The starship sliced through a soft eastward breeze, its hull glinting in the midday sun as it neared Thornwick. Below, the landscape unfurled into what should have been a sea of green—wheat fields stretching to the horizon—but instead, the stalks lay limp and yellowed, their leaves crumpling at the slightest touch. A cluster of stone cottages huddled at the edge of the fields, and villagers knelt among the wheat, their hands brushing the wilted plants with faces tight with despair.
Lin Che landed the starship in a dry, grassy patch beside the largest field, and a woman with sun-weathered skin and a wheat-straw hat hurried over. She held a handful of shriveled wheat grains, her fingers trembling as she showed them. "You're the travelers Li Wei wrote about," she said, her voice thick with urgency. "I'm Elara—Thornwick's farmer. We tend these fields for generations; they've never failed us. But three days ago, the wheat just… wilted. Overnight. The soil's damp, the sun's right, we've watered 'em—nothing works. This wheat is our life: we grind it for bread, sell the surplus for tools, save the seeds for next year. Without it… we'll have nothing to eat when the harvest moon comes."
Xiao Ya stepped forward, her boots sinking slightly into the loose soil. She knelt, pressing both palms to the earth, and her hands glowed a soft, vivid green. A quiet hum filled the air—from the soil, from the remaining green shoots, from the very pulse of the land—and she closed her eyes, listening. When she opened them, her brow was furrowed, but not with fear. "The soil's not sick," she said, turning to Elara. "It's asleep. The earthworms that till it, the tiny roots that hold nutrients—they've slowed down, like they're in winter hibernation. The wheat says the soil turned cold suddenly, even with the sun. The clover at the field's edge says a strange mist rolled in the night before the wilt—cold, thick, and gone by dawn."
Elara's eyes widened. "The mist… I saw it too. Thought it was just spring fog, but it felt wrong—like touching ice. My husband said it seeped into the soil, made the ground cold to the touch."
Mo Ying slung her toolbox over her shoulder, already kneeling to dig a small hole in the soil with her trowel. She lifted a clod of earth, breaking it apart—dry on top, damp below, but cool to the touch. "We need to wake the soil up first—warm it, stir the earthworms, kickstart the nutrients. Lin Che, you can help Elara turn the topsoil (gently, so we don't hurt the wheat roots). Su Qing, can you use runes to boost the soil's warmth? Something to mimic the sun's heat deep down?"
Su Qing flipped open her Arcane Manual, her finger tracing a page of earth-warming runes. "Runes for vital heat—they'll seep into the soil, wake the earthworms, and help the wheat absorb nutrients again. Elara, do you have dried clover and sunflower seeds? We can mix 'em into the soil—clover feeds the earth, sunflower seeds hold warmth."
Elara's face brightened, a flicker of hope returning. "We've got sacks of dried clover in the barn, and my son Kael saved sunflower seeds from last summer's harvest. He's been begging to help—said he'd 'talk to the wheat' like you do," she smiled, nodding toward a boy of 11 with a smudge of dirt on his cheek, who'd been peeking from behind a cottage.
Kael stepped forward, clutching a small pouch of sunflower seeds. "I can mix 'em! And I know where all the clover is—helped Pa stack it!"
The work began at once. Lin Che and Elara turned the topsoil with wooden rakes, their movements slow and careful to avoid damaging the wheat's shallow roots. Kael trotted between them, sprinkling sunflower seeds and clover into the turned earth, chattering to the wheat as he went ( "Wake up, little stalks—we're here to help!" ). Xiao Ya walked the field's edges, her hands glowing; she whispered to the clover and the few remaining green shoots, urging them to spread their energy to the soil.
Su Qing carved the warmth runes into small clay tablets—each etched with a sun-like symbol—and pressed them into the soil at intervals across the field. As she did, the tablets glowed a soft orange, and the earth around them warmed, steam curling faintly from the damp soil. "The runes will keep the soil warm for weeks," she told Elara. "Enough time for the earthworms to wake and the wheat to recover."
By late afternoon, a change had begun. The wheat stalks that had been fully wilted now stood a little straighter, their yellow leaves tinged with faint green. Elara knelt, tearing off a tiny piece of leaf and chewing it—her eyes widening. "It's sweet," she said, amazed. "Like normal wheat. It's coming back."
The villagers, who'd been watching quietly from the cottage edges, hurried over, their tools in hand. They joined in turning the soil, laughing as Kael showed them where to place the sunflower seeds. A group of women brought water from the village well, sprinkling it gently over the newly turned earth, while an old man played a fiddle—his music light, like a celebration.
That evening, the villagers hosted a feast in Elara's cottage. The table was set with the last of their stored bread (hard and stale, but shared gladly), bowls of vegetable stew, and a jar of honey from Clover Hollow that Elara had traded for years ago. Kael sat beside Xiao Ya, asking her endless questions about how she "talked to plants," and Elara told stories of her grandmother, who'd taught her to read the wheat's health by the color of its leaves.
Before they left the next morning, Elara handed Lin Che a small cloth pouch stitched with a wheat stalk. Inside was a handful of plump, golden wheat seeds—saved from the few plants that had stayed green. "These are our best seeds," she said. "Plant 'em, and they'll grow strong—just like you helped our fields grow strong. Remember Thornwick, and remember: the soil's like a friend. You wake it gently, care for it, and it gives back."
Lin Che took the pouch, feeling the weight of the seeds—solid, full of life. He nodded, tucking it into his pocket.
They climbed aboard the starship, waving goodbye. Elara and Kael stood in the wheat field, holding the seed pouch aloft, while the villagers waved from the cottage doorsteps. The wheat stalks, now tinged with green, swayed in the breeze—alive again.
Inside the cabin, Xiao Ya placed the wheat seed pouch on the dashboard, joining the warm stone from Mistveil, the reed seed pouch from Mallow Marsh, and all their other treasures. Su Qing flipped open Li Wei's map, her finger pausing at a village marked with a tiny wave symbol. "Coral Reach," she said. "Li Wei's notes say it's a coastal village—their fishing nets keep tearing, and the fish they catch are thin, weak. The villagers say the sea's 'angry'—but they don't know why."
Mo Ying grinned, adjusting the starship's controls. "Coastal village? Fish nets? We fixed wilted wheat, icy lakes, brittle wool—sea troubles are next. Xiao Ya can talk to the seaweed, find out what's upsetting the water. I'll mend the nets—even better than new, promise."
Lin Che looked out the window, at the wheat fields below. The Star Marrow on his wrist glowed softly, matching the golden hue of the wheat seeds. This was their journey: following the call of villages in need, tending to the land and sea alike, one small, vital act at a time.
"Coral Reach," he said. "Let's go listen to the sea."
The starship turned south, toward the distant glint of the ocean. The wind carried the scent of wheat from Thornwick, and the sun shone bright on the path ahead. A new village waited, a new puzzle to solve—and as always, they were ready.