The sensation of dimensional translocation was not unpleasant. It felt like being gently dissolved into motes of light, carried on a current of pure potential, and then reassembled with a soft pop.
Ren found himself standing not on a mountain peak, but on a floating island of rich, dark earth under a sky swirling with nebulae of every conceivable color. The air was perfectly neutral, holding no scent and a comfortable, even temperature. A handful of other, similar floating islands dotted the vast, star-dusted space around him, each one empty and waiting.
[Welcome to the Proving Grounds of the Genesis Bloom!] the System screen announced cheerfully. [This pocket dimension has been generously provided for the competition. Please proceed to the designated contestant waiting area.]
A glowing path of light appeared, leading from his island to a much larger, central island that served as a sort of celestial town square. Ren, seeing no other option, began to walk. His Farm-Drake had vanished during the translocation, presumably sent back to the farm. He was alone.
As he reached the central island, he saw that he was not the first to arrive. A bizarre and eclectic group of beings was gathered, each one radiating an aura of immense and unusual power. This was not a gathering of mortals; this was a convention of cosmic powerhouses.
There was a being who appeared to be a woman woven from pure starlight, her form constantly shifting and shedding glittering dust. Nearby, a hulking golem made of living, crystalline rock was silently meditating, small flowers blooming and withering on its shoulders with every breath. A small, furry creature with six arms juggled orbs of pure energy, while a shadowy figure with a featureless face seemed to absorb the light around it. This was the competition.
They all turned to look as Ren approached. Their gazes were ancient, powerful, and analytical. They saw a young man in simple farmer's clothes, carrying a rusty-looking sickle. He looked utterly, hopelessly out of place. Several of them dismissed him with a glance.
"Another one?" the starlight woman's voice chimed, like a thousand tiny bells. "The Primordial One's tastes are certainly... rustic... this cycle."
The rock golem opened one glowing geode-eye. "The scent of simple soil. Quaint."
Ren, feeling a bit awkward, just gave a small, friendly wave.
Before any further introductions could be made, a booming, cheerful voice echoed through the pocket dimension—the voice of the Bored Primordial Entity.
[Greetings, Cultivators, Shapers, and Gardeners of the Great Beyond! Welcome to the main event!] the voice announced. [The rules are simple! Each of you will be assigned an island. On that island, you will find a set of five 'Genesis Seeds.' These seeds are pure potential. Your task is to use your unique skills to cultivate them. You will be judged on three criteria: Vitality, Originality, and the all-important 'Wow Factor'! The winner gets ultimate bragging rights and a shiny trophy! The losers... well, let's not dwell on that!]
As the Entity spoke, a being glided into the center of the gathering. It was the Overmind's champion. It was a tall, slender creature, vaguely humanoid but clearly insectoid, with a shimmering, iridescent carapace and large, multifaceted eyes. It moved with an unnerving, fluid grace. It was a 'Spore-Shepherd,' a being whose entire purpose was to cultivate and evolve the parasitic, life-consuming fungi of the Blight. It looked at Ren, and its multifaceted eyes seemed to narrow in cold, calculated recognition. This was its rival.
[Now, take your islands! The competition begins... NOW!] the Primordial Entity boomed.
Each of the contestants was instantly teleported to their own floating island. Ren found himself back on his plot of dark, rich earth. In the center, a small, ornate box sat waiting for him. He opened it. Inside lay five seeds, each one a perfect, shimmering sphere of opalescent light, humming with limitless potential.
[New Item Acquired: 'Genesis Seed' (x5)]
[Quality: ???]
[Description: A seed of pure, conceptual potential. It will become whatever the cultivator wills it to be, reflecting their truest nature and skill.]
Ren looked at the seeds, then across the void at the other contestants. He could see the starlight woman weaving nebulae into her soil. The rock golem was coaxing giant, luminous crystals from the earth to act as focusing lenses. The Spore-Shepherd was extruding a web of shadowy mycelium, corrupting its own island's soil into a fertile bed for its horrifying fungi. They were all performing acts of grand, cosmic power.
And Ren... Ren was a farmer.
He took a deep breath. He wasn't a reality-shaper or a star-weaver. He didn't know how to create cosmic horrors or crystalline wonders. He only knew how to do one thing.
He knelt down and began to prepare his soil. He didn't use magic. He used his hands, breaking up the clumps, feeling the texture, aerating it. He focused on the simple, honest work. He thought about his home, about Oakhaven, about the taste of a fresh tomato and the smell of clean rain.
He took the first Genesis Seed. He didn't try to force a grand concept onto it. He simply imbued it with the purest, simplest idea he held dear: the concept of a home. Of a welcoming, safe place.
He planted it and patted the soil gently.
The other contestants were already achieving spectacular results. The starlight woman had grown a tree whose leaves were swirling galaxies. The Spore-Shepherd had a crop of pulsating, sickly-glowing spore pods that pulsed with a terrifying psychic energy.
From Ren's island, a single, humble structure began to grow from the earth. It wasn't a cosmic tree or a magical wonder. It was a small, cozy-looking shack, almost identical to his own back on Aethelgard. Its walls were made of sturdy, living wood, its roof of broad, waterproof leaves. A thin tendril of smoke, smelling of a welcoming hearth, curled from a chimney made of smooth river stone.
The Primordial Entity, watching from its cosmic throne, leaned forward, intrigued. [A house? He's growing a house? Interesting...]
Next, Ren took the second seed. He thought about community, about sharing food with friends. He planted it. From the ground grew a long, rustic wooden table, surrounded by simple, sturdy chairs. The table instantly laden itself with spectral, shimmering images of all the food Ren had ever created: the 'Sunstone' bread, the 'King's Melon,' the simple porridge he had shared with a knight.
The third seed, he imbued with the idea of peace and rest. From it grew a single, perfect 'Harmony Tree,' its silvery blossoms chiming a gentle, calming melody that drifted across the void.
The fourth seed, he filled with the concept of companionship and loyalty. It sprouted into a perfect, silent, watchful replica of Lyra, carved from shadow-wood, standing guard by the door of the shack. Then another construct of Ser Kaelen appeared, standing steadfast by the table. Then Borin, Elara, and the other villagers, all silent, welcoming figures made of earth and leaf.
He had not just grown plants. He had grown a memory. He had recreated his home.
For the final seed, he looked at his creation: the house, the table of food, the tree, the friends. It was all there. But it was missing one thing. He smiled, picked up the last Genesis Seed, and imbued it with the simplest, most powerful concept of all: a warm welcome.
He planted it by the "door" of his plant-shack. It grew into a simple, beautiful doormat made of soft, living moss. Woven into the moss in glowing, friendly letters were two simple words:
WELCOME HOME.
The effect was subtle, but profound. A wave of pure, unadulterated peace, contentment, and the feeling of a warm, welcoming home washed out from Ren's island. It was not an attack. It was an invitation.
The starlight woman faltered in her nebula-weaving, a pang of ancient loneliness striking her. The rock golem paused its work, a feeling of stillness it hadn't felt in millennia washing over it. Even the Overmind's champion, the Spore-Shepherd, hesitated, its multifaceted eyes staring at the cozy scene, a concept so alien to its nature of parasitic consumption that it caused a momentary short-circuit in its psychic consciousness.
Ren had not tried to compete with their grand, cosmic displays. He had not tried to be a god or a reality-shaper. He had simply been a farmer, and he had cultivated the single most powerful, most original, and most miraculous thing in the entire multiverse: a home.
The Bored Primordial Entity stared at the scene, a slow, cosmic smile spreading across its non-existent face.
[Well,] it broadcast to the Overmind. [That's a 'Wow Factor' if I've ever seen one. Your move.]
The cosmic farming competition was far from over, but Ren, with his simple, heartfelt harvest, had just completely changed the rules of the game.