root system beneath it. The 'stone' wasn't just rock—it was living mineral, imbued with runes, vines, and earth qi.
A man stepped out from a carved opening on the side. He was draped in moss-colored robes, his hair wild and curly like creeping ivy. His feet were bare, his eyes earthy brown with flecks of gold.
"I felt the soil call me!" he shouted with joy. "And lo! The cultivator of crops arrives."
Ikenna bowed respectfully. "Senior. I am Ikenna. We seek your guidance."
The Hermit grinned and slapped the stone wall beside him. "Then step into my boulder and speak the language of ground."
Inside, the space was unexpectedly lush. Hanging vines, fruit-bearing shrubs, and clay-bedded crops lined the walls. Small stone lanterns glowed with spirit light, illuminating rune carvings in every corner. It was a sanctuary of earth.
"Soil doesn't just hold crops," the Hermit said, pouring tea that smelled faintly of crushed roots and cinnamon bark. "It holds memories. It remembers what's walked through it, what's tried to hide beneath it."
Ikenna showed him the scroll's soil disruption diagram.
The Hermit's eyes darkened.
"This pattern… it isn't natural."
Professor tilted his head. "What do you mean?"
"This isn't just tunneling. This is burrow weaving—a technique used by old Wyrm Clans. They carve patterns in the earth to weaken ley lines and then feed off them. You're not just facing wild wyrms. You're facing controlled ones."
Ikenna sat straighter. "Controlled? By who?"
The Hermit scratched his beard. "Could be bandits with a beast scroll. Could be a rogue sect trying to mine spirit ore under your valley. Or…" he hesitated, "an ancient wyrm trying to resurrect itself."
Jalun nearly choked on his tea. "That's the worst 'or' I've heard all week."
Amara asked the real question: "Can you help us defend the land?"
The Hermit's gaze turned serious. "Yes. But not alone."
By dusk, they stood in a circle on top of the boulder farm as the Hermit taught Ikenna to listen through the earth. He placed both palms on the stone, shut his eyes, and let his spiritual sense dive downward.
He sank past the soil layers. Past the roots. Past the bones of old trees. And into the echoing hollows beneath.
There, he saw it.
A massive, coiled form, slithering through a dark tunnel with glacial patience. Its scales shimmered faintly in the dark. It was blind but aware, feeling its way with ancient instinct.
[Wyrm Signature Identified: Lesser Qi Devourer – Dormant Phase]
Age Estimate: 230 years
Class: Tier 4 Beast
Status: Awakening… 9%
Ikenna gasped and pulled back. "It's real. And it's huge."
The Hermit nodded. "Then you must awaken the field's deeper defense. Beneath every fertile land is a Core Root. Touch that, and you awaken its soul."
"I don't know how."
"You do now," the Hermit said, handing Ikenna a rough crystal seed. "Plant this at midnight under the center of your farm. Water it with your blood and qi. Then wait. The Core will decide if you're worthy."
That night, they returned to Ikenna's farm under a moonless sky. The wind had gone still. The fields slept, but Ikenna felt them breathing.
He walked to the heart of the land—where he'd first planted his golden rice. There, he knelt, dug into the earth, and placed the crystal seed gently into the ground.
Then, he sliced his palm and let the blood seep into the soil. His qi followed—a soft stream of intent, of connection, of trust.
The ground quivered.
The seed pulsed once, then again—glowing faintly.
The soil around it cracked… and a faint heartbeat echoed through the farm.
[Core Root Awakening… 3%]
The Land is Listening.