The greenhouse air was thick, heavy with warmth and moisture. The fresh scent of the herbs filled the air with a crisp, almost peppery bite. Condensation rolled down the slanted glass panels overhead, diffusing the waning sunlight into a soft, green glow. The structure itself was sturdy, built from a combination of wood and reinforced glass, its frame creaking faintly as a breeze pressed against it.

  I walked through the narrow rows, brushing my fingertips over the leaves of the herbs I’d planted during the winter. The greenhouse had been one of the best additions to the farm, though it wasn’t suited for large-scale crops. After several seasons of trial and error, I’d found that rare herbs flourished in the close, humid conditions. I’d cultivated a wide array of these herbs, each chosen with care—ember thistle, with its fiery-red blooms; moonmint, known for its soothing aroma; and silversprig, its leaves paper thin and silvery. Dravender, a deep violet plant with a fragrance that blended floral and herbal notes, grew beside the delicate fronds of luna leaf, whose petals glowed faintly in the twilight.

  Most of them weren’t native to Sagewood’s climate, which made them valuable at the markets—if they ever made it that far.

  More often than not, Maple got to them first. The sprite had a habit of slipping in when I wasn’t around, taking whatever she needed for her cooking. Not that I minded. Maple’s cooking was reason enough to let a few herbs go missing.

  I crouched beside one of the raised planting beds, running my fingers through the dark soil. The herbs were growing fast—faster than usual. Another side effect of whatever was happening to the land. If they kept at this rate, they’d be ready for harvest within the week. Assuming Maple didn’t get to them first.

  Satisfied, I stepped out of the greenhouse and walked toward the fields. I’d seeded them just days before, but already, sturdy green stalks were pushing through the soil, stretching toward the sky.

  As the day waned, the sun hung low, casting long shadows across the fields in a soft, amber light. The warmth of the day lingered, but the cool evening air was starting to settle in, carrying with it the rich scent of the soil. My boots pressed into the ground, the dirt still damp from the afternoon rainstorm I’d unleashed on it earlier via my favorite perk.

  Weatherman.

  The perk let me manipulate the weather on my farm once per day. Simple in theory, but in practice, it was one of the most powerful abilities I had. The moment I unlocked it, I’d spent days testing its limits, summoning everything from blistering heat waves to icy hailstorms, just because I could.

  All it took was a thought—first activating the perk, then deciding what I wanted. A light drizzle over the vegetable fields? Done. A farm-wide blizzard, just to see if I could? Easy. I’d even called down a lightning storm once, purely for the spectacle.

  By far, Weatherman was one of my most useful perks. More than that, it made me feel like some kind of weather-wielding sorcerer. I’d banish snow and ice on the coldest days of winter, then call it back again on the hottest summer days just to watch it swirl through the fields for a few minutes. Did I sometimes abuse the power? Of course. But when you can summon a thunderstorm with a thought, it was hard to resist a little fun.

  I crouched down, fingers brushing the soil, feeling for weeds that had snuck through the rows. There was a quiet satisfaction in pulling them up before nightfall, like I was guarding the land, making sure nothing could take root before dawn. Lately, there had been a surplus of weeds, but I’d been vigilant in keeping the fields clear so they wouldn’t get too out of hand.

  I moved from one row to the next, inspecting each plant carefully. A few days prior, I’d planted corn, a crop from my original home planet. The stalks were already tall, almost reaching my midsection. Thanks to my other special farming perks, and probably a few other strange things outside of my control, the crops were flourishing. The leaves looked healthy—dark green, no signs of yellowing or pests. I nodded to myself, feeling that small surge of pride that always came when I saw my plants thriving.

  Despite the strangeness going on, I was actually a little excited about the speed with which the plants were growing. I inspected one of them, and familiar words shimmered into existence over the corn crop.

  Corn

  Days until harvest: 25

  I wiped the sweat from under my straw hat. Even though temperatures were climbing higher every day, I didn’t find the heat unpleasant. It was the kind of heat that made you feel alive, connected to the ground beneath your feet. I paused by a different grouping of the corn crop, lifting a few leaves to check for any signs of blight or pests. So far, so good. The tiny green buds were just starting to show, and I couldn’t wait until they ripened. I always saved a few ears to make popcorn, a favorite tradition among my family. I straightened up, stretching my back and breathing in the clean air as I turned back to admire the crop once more, unable to help myself.

  I ran my hand along one of the stalks. The texture was firm but smooth, the ridges distinct under my fingers. The smell—the unmistakable sweetness of fresh corn—mingled with the evening Spring air.

  I marveled at the perfection of it. This wasn’t just a crop—this was bounty. Abundance. Each plant represented the minutes of my life I’d sacrificed for its care and growth.

  The rows stretched endlessly, each plant seemingly more vivacious than the last, and I couldn’t help but feel pride swell inside me. It was as if the land had rewarded me, as if every seed I had planted had decided to show its fullest potential.

  Sometimes, I wondered if the crops knew how much I cared about them, how much of myself I poured into this land. It had taken me a few years to learn that I wasn’t just farming—I was part of something bigger. The plants were living, growing things, and not only did farming help the land, but it also helped so many people in Sagewood. The Inn and the market had been exclusively buying my produce for years now, and I knew local markets bought from my dropbox. This life was hard, sometimes, but it was also truly rewarding.

  There were still hours of work ahead—tending the crops, checking for any signs of disease, maybe a little more weeding—but that didn’t bother me. This was where I belonged, out in the open, hands in the dirt, surrounded by life.

  I turned to look back down the row I had just finished, and I froze. The corn seemed... taller. Just a bit, but enough to catch my eye. Frowning, I stood and measured it against my body like I had before. Had it grown? An inch, maybe two? That didn’t make any sense. I glanced down at the soil, still freshly disturbed from where I’d pulled weeds from moments ago. My eyes narrowed as small green buds pushed their way through the soil.

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  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered under my breath. Tiny green shoots were already squirming their way out of the dirt, replacing the weeds I had just yanked out minutes ago. My frustration flared.

  I bent back down and ripped them out again, working my way through the row with an annoyed intensity, muttering curses as I went. After about fifteen minutes of this, I stood up to inspect my work, wiping sweat from my brow. But what I saw made me gasp.

  The corn had grown. Not just a little—it was noticeable. In the time I had spent fighting the weeds, the stalks had stretched higher, their leaves fuller. I stared, dumbfounded, as the field seemed imbued with unnatural, accelerated growth.

  A single leaf unfurled before my eyes, revealing a bud that looked far too mature for this stage. I reached out, snapped it off, and peeled back the layers. Inside was an ear of corn, nearly ripe—impossible for how little time had passed.

  “How...?” I muttered, my confusion mounting. It felt like I was watching the world fast-forward like time was bending, propelling the crop forward at an unnatural pace. At this rate, the corn would be fully ready by morning, maybe sooner.

  I focused on another plant and pulled up the stats, double-checking.

  Corn

  Days until harvest: 5

  “That’s… not normal,” I whispered, unease creeping in as the crops continued to grow before my eyes. Something was deeply wrong. Yes, the strange plant growth and tremors had been unsettling, but this was something else entirely. I stood frozen, horrified, as I watched the plants writhing unnaturally, stretching a few more centimeters within mere minutes.

  A flicker of movement caught the edge of my vision, and I instinctively tensed, spinning toward the source. I reached my hand back to grab my sword but stopped as I saw who it was.

  Rock and Ivy were heading south together, their silhouettes barely visible against the fading light. Ivy gave me a quick wave, her usual cheer evident, but something about Rock seemed off.

  Rock was a sprite of very few words, but this silence felt different. As he passed me, I caught a glimpse of his face, and as good as he was at hiding his emotions, I could tell something was different about him. His expression mirrored the unease that gnawed at me.

  “Hey!” I called. “Is everything all right?”

  They halted, turning slowly to face me. A quick, unreadable glance passed between them, like they were sharing something I wasn’t meant to know. Rock’s face was drained of color, as if something had upset the normally steady sprite. He looked visibly ill.

  “Of course,” Ivy replied, her voice tinged with something unsaid. “Why wouldn’t we be all right? Everything’s fine. Totally fine.”

  “Rock,” Rock said, his tone clipped, as if forcing the word through gritted teeth.

  We stood there for a moment, the air between us heavy with unspoken tension. Then, without another word, they turned and continued south, leaving me with a feeling I couldn’t shake—they’d seen something out there. Maybe it was as strange as the plants before me, but it seemed worse. One thing was certain—if the sprites were hiding something from me, it had to be big. Something dangerous. And whatever it was, it was well beyond my ability to control.

  Turning back to the corn, I tried to shake off the growing sense of unease. The plants seemed to have settled, their rapid growth slowing, almost as if my watchful eye had forced them into stillness. Crouching down, I tore out another clump of weeds that had already pushed through the soil. My hands worked on autopilot, pulling stubborn roots free, while my thoughts raced in every direction.

  What did this mean? If the crops kept growing at this pace, I’d have a full harvest by tomorrow. That should’ve been a blessing, something to celebrate, but it didn’t feel right. The land was changing—too quickly, too unnaturally. And that meant trouble, not just for me, but maybe for all of Sagewood. What had Rock and Ivy seen out there in the forest?

  Over the years, my sprite companions and I had stood against all manner of challenges and monsters, and there wasn’t much left that could rattle them. But Rock had looked... afraid. Truly afraid, in a way I hadn’t seen in a long time. I shook my head, pushing the thought away, trying not to dwell on it. The sprites were more than capable of defending me and my farm.

  I glanced at the farmhouse in the distance, where my family was likely preparing dinner, unaware of what was happening in the fields. If this strange growth continued, if it spread beyond my farm... what would it mean for my wife and kids? For the town?

  The ground beneath me shifted slightly, the faintest tremor rippling through the soil. It could’ve been my imagination, but I wasn’t so sure anymore. I stood very still, straining my senses, but now the world around me seemed eerily quiet. Shrugging, I bent back down to clear the sprouts that had unfurled before me within the past few minutes.

  Pulling up the last of the weeds, I stood, wiping the dirt from my hands as I surveyed the field. The corn was almost as tall as me now, the rapid growth happening in mere minutes as opposed to the weeks it should’ve taken. I had to figure this out—what was causing it, and what it meant for all of us. Because if the farm was changing, the rest of Sagewood might not be far behind.

  And I wasn’t sure we were ready for what was coming.

  The evening deepened around me, shadows stretching long across the field as I yanked yet another weed from the soil, only to watch in frustration as two more sprouted in its place. I worked faster, pulling at the stubborn roots, but each time I cleared a patch, the weeds reappeared, mocking my effort.

  It was like trying to empty a river with a bucket. Futile. I wiped the sweat from my forehead, glancing up at the sky. The stars had begun to pierce through the dimming light, signaling the end of the day. I sighed, defeated. The field wasn’t going anywhere, and these persistent weeds clearly weren’t either.

  With one last glance at the corn, looming and eerie in the twilight, I gave in. “Tomorrow,” I muttered. “I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

  Turning my back on the endless cycle of weeds, I made my way to the house. There was no sense in fighting a battle I couldn’t win tonight.

  I halted mid-step, a thought clawing its way into my mind. The herbs in the greenhouse.

  My stomach tightened. If the fields had been so affected by the night’s unnatural surge of growth, then what would that mean for my other plants?

  I turned on my heel and made for the greenhouse, my boots crunching against the dirt with hurried steps. The moment I cracked the glass door open, a wave of scent rolled over me—sharp, peppery ember thistle, the cool bite of moonmint, the tang of silversprig thick in the air.

  I blinked, my eyes stinging as the dense, sweltering wave of scent crashed over me—pungent, cloying, and nearly suffocating in its intensity.

  The neat, orderly rows of herbs were gone, swallowed beneath a jungle of green. Stalks of dravender stretched tall, their violet blooms pressing against the misted glass ceiling. Creeping tendrils of ember thistle and luna leaf spilled over their planters, weaving together like tangled vines and carpeting the floor in a fragrant mess. The moonmint had erupted like a wild bush, its stiff branches poking through the chaos, while clusters of silversprig had burst from their beds, climbing the wooden supports as if trying to escape.

  This wasn’t growth. This was an invasion.

  “What in the world…” I muttered, stepping back as if the plants might lunge for me next.

  I stood there for a long moment, half-expecting to see the leaves stretch further before my eyes. But for now, they were still, their excessive growth settling into an eerie quiet.

  I exhaled and rubbed my temples. Whatever was happening to the land, it had affected the greenhouse too—but I wasn’t about to start hacking through the herbal wilderness tonight. If the plants decided to shatter the greenhouse in their rampant expansion, I’d deal with it in the morning.

  With a final shake of my head, I pulled the door shut and secured the latch, hoping I wouldn’t wake up to a forest of herbs overrunning my farm.

  I nearly jumped when I passed Woods on my way back to the farmhouse. His presence had a strange, unsettling weight to it, much like the other sprites earlier.

  I called out to him, but he either didn’t hear me or chose not to respond. He kept walking, his steps deliberate, his gaze fixed southward—just like Rock and Ivy before him.

  I watched him fade into the growing darkness, disappearing into the night as if swallowed by it. They were all heading south.

  I frowned, making a mental note to ask them about it in the morning.