The starship glided into Willow Glade as spring sunlight filtered through the canopy of tall willow trees, dappling the ground with gold. But the village's namesake wasn't the issue—instead, it was the orchard on its edge: row after row of apple, pear, and peach trees, their branches bare and gray, not a single blossom in sight. A group of villagers stood among the trees, their faces grim, running their hands over the lifeless bark.
Lin Che landed the starship in a grassy patch beside the orchard, and an older man with a weathered face and a straw hat hurried over. He held a small branch in his hand, its tips brown and brittle. "You're the travelers from Mossy Brook," he said, his voice heavy. "I'm Old Tom—the one who's tended this orchard for 40 years. These trees have bloomed every spring since my pa planted 'em. But this year? Nothing. Not a bud, not a leaf. If they don't bloom soon, we'll have no fruit to dry, no jam to sell. The kids won't have apple tarts for harvest festival… and we'll go hungry come winter."
Xiao Ya walked to the nearest apple tree, her hands glowing soft green. She pressed her palm to the trunk, closing her eyes, and a quiet rustle passed through the orchard—as if the trees were whispering to her. When she opened her eyes, her expression was gentle, not worried. "The trees aren't dead," she said, turning to Old Tom. "They're just tired. The soil under the orchard is hard—dry, even with the spring rain. And there's a layer of old, rotted leaves and branches blocking the roots from getting water and sunlight. The trees want to bloom… they just can't reach what they need."
Old Tom's shoulders relaxed, if only a little. "I thought I was watering 'em enough. Guess I missed the old debris. Pa always said to clear the orchard floor every fall… but last year, my back hurt too bad to do it."
Mo Ying slung her toolbox over her shoulder, already grabbing a rake from the starship's storage. "We'll clear the debris first—rake up all the old leaves and branches. Then we'll loosen the soil around the roots, so water can seep in. Su Qing, can you use runes to help the soil hold moisture? Keep it from drying out again?"
Su Qing flipped open her Arcane Manual, pointing to a page of earth runes. "Runes for nourishment—they'll help the soil retain water and give the trees extra nutrients. Old Tom, do you have a plow or a hoe? We'll need to loosen the dirt gently, so we don't hurt the roots."
Old Tom nodded, calling over his grandson, Jax (named after their friend from Ma Lan's village), a lanky 14-year-old with a wide smile. "We've got a small plow—Jax can help you with it. He's been begging to learn the orchard work."
The villagers joined in quickly. Women and children raked up the old leaves and branches, piling them into carts to burn later. Men helped Lin Che and Jax plow the soil around each tree, their movements slow to avoid damaging the roots. Xiao Ya walked between the trees, her hands glowing—she whispered to the roots, encouraging them to reach for the fresh, loosened soil.
Su Qing knelt beside each tree, carving small runes into the dirt around the trunk—glowing green symbols that sank into the earth, making the soil shimmer faintly. "These runes will keep the soil soft and moist," she said to Old Tom. "Even if we have a dry spell, the trees will get what they need."
By midday, the orchard floor was clear, and the soil was loose and dark. Old Tom fetched a bucket of water, pouring it slowly around an apple tree's roots. Within minutes, a tiny green bud poked through the bark of a branch—small, but bright.
Jax gasped, pointing at the bud. "Look! It's blooming!"
The villagers crowded around, cheering. One by one, more buds appeared—on apple trees, pear trees, peach trees—until the orchard was dotted with green, like stars in the sky. Old Tom knelt beside the first tree, his hand brushing the bud, tears in his eyes. "Pa would've been proud," he said, his voice thick.
That evening, the village hosted a feast in the orchard. They spread blankets on the newly cleared ground, and the women brought loaves of bread, bowls of vegetable soup, and jars of last year's jam (the last of it, they said). Old Tom told stories of the orchard—how he'd played among the trees as a boy, how his pa had taught him to prune the branches, how the harvest festival had once drawn travelers from miles away.
Before they left the next morning, Old Tom handed Lin Che a small wooden box. Inside was a jar of apple seeds—shiny, brown, and plump. "These are from the oldest tree in the orchard," he said. "Plant 'em wherever you go—remind yourself that even when things look dead, new life can grow. And remember: you didn't just fix the trees. You fixed our hope."
Lin Che took the box, running his finger over the seeds. They felt solid, full of life.
They climbed aboard the starship, waving goodbye. Old Tom and Jax stood in the orchard, holding the seed jar, while the other villagers waved from the village square. The trees' buds glowed green in the morning sun, a promise of fruit to come.
Inside the cabin, Xiao Ya placed the seed jar on the dashboard—next to the wooden fish from Mossy Brook, the honey jar from Clover Hollow, and all their other treasures. Su Qing flipped open Li Wei's map, pointing to a village in the south. "Thornfield," she said. "Li Wei's notes say their sheep's wool is thin and brittle—they can't spin it into strong cloth. Winter's still a few months away, but they need good wool to make coats."
Mo Ying grinned, adjusting the starship's controls. "Sheep wool? We fixed fruit trees, fish traps, bees—wool's next. Xiao Ya can talk to the grass they eat, find out why the wool's bad. I'll help check their shelters—maybe they're too cold at night."
Lin Che looked out the window, at the orchard below. The Star Marrow on his wrist glowed softly, matching the green of the tree buds. This was their journey: not fighting darkness, but nurturing life—helping trees bloom, sheep grow strong wool, villages thrive. It was quiet, it was small… but it mattered.
"Thornfield," he said. "Let's go help those sheep."
The starship turned south, toward the horizon. The sun was high, the sky blue, and ahead—another village, another problem, another chance to bring light.
Their journey continued. And it was more alive than ever.