Chương 13: The Glade’s Chosen

The tribe woke slowly, like dough rising under warm cloth. Soft voices drifted from the longhouse, yawns, sleepy mutters, the quiet shuffling of families pulling themselves out of blankets. Smoke curled lazily from the central hearth as Marla stoked the embers back to life, already in full command of the morning.

"Up! Up! We have work today!" she barked, far too cheerfully for dawn.

"If you're standing still, you're already late!" James smiled to himself. Marla had apparently decided her official role was terrorizing productivity. He knelt outside the longhouse, hands buried in cool soil, finishing a small bed for the flowers he'd brought from the glade. Beside him knelt a young girl, sixteen, with long chestnut hair and bright eyes that sparkled like she carried sunlight inside them. Elira, Kerrin's younger sister.

She worked carefully, smoothing the dirt around each fragile stem, treating the flowers as though they were priceless treasures.

"They're beautiful," she whispered.

"Like little pieces of the forest." James nodded.

"That's exactly what they are." A faint chiming sound drifted from one of the blooms as it caught the light; Elira's smile widened with quiet, reverent awe. Behind them, the village fell into organized chaos. Marla was issuing orders like a drill sergeant, except with more warmth and twice the authority.

"Logs! We need logs! Halvik, take Aldo with you; you two bring back anything thicker than your arm!"

"Alder, Trell, the moment they bring something back, you sort it. Pile by size, not shape, Trell, we talked about this."

"Bren! When you're done with that Guardian hide, bring the bones. All of them! Don't look at me like that, bones are useful." James glanced over his shoulder. Bren and another man were working on the Guardian's body. They had already skinned half of it, the moss-green hide strangely supple, threaded with faint lines of mana. Bren and Harlon, the tribe's leatherworker, were set up near the treeline, both of them wearing expressions of reverent greed as they worked on the Guardian's corpse.

Harlon was a tall, quiet man with big hands and a gentle touch that always surprised James; he handled hides like precious silk. His wife, Mira, was the one who clothed the tribe, stitching garments, weaving simple tunics, mending everything from tears to missing sleeves. Right now, Mira stood behind the men with her arms crossed, tapping her foot excitedly as she eyed the shimmering moss-green fur.

"Oh, this will make wonderful cloaks," she murmured, eyes glittering.

"Warm ones. Soft ones. Pretty ones." Bren nodded eagerly.

"And look at this color! Moss but not moss. Forest but not forest. Magical but not… too magical." Harlon traced a finger along the hide's surface.

"It's strong. Flexible. Good thickness." Mira leaned in.

"I want it." Harlon chuckled.

"We're harvesting it, Mira. You'll have it." She perked instantly.

"Good!" James laughed quietly. These three might not make weapons or buildings, but clothing and leather could mean the difference between surviving winter or freezing in it. This was a treasure to them. Further off, Kerrin sat stiffly on a log, looking like a mummy wrapped in bandages from neck to thigh. Irla hovered beside him, her hands gentle as she adjusted the cloth around his ribs. Beside him, Varn sat propped on a log, leaning heavily on one side.

He still couldn't walk properly, but he was awake, alert, and watching everything with quiet, hopeful intensity. Irla had taken him under her wing, adjusting his blankets, checking his breathing, making sure he didn't overextend himself. She fluttered around both men with the natural instinct of someone who simply chose to keep others alive.

"You need rest," Irla scolded.

"I need to help," Kerrin countered, through gritted teeth as she poked a tender bruise. Rogan stood nearby, arms crossed, expression unmoved.

"You're helping by not dying." Kerrin glared. Rogan didn't flinch. James returned to the flowers, brushing soil from his hands. The patch was lovely, delicate but lively, a soft burst of color against the rough logs of the longhouse wall. With morning light filtering through the branches, the petals glowed faintly, like someone had breathed a little starlight into them. James reached for one of the buckets they'd hauled back yesterday.

He dipped his hand inside, let cold water pool in his palm, and let it drizzle gently onto the roots. Elira watched with wide eyes.

"They look… happier."

"Plants do like water," James said, amused.

"Crazy, right?" Elira giggled. James sat back on his heels, letting his mana resonance flow gently outward. The flowers thrummed faintly in his awareness, thin, delicate structures of stem and leaf and magic woven like threads through their veins. Elira clasped her hands under her chin.

"They're so happy." James smiled at her choice of words. She wasn't wrong. And with his mana resonance, he could feel them. The faint, delicate pulse of each plant. The thin pathways where mana threaded through their veins, like a tiny map of energy just beneath the surface. He blinked.

"I can actually… see their structure." Elira's head tilted.

"See? Like… with your eyes?"

"Not exactly." James pressed two fingers to a petal.

"More like… a blueprint. A plant-blueprint. Inside my head."

"Oh," she breathed, fascinated.

"That sounds like magic."

"It is magic," Lumen said, drifting down beside them. Lumen zipped over, curious.

"Your resonance is sharpening. Plants with mana signatures are easier to sense." James raised an eyebrow at the familiar.

"Lumen… if I infused these with a little mana, would it help?" The familiar bobbed thoughtfully.

"Possibly. Mana infusion can strengthen living things. But… it might harm them if you push too much. Use the smallest amount you can." James nodded. He steadied his breathing, grounding himself, letting his mana curl softly toward his fingertips. Just a whisper. Just enough to nudge, not force. He took a slow breath and touched one of the blossoms. A faint blue glow pulsed beneath his skin, small, gentle, like fireflies drifting through his veins. The light wandered through his fingers… into the petal…

down the stem… and into the heart of the flower. The flower shivered. Its colors deepened. Its stem straightened. Its petals unfurled with a soft, vibrant glow. And then... ting! A sweet, crystalline chime rang out, clear as a music note plucked by a tiny harp. Elira gasped, hands flying to her mouth.

"It sang again! You made it sing!" James felt heat rise to his face.

"Well, I… guess I did." She leaned closer.

"Can you do it again?" James laughed.

"Easy there. Let's see if it survives the first dose before we try for a concert." Elira giggled, brushing her fingers through the air above the flowers as if afraid even her touch might disturb them.

"You're good at this," she whispered. James blinked.

"At… gardening?"

"At helping things grow." He didn't know what to say to that. Lumen floated between them, glowing warm gold.

"She is not wrong, James Wright." James swallowed hard and looked away, embarrassed by the praise, from both sides. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. The path back to the glade was gentler in the morning light. Dew clung to leaves like tiny beads of glass; a soft mist drifted between trunks, and every step seemed to wake birds hidden somewhere above.

James walked at the front, his bucket swinging at his side, Lumen drifting lazily in spirals above him. Behind him came Elira, light on her feet, followed by the three other villagers he'd chosen for the task: Tassa, Merrit, and Ollen, one young woman and two quiet young men. Kerrin and Rogan flanked the small group, both armed with spears, though Kerrin was wrapped so thoroughly in cloth that he looked like a mummy who had decided to go for a morning stroll.

The glade opened before them in a wash of golden-green light, flowers humming softly, the air thick with mana. Even now James could feel that subtle pressure, calm and warm, like something alive was watching them.

"All right," James said, turning to the four villagers.

"Uproot gently. Leave at least half of each plant here. We don't want to strip the place and kill everything." They nodded eagerly.

"Like this," he added, crouching and showing them how to loosen the soil around the roots with careful fingers, keeping the plant whole. Tassa mirrored him first, then Elira, then Merrit. Ollen waited, studying James's hands for several long seconds before attempting the same motions. When they finally understood the method, James stepped back and let them work.

He exhaled and let the sounds of the glade settle around him, the rustling of leaves, the faint hum of mana, the occasional delighted gasp when one villager unearthed a particularly bright or strange specimen. Lumen floated down near his shoulder.

"Why are you just standing there?" the familiar asked.

"You look like a man trying to solve a puzzle with no corners."

"I am," James murmured.

"Just… different pieces." Lumen bobbed.

"And what is this puzzle?"

"I'm trying to see if my mana resonance can..." He hesitated, searching for the right words.

"... tell me who has an affinity for plants. Who might make a good gardener or herbalist." Lumen gave a doubtful hum.

"James… that is difficult for a Chieftain, let alone a Level Fourteen Mana Architect. Affinities are delicate. Subtle. They hide deep."

"I'm aware," James said quietly.

"But I have to try." And so he focused. He watched the villagers in silence. Tassa worked quickly but roughly. Merrit was careful but tense, unsure. Ollen followed instructions precisely, but without spark, more duty than curiosity. But Elira... Something was different. She moved gently, almost instinctively. She laughed softly when a sprout brushed her wrist, and the sound chimed through the glade like it belonged there. And James felt it, an echo, a vibration as fine as spider-silk snapping in the wind.

"There," he whispered.

"I felt that." Lumen turned sharply.

"What?" Before James could answer, Elira gasped.

"Oh!" She straightened suddenly, clutching the plant she'd just lifted.

"I... I got something! A message! A skill!" The other three villagers looked up in awe.

"What skill?" James asked, already knowing.

"Gardening." Her eyes were wide, shining.

"James… it just… appeared. As if the glade was listening."

"It was," Lumen said softly.

"And so were you." James beckoned her forward, and she did, almost reverently, as though she'd stepped into the first chapter of her own life.

"Hold still," James said gently.

"I want to try something." Elira nodded, breath trembling. James placed a hand lightly on her shoulder and called upon his Chieftain's blessing. As always, he felt that warm pull inside his chest, as though his soul cracked open just a little and shared some inner spark. That spark leapt to Elira. She froze. Her breath hitched. Her fingers trembled around the small flower in her hands. Then she whispered, voice breaking, "I… I just unlocked a profession." The clearing fell silent.

Even Kerrin, wrapped head to toe in bandages, stared in stunned joy. James swallowed.

"What kind of profession?" Elira lifted her head. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she spoke.

"Bloomkeeper." James blinked.

"That sounds… rare."

"It's more than rare," Lumen breathed, light flaring softly.

"It is blessed. A profession tied to growth, mana, and life. The glade chose her. And you helped her hear it." Elira wiped her face, laughing through tears.

"My… my first ability says: Gentle Bloom, Let a plant flourish with a touch. Encourages healthy growth; restores damaged roots." She touched the flower in her hands again. It quivered, tiny petals unfurling as though waking up from sleep.

"Oh," she whispered.

"James… it listened to me." James felt something warm settle in his chest. Pride, maybe. Or relief. Or hope. Whatever it was, it felt like the beginning of something new, for Elira, for the tribe, for the village he was trying to build piece by fragile piece.

"Congratulations," he said softly.

"Bloomkeeper." Elira bowed her head, gripping the tiny plant as if it were the world's most precious treasure.

"Thank you, Chieftain. Truly. Thank you." Behind her, Kerrin wiped at his eyes with an embarrassed scowl. Rogan cleared his throat quickly and looked away. Even Lumen glowed a little brighter. James led the group carefully through the forest, Elira walking beside him with her basket hugged gently against her chest. Her steps were lighter than usual, almost floating, and James didn't need mana resonance to know why. She was glowing.

Not literally, though with her new profession, who knew what the future held, but in the soft warmth of someone who had found her calling. Kerrin kept glancing over his shoulder at his sister until Rogan gave him a pointed grunt that sent the younger man marching twice as fast. They reached the patch of earth James had discovered the previous day, the soil darker, richer, softer. Even the air felt different here, heavier with mana and possibility.

"Alright," James said, rolling up the sleeves of his torn shirt.

"Let's get to work." They prepared the earth carefully, each villager working a separate square of soil while James moved among them, giving pointers where needed. The rough tools Trell had made, sharpened sticks and stone wedges tied to branches, weren't pretty, but they worked. The soil came up easily, dark and rich, and the scent of mana-laced earth drifted into the air like the promise of something new.

James focused on loosening the soil in one of the squares when he noticed Ollen kneeling a little farther down the line. The young man was quiet as always, brow furrowed as he turned a handful of dirt in his palm. He set a sprout down, then paused. Shifted it an inch to the left. Then frowned and moved it again, slightly deeper this time. He blinked, surprised. Then he moved to the next plant… and did the same careful adjustment. James tilted his head. That wasn't random. That was instinct.

"Lumen," James murmured. The familiar drifted down.

"Yes?"

"Look at Ollen. He's not just guessing." Lumen hummed, intrigued.

"His mana is… responding. Subtly." At that moment, Ollen inhaled sharply, hand pressed to his chest. A small, translucent screen flickered faintly in front of him. James stepped over.

"Ollen? What happened?" Ollen looked up, startled but excited.

"I... I got something. A message." He swallowed, almost afraid to believe his own words.

"I just… I felt where the plant wanted to be. How deep. How far from the others." He paused, breath shaky.

"It told me." James smiled.

"What's the skill?" Ollen read the glowing words again before whispering:"Seedbed Sense… Novice." A perfect fit. James clapped his shoulder.

"Congratulations. That one's special." Color rose in Ollen's cheeks. He ducked his head and got back to work, now with unmistakable confidence. Every time he planted a sprout, his hand hesitated only a moment before shifting it into the exact spot he felt was right. The soil seemed to welcome his touch. Together they loosened the soil, turning it over in neat squares. James knelt with Ollen while Elira and the two women worked opposite them. Weeds came out first, pulled in handfuls and tossed aside.

Then came spacing, each small square cleared for a particular plant, arranged with more care than James had ever given his houseplants back on Earth.

"Make sure the roots are fully covered," James said, demonstrating.

"Not too deep. Not too shallow. Gentle pressure." Ollen nodded, copying his motion with surprising precision. Elira crouched a little ways off, murmuring kindly to her clump of glowing herbs as she nestled them into the earth. Every so often, those herbs answered with a faint hum. James wiped sweat from his brow.

"We're going to need water here regularly," he said.

"Rogan, Kerrin, could you two grab the buckets and fetch some from the river?" Kerrin hesitated, glancing toward Elira, worry creasing his brow. Rogan gave a grunt. Kerrin vanished into the forest so fast he nearly left part of his wrap behind. Rogan snorted and followed at a more reasonable pace. James shook his head fondly, then drove a simple trench into the ground between planting squares.

"One day," he murmured, "we'll get a real irrigation system running. Channels. Maybe something more fancy. But for now, this'll keep the water from flooding everything." Lumen drifted beside him.

"Your mind never stops building, does it?"

"I don't know how to stop," James admitted.

"Feels like the village keeps growing in my head before it's even built." Elira knelt by one of the more wilted plants, its leaves drooped from the rough journey and lack of water. She placed her hand over it, breath slow and steady. Soft green light shimmered beneath her fingers. The plant perked up. Then another. And another. By the fourth one, Elira's hands trembled and her face paled. James crouched beside her instantly.

"Hey. That's enough. You're burning yourself out."

"I'm fine," she protested weakly, right before nearly toppling sideways. James caught her shoulder.

"Elira, no overextension. Not on day one." She puffed out a breath and sat back on her heels.

"I just… I wanted to see if I could do it."

"You can," James said firmly.

"Doesn't mean you should do it four times in a row." Elira rested, simply stroking the leaves of a plant with one finger while whispering to it. The hum of response was softer now, comforting. After a few minutes, she perked up again and immediately reached for another plant.

"Elira," James warned. She grinned, mischievous and bright.

"Just one more. I leveled up." James blinked.

"You... Already? Elira!" She stuck out her tongue like a playful child. James opened his mouth to scold, but Rogan's voice carried through the trees.

"We've got water!" Rogan and Kerrin emerged with sloshing buckets, sweat-soaked and breathing hard. Kerrin nearly tripped on a root but corrected himself, trying to look dignified. Emphasis on trying. They poured water slowly onto each square. The soil drank greedily. Leaves perked. Mana threads shimmered faintly beneath the surface. The entire group, six villagers and one architect from another world, stood staring down at the patch of earth.

Maybe James was imagining it, but it felt like the plants were staring back. Hopeful. Expectant. Maybe a little smug. James clapped his hands lightly, breaking the reverent silence.

"Elira. Ollen." The two stepped forward.

"You two have the beginnings of real skill for this," James said.

"From now on, this garden is your responsibility." Elira's eyes widened. Ollen stiffened, then nodded firmly.

"Our goal," James continued, "is to make this garden thrive and grow. We need greens, vegetables, herbs, anything you can find. Even berries. We can't rely on foraging alone. We need food we can grow ourselves." Elira touched one of the leaves lovingly.

"I'll make it flourish." Ollen cleared his throat.

"I'll… keep things organized. And, uh… make sure nothing eats them."

"That's the spirit, I want anything that can benefit our tribe," James said, proud. Then Lumen zipped suddenly to James's ear.

"Did you hear yourself?" the familiar chirped.

"Hear what?"

"You said our village. Our tribe." James froze. He replayed the words. Oh. He had said that. He rubbed the back of his neck.

"I guess I did…" Lumen hummed with smug triumph.

"Acceptance is healthy. I approve." James shook his head, pretending he wasn't smiling.