I surveyed my crops, marveling at their immense size and robust greenery. Their massive leaves ballooned out of the field’s boundaries, greedily absorbing every ray of sunshine available. I’d taken a chance on the frostmelons, having never grown them before, and the plants produced were colossal, the whole field looking like a sea of roots, stalks and fronds. Despite being oversized, none of the plants had failed to thrive, every single seed planted now a lush bundle of leaves. Every single one promised a bountiful harvest for me to reap today.

I turned to Woods, who was looking sourly at the plants. “You’re still upset they’ve grown so big?”

Woods nodded, staying silent.

“Well, I’m not. This harvest is going to pay for a new milk cow.”

“You already have six of those,” Woods said, his voice void of emotion, though his features betrayed a hint of worry, “Almost too many, in my opinion.”

“One doesn’t simply have too many milk cows, Woods.”

Woods cocked an eyebrow at me, but didn’t respond, so I continued working.

I shrugged off any concerns the salty sprite had and delved into the harvest. A few oversized plants weren’t about to rattle me, even though a faint voice in the recesses of my mind hinted that this situation wasn’t normal. But then again, many things in this world defied what I thought was ‘normal’.

Picking one of the plants, I began gingerly pushing back the massive leaves and pulling the sapphire-colored melons out from beneath it. Each plant looked as though it harbored four or five melons, all the fruit safely tucked in the bed of leaves. Even with the plants marked growth, I was surprised by its generous yield. The harvested fruits went straight to my dropbox, where they would magically be transformed into money by tomorrow. I still didn’t understand the magic behind the box, but it somehow sold the fruits directly to local markets, leaving me with the funds. The dropbox was also magical in storage capacity, as it didn’t matter how many melons I placed inside, it could always fit more.

As I turned my attention back to the field, I noticed the frostmelon plant I had just harvested was still standing. Back on Earth, this was normal: plants lived on after harvest. However, in this world, plants typically withered away into black dust once their yield was gathered.

“Did I miss one?” I muttered, mostly to myself as I kneeled beside the plant. I scrutinized it thoroughly, a growing sense of unease creeping in.

“It’s probably just a fluke.” Woods said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he narrowed his eyes at me, using the same word I’d used when describing the plants a few days ago. “I told you something was off.”

“What do I do with it now?” I asked, ignoring his use of my own words against me. “Do I leave it? Do you think it’ll produce more fruit if I do?”

Woods uncrossed his arms and ran a hand over the massive leaves of the plant. He knitted his brows together, as if thinking. “I’m not sure. We could wait for a few days and see… but this is concerning. I’ve never seen—”

With incredible speed, the plant turned all of its leaves toward Woods, using them as if it were a mouth, snapping at the sprite. He recoiled just in time, his eyes wide. “What kind of plants are these again?” he asked, turning to me.

“Frostmelons,” I whispered as I watched in horror as the plant slowly uprooted and began moving toward Woods. It stumbled awkwardly on its roots but continued moving toward the sprite. Woods grabbed the bow slung on his back, giving the slow-moving plant a bewildered look before knocking an arrow. He shot it, and the plant careened over, shuddering violently until it stopped moving. It still didn’t shrivel into black dust.

“What just happened?” I asked, my voice cracking slightly.

“I’m not sure. Do you still have the seed packet from when you planted these? Maybe you bought a feral type of plant.”

“Those exist?” I pulled my bag off my shoulders and began rummaging around, pulling out an empty seed bag seconds later. If I still had this old linen pouch in my bag a season later, I really needed to clean out my bag.

Woods and I looked over the seed pouch as I turned it over in my hands several times. Nowhere on the pouch was there a warning that these plants might become sentient upon harvest and start attacking people.

“Well. I guess we’ll just be careful with the next one.” I said, feeling more disturbed than scared. Honestly, a plant couldn’t hurt me or Woods, but it was still unnerving. I glanced at the plant I’d just harvested, an arrow protruding out of its side. It twitched slightly, its leaves shaking unnaturally. I shuddered at the sight.

Woods nodded, taking a few steps away from the field. “I’ll wait back here.” he said, not putting away his bow.

With caution, I approached the next plant, diligently harvesting and double-checking to ensure every fruit was collected before depositing them into the dropbox. Anxiously, I watched, anticipating the familiar disintegrating that had characterized all my previous harvests. To my surprise, nothing happened. The overgrown plant remained. Convinced I must have overlooked some fruit, I searched the plant again, only to find nothing.

Woods and I stared at the frostmelon, waiting expectantly for it to violently uproot itself like the first one, but it remained firmly in place. To be on the safe side, I uprooted it and tossed it onto the first plant, the one that had turned on Woods moments before.

Silently, I proceeded to the next plant. Harvesting proved more challenging with these overgrown plants, their leaves making the process slower.

The third plant followed the same pattern, joining the discard pile with its predecessors.

“Maybe it was just that one,” I mumbled to myself, my voice lowered. “Or maybe it was a mimic.” I hadn't encountered a mimic since my early days of cave exploration, and while it seemed odd for a mimic to produce fruit like regular plants, it remained a plausible explanation.

Woods cleared his throat, interrupting my thoughts. “I have a theory.” He turned toward the forest. “I’ll be right back,” he called, disappearing into the trees.

Continuing my work on the next few plants, I watched each one for a few minutes after harvesting its fruit. Aside from not disappearing in a cloud of smokey dust, the plants displayed no other strange behaviors. I left a few still rooted after harvest, as they seemed harmless.

I had worked through a quarter of the field when Woods returned, accompanied this time by Flint.

Woods stopped outside the field, keeping a distance from the harvested plants that stubbornly hadn’t dissolved yet. He pointed toward the plants, and Flint ambled toward them casually.

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Running his hands over the colossal plants, Flint’s eyes widened behind his spectacles. “These are huge,” he whispered, as if talking to himself. Woods and I watched with anticipation as the sprite wandered among the plants, but they remained in place. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. I blew out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

Turning to Woods, Flint wore a confused expression. “You brought me here just to see these plants?”

“The ones you’re standing in have already been harvested, and they haven’t disappeared yet,” Woods explained, his brow furrowed.

“Oh. That's weird.” Flint said after a pause, once again running his hand over one of the massive leaves that rivaled his own size. “Maybe they’re a different variety?” he offered after a moment.

“That’s what we thought, but the seed pouch doesn't indicate otherwise,” Woods approached one of the plants cautiously, “and a few minutes ago, one of these—" The nearest harvested plant suddenly turned to Woods, its leaves extending as if attempting to grab the sprite. Flint screamed and stumbled away, trying to distance himself from the plants, even though they seemed to be only targeting Woods. This time, he was prepared and sidestepped, deftly avoiding the plant’s grasp. The plant wriggled, attempting to uproot itself but flopped uselessly onto the soil.

I shuddered. Something was seriously wrong with these plants. Woods turned to me, “I think the land has run out of corrupt magic for your plants to feed off of.”

I blinked, trying to process everything. “What makes you think that?” I asked, dreading the answer. Woods had been corrupted for a little over five years now. Ever since Corruption had disappeared, the only way it affected Woods was in his dull coloring. Unlike the other sprites, he sported a gray, washed-out hue, the only indication that he’d ever been corrupted. That, and his uniquely colored purple eye.

I furrowed my brow and considered his explanation for the crop strange behavior. Plants in this world soaked up excess magic, and over the course of five years, we’d seen exponential growth in all of the foliage around Sagewood. This had obviously bothered Woods for a while, but I’d seen it as a positive. Still, there could be other reasons why the plants were targeting Woods. He himself was a splintery person by nature, maybe it had something to do with his personality. I sighed, meeting his eyes, knowing that couldn’t be the case. The rest of the harvested plants had begun wriggling out of the soil, crawling toward Woods with their leaves.

Woods ignored the plants and gestured at the forest around my farm. “The growth in the last five years had been unchecked by any opposing force. Usually nature is balanced, but Corruption hasn’t been around to feed off the excess magic.” He sighed, his shoulders slumping in a rare showcase of emotion, “I’m the only thing corrupt around here, which is probably why the plants are only trying to get me.”

Flint and I exchanged worried glances before I spoke up, “What does that mean for my future harvests then? Will the plants continue to grow larger and larger, eventually reaching a point of being unmanageable?”

Woods shrugged, his gaze fixed on the remainder of my unharvested field. A sense of dread enveloped me as I turned toward the forest, the one Leia and I had planted several years ago. The trees we’d planted together had followed a regular growth pattern until last year. Since then, they had defied all expectations, soaring to heights that should have been impossible for their age. Their trunks had become robust, resembling trees that had been planted five centuries ago rather than just five years. Would they uproot as well, going after Woods? I swallowed hard, thinking through all the ramifications of unchecked, explosive growth I’d seen since Corruption had vanished. “What do we do?” I asked, my voice lowered.

“I’m not sure, but we’ll have to strike a magical balance soon. It seems like the magic of the land has shifted too far in the other direction. Who knows harvests will look like in a year, or five years, or even ten. Luckily, right now the plants seen harmless, but that might not always be the case.” Woods said. As if to prove his point, one of the down plant’s leaves shuddered then drooped, the plant still and unmoving. The other frostmelon plants I had harvested had begun creeping toward Woods, inching ever closer.

Was it possible that these plants might eventually pose a threat to everyone else? Could they become a threat to my family? A knot tightened in my stomach. It was undeniable that Sagewood had transformed into a flourishing oasis of plants over the past few years. The once-positive outlook on the rapid growth over the past few years now seemed ominous in my mind. Would the plants turn against humans? Would they attempt to reclaim fields, homes, even entire villages?

“I’m going to try and find the Forest Spirit. Maybe she has some idea of what’s going on.” Woods said, kicking at the plants that had now dragged themselves to his boots. “Flint, why don’t you stay here and help Matt finish the harvest.”

One of the plants roots had tightened around the toe of Woods’ boot, but he kicked it off easily. He stared warily down at the plant before adding, “I think if you separate them from their roots, they won’t pose a problem.”

Flint and I nodded as Woods departed, disappearing into the forest. Turning to me, Flint wore a worried expression behind his spectacles. “I’ve never seen crop plants behave like this. There are trap plants to the south that snap closed if you accidentally stumble into them, but never on a farm.”

“We have something similar back on Earth too—Venus flytraps. Although they’re quite small, and they only eat bugs.”

“Oh. The ones further south are big. Big enough to eat humans,” Flint added after a moment. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, as if he were remembering something, “Fern says she has a whole garden full of these snapping plants. I wish I could go visit her and see.”

I let out a strained chuckle at Flint’s words. Sometimes, it was easy to forget how unforgiving this world could be. It was far more untamed and magical than the one I had left behind. While that usually held positive aspects, occasionally, I was reminded of its true dangers. Drawing my sword from my bag, I sliced through the harvested plant’s roots, and the leaves fell limp. I stood there for a moment, thinking. Was there anyone in town who might know something about these plants without raising suspicion? My in-laws ran a nursery, and my father-in-law was practically an expert in botany, but involving them might stir up more trouble than it was worth. If this was a one-time thing, I’d only end up causing unnecessary panic.

I glanced at Flint and gestured to the diced-up remains.

“Could you help me gather up all these plants? We’ll put them in my bag for now.”

Flint nodded eagerly and I slid my bag off my shoulders and put in next to him.

“All right, gather up all the leaves and roots of the plants, but only after I cut them up. And make sure you get every piece.” I wasn’t about to take any chances with these plants. Even if they were solely going after Woods, I had my family to protect. Charlie and Lucy often ran barefoot through these fields, even playing hide and seek with the sprites in them on occasion. I shuddered again as I cut through the rest of the harvested plants, trying to pull my mind away from the ‘what-ifs’.

“When do you think Fern and the others will visit again?” I asked Flint as I returned to the harvest.

“Fern told me sometime between spring and summer. Southern sprites don’t like the cold too much, so I think it’ll be closer to summer.” Flint sighed, dusting his hands off after moving the last of the cut plants. “I wish it was sooner though. I miss her—them,” his face filled with color, “all the southern sprites.”

I chuckled, depositing the fruits I’d just pulled into the dropbox. “I miss them too. It’s always fun to have everyone back on the farm.”

We worked through the hours, the field slowly clearing as the sun dipped low. The warmth of the day began to cool, signaling the approach of evening. In the late hours, the familiar sounds of the farm started to emerge. I could hear the low, comforting mooing of my cows from the pasture, a sign they were ready to be taken in for the night. Mixed in was the distinctive whinny of Goldie, my old mare, likely let out of her stall by either the sprites or one of my kids. I didn’t mind. Goldie was the kind of horse you could trust to wander, even outside the gates of the pasture. She’d been with me for years now, and she was the sort that let children ride her bareback and feed her apples right from their hands, never once losing her patience.

Flint paused when he heard Goldie too. He turned to me with a knowing grin. “So, are you planning on riding Goldie in the horse race this year?”

I sucked in a sharp breath. I’d forgotten about the annual spring horse race. A newer tradition in Sagewood, one I had a bit of a love-hate relationship with. It wasn’t that the event wasn’t enjoyable—it was. I’d even won a few years back with Goldie. But the timing couldn’t be worse. Spring was the busiest season on the farm, and taking even a few hours away felt like a luxury I couldn’t afford. Especially right now, with the strange events going on.

I sighed, glancing at the massive pile of plants that still needed to be hidden in my bag. “No, I don’t think I’ll be competing this year. There’s just too much work to be done around here.”

Flint chuckled, clearly amused. “We’ll see what Leia has to say about that.”

He didn’t have to say anything else. The look on his face said it all—he knew, just as I did, that Leia had a way of convincing me to do things I’d sworn off. And judging by Flint’s amused expression, he was already betting that I’d be saddling up for that race tomorrow morning.