At night, the hailstorm started up again, lasting until midday before turning into a torrential downpour with strong winds. The rain pounded down for two full days. During that time, we each stuck to our own routines. Rue mostly napped on his beanbag, occasionally watching TV. Al split his time between the greenhouse and his lab, busy with his experiments. Mahya disappeared into her workshop after asking for four of the giant wheels I’d picked up in Vegas, along with most of the other car parts I had stored. I almost kissed her—I was so relieved to get rid of all that junk. As for me, I dove into experimenting with the new fruits and vegetables I’d gathered.
The Lemavo turned out to be just an avocado with a hint of lemon—nothing surprising there. The Ghost Wheat, though, was interesting. It looked like regular wheat, but when I cooked the grains, they had a flavor somewhere between wheat and buckwheat. I slow-cooked it with beef and red potatoes, letting it simmer for hours, the result was delicious and hearty—perfect for the miserable weather outside. Still, I had around thirty to forty sacks of the stuff, so cooking it all as grains wasn’t an option.
I was determined to figure out how to grind the wheat. When we shopped around Earth, I bought up everything that didn’t run on electricity. I ended up with over twenty hand-cranked carbon steel grain mills—old-school and reliable, or so I thought. Feeling optimistic, I took one out and started grinding. Within minutes, it was clear that I wasn’t a master miller. Instead of flour, I had a mess of wheat pulp.
After letting loose a string of curses impressive enough to rival Mahya’s finest, I went digging through the books for answers. Turns out, there’s more to milling wheat than just cranking a handle. The books explained that the wheat needed to be properly dried first, around 12-14% moisture, or else it just wouldn’t grind right. And then, it had to be ground slowly and evenly, keeping an eye on the texture until it turned into a fine powder.
Apparently, patience and technique were key—two things I hadn’t exactly considered before diving in.
After another very impressive chain of curses—at least, in my humble opinion—I started thinking about how to dry the wheat. I had a Heat spell, sure, but how the hell was I supposed to get it down to 12-14% moisture? With no clue where to start, I went to find Al. He was the one growing plants and brewing potions, so I figured if anyone knew how to get the moisture levels right, it’d be him.
I found Al in his greenhouse, inspecting some plants that looked like they had teeth. I didn’t even know where the hell he got those damn odd things and didn’t want to. “Hey, Al, got a minute?”
He didn’t look up, but grunted. “In case you require any plants or potions, please return at a later time.”
“Not quite.” I crossed my arms, leaning against the doorway. “I’ve got wheat. And a problem.”
That got his attention. He straightened up, wiping his hands on a cloth. “Wheat? What sort of problem?”
“I need to dry it to 12-14% moisture before I can mill it properly, but I have no idea how to measure that. I have a Heat spell, but I am guessing just roasting it will not work.”
Al looked at me as if I had grown two heads. After a moment, he shook his head. “I know nothing about wheat, but I can tell you how I dry herbs, if that helps.”
I rubbed my chin, considering. “Sure, anything is better than nothing.”
Al set down the plant he had been inspecting and walked over to a small drying rack filled with leaves. “For herbs, I use low heat and consistent airflow. I have this apparatus set up where warm air flows through, drying them slowly without cooking or burning.” He tapped the rack. “It keeps the moisture low without turning everything to ash.”
I frowned. “Alright, but that is for herbs. Wheat must be different, right?”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps, but the principle remains the same. You need even, controlled heat. Instead of simply applying your Heat spell directly, cast it at a low intensity over a wider area and combine it with airflow to circulate the air evenly.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And what about the moisture level?”
He paused, thinking. “I have a mana sensor I use for potion brewing. We can modify it to measure the moisture levels in the wheat. It might not be precise, but it will provide a close estimate. We will just need to calibrate it accordingly.”
I sighed, feeling a bit of relief. “Alright, that sounds like a plan.”
He led me into his lab and grabbed an instrument—which looked like the unfortunate offspring of a hedgehog and a compass—and fiddled with it for over half an hour. Finally, he handed it back to me. “Try this. When both dials balanced in the middle, that should be about what you need. At least, I hope so.”
I asked the house to create another room and spread all the wheat across the floor. Splitting my mind, I channeled the Heat spell with one hand while holding the strange contraption in the other. I called for a gentle breeze to circulate through the room, ensuring the air moved evenly over the wheat.
It took me nearly six hours to dry the wheat, but with both dials on Al’s strange device set just right, I hoped the wheat had reached the proper moisture level. By that point, the last thing I wanted to do was grind it. I was thoroughly sick of wheat. Then, a light bulb went off in my head.
“Rue, buddy. Want to help me?”
He lifted his head from the beanbag, opening one eye lazily. “What? Rue resting now.”
“Want to help me make yummy food?”
That got his attention. He perked up. “Rue help John!”
I gathered all the wheat into crates, asked the house for one more metal container, set up the area, and explained the task to Rue. There were moments in the past when I thought it was a mistake to buy telekinesis for a dog, but this time, it felt like the best idea ever. I worked alongside him for an hour, using another grinder, until I got fed up and left him to it.
Three hours later, Rue trotted over, his voice full of accusation. “It not yummy!”
I scratched his ears. “Right now, it’s not. But with the flour, I can make cakes, pies, pastries, pancakes, and so many other things.”
His ears perked up, and he zoomed back to the ‘grinding room.’
Yes! I’m a genius, as Mahya likes to say.
With the wheat under control, I moved on to experimenting with other things. I baked one pie with Glow Pears and another with Dragonfruit Vines, adding raisins, cinnamon, nuts, and sweet cream to both. The results were amazing.
Rue informed me, “Rue work hard. John makes Rue more pie for compensation.”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Al jumped in. “I made the measuring device for you. I also deserve another pie as compensation.”
“Hey!” I protested. “I thought we only had one walking stomach in this party.”
All three of them stared at me with puppy-dog eyes, tongues hanging out. Yes, all three of them—tongues and all.
“Fine,” I sighed. “I’ll make more pie.”
The rain finally stopped, but everything was mud—mud, mud, and more mud. I was not sure that even with our giant wheels, the Jeep could make it until we hit the highway. The balloon was not an option either, with the sky still filled with ominous purple clouds. After some discussion, we decided to wait until either the ground dried up or the sky cleared. According to the Map, on the one day we flew the balloon, we had covered over two-thirds of the distance to the next city. Mahya estimated it would take us four or five hours at most to reach it by balloon—if the sky cleared, that is.
I took advantage of the break in the rain to do something I should have done earlier. I had a spell called Flourish I hadn’t used yet, and this seemed like the perfect place to experiment with it.
I reread the description:
Flourish
Using this spell, the spellcaster can expedite the growth of plants. It can make seeds sprout, flowers bloom, and trees grow taller, thicker, and sturdier. It can be used to grow natural resources quickly, create impenetrable plant barriers, or restore barren environments.
We discovered that if you punctured a small hole at the top of the Hollow Drupes, you could press them and drink the gel that oozed out. The gel had a vibrant, rich color, almost like the juice of a ripe plum, and when it touched my tongue, it was a burst of flavor—a mix between a perfectly ripened plum and a tart raspberry, with a tangy aftertaste that lingered, tingling as it went down. Mahya, Al, and I exchanged glances, nodding in approval as we sipped. It was the kind of flavor that made you smack your lips, craving more.
Rue, though, was less impressed. He sniffed the fruit, his nose twitching, and decided on his own approach—biting straight into the drupe. His jaws crunched down, and he spit out the peel, but not before a jet of juice sprayed out, covering his snout and the floor around him. His ears flattened as he sneezed, the sudden gust scattering droplets everywhere. Mahya laughed, dodging the spray, while Al raised a brow, clearly unimpressed by Rue’s method. “I do not think that is how one consumes it, Rue,” he remarked, but Rue just shook his head, spraying even more juice.
I harvested over two hundred kilograms of the fruit. Despite the abundant harvest, the way Mahya and Al devoured them, I doubted we would have enough to last more than a couple of months. They moved with an efficiency that only food enthusiasts could match, puncturing each drupe, savoring the gel, and tossing the peels into a growing pile.
It was an excellent opportunity to test the Flourish spell. I stood amidst the orchard, the humid air heavy around me, and the branches drooping, their leaves rustling softly. With most of my spells, I simply cast them, allowing them to drain whatever mana they needed, but as I focused on Flourish, a distinct sensation washed over me. I felt a connection with the tree I targeted, as if I could choose where to direct the energy—toward the tree itself, strengthening its structure, or toward the fruit, encouraging it to grow. It was a strange sensation, like discovering an extra layer of control I hadn’t expected.
Curiosity got the better of me. I didn’t cast it right away. Instead, I tested the boundaries, focusing on several trees at once. The feeling was like holding a thread that connected me to each tree, and I could sense the range of my influence. Three trees felt manageable; I could feel the mana tethering to each of them, but when I tried to include a fourth, the tension grew. The spell’s energy wavered, like a stretched rubber band about to snap. My Luck ability kicked in, a sharp sense of warning washed through me. I immediately pulled back, letting the energy settle on just three trees again.
“Interesting,” I muttered to myself. The feeling of risk had been clear, and while the spell whispered I could push it to include the fourth, my instincts—backed by Luck—warned otherwise. Not wanting to tempt fate, I scaled it back even further, targeting just a single tree.
This time, I focused on speeding up the fruit’s growth to full ripeness. The sensation was delicate, like holding an egg without cracking it. I sensed I could do it, but only just. Unlike before, my Luck remained silent, as if giving me the green light. I cast the spell, and a rush of mana surged through me, pouring out like a flood. My mana channels tingled, then burned, the intensity almost unbearable as I gritted my teeth, holding the spell steady. The tree shimmered, its leaves rustling as if caught in a gentle breeze, even though the air was still.
Less than a minute later, the feeling ebbed, and I staggered back, the world tilting. My head spun, and I checked my mana reserves—140 out of 11,700. “Phew,” I breathed, collapsing on my butt. If I had pushed it any further, channeling that much energy into more than one tree, I would have burned through my mana channels and possibly drained my life force. Leaning forward with my head between my knees, I focused on deep breathing until the dizziness subsided.
I knew I needed to recover, so I meditated, focusing on my mana and actively engaging my regeneration abilities. I layered Absorb Mana on top of it, drawing in as much ambient mana as I could. Slowly, my reserves filled up, but it still took nearly three hours before I felt fully replenished. While I was busy restoring my energy, I paid little attention to the tree. Only when I was back to full strength did I glance over, and what I saw made me smile. The tree was bursting with ripe fruit—more than I had seen on it the first time I harvested.
I thought about casting Flourish a second time, tempted to push the limits again, but an uneasy feeling stopped me. This wasn’t like the warning from my Luck or the feedback from the spell. It felt like something else, something more primal. I closed my eyes, reaching out with my senses, trying to understand. It took me another two hours of sitting there, eyes shut, feeling the flow of energy around me, before I finally guessed the source.
It was my Nature Affinity warning me that using the spell repeatedly on the same tree was not wise. Maybe it depleted the tree’s resources, or weakened its structure, or even drained its life force. I wasn’t entirely sure of the specifics, but the message was clear enough—I needed to be careful.
I placed my hand on the trunk, feeling the rough bark beneath my fingers, and tried to connect with the tree’s energy. I pressed my forehead against it, closing my eyes, and tried to sense the flow of life within. For a moment, I felt something—a faint impression, like a whisper at the back of my mind—but then a loud clap of thunder shattered the silence. The sky split open, and rain came pouring down.
Startled, I pulled back and quickly cast my Harvester spell, gathering the ripe fruit and flew home, the wind whipping around me as the downpour intensified.
This time, the rain was brief—less than an hour. Once it stopped, I headed back to the orchard and cast Flourish on the next tree. My mana reserves were almost empty again, so I sat down to actively regenerate until I topped off. It was already getting dark, so I quickly cast the spell on another tree, regenerated just enough to harvest both, and then flew home.
For the next two weeks, I continued the routine, picking between three to seven trees each day. During this period, several hailstorms passed through—one of which caught me outside and left me with bruises all over and two painful lumps on my head. Lucky for me, I was a healer and patched myself up quickly.
When Mahya and Al heard about my experiments with the spell, they joined in. They left the orchard for me and turned their attention to other fields, casting the spell on different crops. At the end of each day, they would tell me where to go to collect the harvest. It became a productive routine, and we coordinated our efforts, covering more ground.
Al brought several plants from his greenhouse and transplant them into the fields at one farm, experimenting with the spell on them.
Over dinner, Mahya said, “Al, you know you can experiment in the greenhouse anytime,” her voice carrying a hint of exasperation. “Right now, we need to focus on increasing our food supply.”
Al straightened, a frown creasing his brow. “But these are important tests. I need to see how they respond to the outdoor environment.”
Mahya crossed her arms, her expression firm. “We need food more than data at the moment.”
After two weeks, I returned to the first tree where I had used Flourish to see if I could cast the spell again. This time, there was no warning. Whether the rapid regeneration was due to the mana or the abundance of water from the rains and hailstorms, it worked. I was pleased—I had learned the spell's limits, progressed it to level 6, and significantly increased our food supply.
Once the last hailstorm passed, the temperatures climbed again to over 30 degrees Celsius, and the sky cleared, not a cloud in sight.
“Let’s take the opportunity to leave here with the balloon, before another storm comes,” Mahya said with a determined tone.
Al and I agreed immediately. We had gathered plenty of food and learned a lot about growing it, but all of us were ready to move on. We were tired of this place.