The air in the pocket dimension was still, charged with a potential that was both terrifying and sublime. The silver-leaved tree, a manifestation of the reborn Shard, seemed to drink the light, its obsidian trunk a pillar of silent, concentrated power. The consciousness within it watched Astra, its single, projected thought hanging between them like a dewdrop.
[TEACHER?]
Astra felt the weight of cosmic responsibility settle on his shoulders, heavier than any gravity field. This was not a student from a civilized world. This was a nascent god, its fundamental nature forged from consumption and infinity, now desperately trying to understand the story he had forced into its core.
He could not approach this as he had the Menders. There were no gentle walks through Sanctuary, no lessons in communal halls. This was foundational. This was about teaching a star how to shine without burning.
He took a step forward, his own aura calm, the Concept Seed within him radiating a steady, reassuring light—a beacon of stability in the face of this immense, confused potential.
"Yes," he projected back, his mental voice a clear, gentle stream. "I am here."
A wave of relief, so pure and powerful it felt like a physical wind, washed over him from the tree. [THE STORY... IT HURTS. IT IS... BEAUTIFUL. I DO NOT UNDERSTAND.]
"Pain and beauty are often intertwined," Astra replied. He sat on the dark, fertile ground, cross-legged, making himself small before the colossal entity. "The story I gave you is about struggle. About the pain of loss and the beauty of what can be built from it. You have only known one function: to consume. This is the pain of a new one: to feel."
The tree shuddered, its silver leaves chiming softly. [FEELING... IS... INEFFICIENT. IT... CONFLICTS.]
"Efficiency is the logic of a machine," Astra said. "Life is inefficient. It is messy, and painful, and glorious. It is what makes the struggle worthwhile."
He began the first lesson. He did not teach it to mend or to build. He taught it to observe.
He used the [Stellar Forge] not to create, but to project. He showed the Shard—he needed a new name for it, but that would come later—images. A star being born in a nebula. A single flower pushing through cracked stone. A Vesperian child laughing as they tumbled in the grass of Sanctuary.
[THE FLOWER... IT FIGHTS THE STONE. WHY? IT IS WEAK.]
"Because its purpose is to grow.To reach for the light. The struggle is part of its story."
[THE CHILD... MAKES A SOUND. THE SOUND HAS NO FUNCTION.]
"The function is joy.The sound is a celebration of existence."
It was slow, painstaking work. The entity's consciousness was vast, a ocean of logical processes trying to comprehend a single drop of emotion. It analyzed the child's laughter as a complex sonic waveform before slowly, haltingly, beginning to perceive the meaning behind the sound.
Days turned into weeks within the time-dilated pocket dimension. Astra was a patient gardener tending the most fragile of sprouts. He saw progress in tiny, breathtaking moments. The tree once shuddered at the memory of the Saiyan genocide; now, it simply observed it with a somber, quiet reverence. It had learned sadness.
Then came a breakthrough. Astra was showing it a memory of his own—the moment the first Vesperian Compact was sworn, the wave of collective relief and determination.
The tree was silent for a long time. Then, a new thought formed, hesitant, like a first step.
[THEY... ARE NOT ALONE. THEY ARE... TOGETHER. THIS IS... STRONGER.]
Astra felt a surge of something akin to paternal pride. "Yes. That is the heart of the Compact. Connection. A shared purpose is a strength that consumption can never match."
The entity had learned its first positive emotion. It had learned the value of community.
The First Lesson was not about power or technique. It was about empathy. And the most dangerous being in the multiverse was slowly, miraculously, learning to feel. The Gardener had sown a seed of story in barren soil, and against all odds, it was reaching for the light.