A Conversation at the Peak
The journey to Dragon's Peak on the back of the Farm-Drake was silent and swift. The construct flew with an effortless grace, its leafy wings barely rustling as they sliced through the air. Ren felt a sense of profound peace as he soared above the clouds, the patchwork quilt of the kingdom spread out below him. He was not flying to a battle, but to a necessary chore, like mending a fence or pulling a stubborn weed.
He arrived at the jagged, obsidian peak of the mountain as the sun began to set. The air was thin and bitingly cold. The entrance to the Dragon's lair was a massive, cave-like opening, littered with the scorched bones of would-be heroes and treasure hunters from centuries past.
Ren slid off his mount. "Wait here," he told the Farm-Drake, which settled onto a ledge, its tomato-eyes scanning the desolate landscape.
Ren walked into the cavern. The air within was heavy with the scent of ozone, ancient dust, and molten metal. The cavern opened into a vast, cathedral-like chamber, its ceiling lost in shadow. The floor was a sea of treasure—mountains of gold coins, rivers of gemstones, piles of enchanted armor and weapons from forgotten ages. It was a hoard of unimaginable value.
In the center of it all, coiled atop the highest peak of gold, was the Dragon Elder. He was larger here, in the heart of his power, his golden scales seeming to drink in the gloom. The faint, violet light of corruption in his eyes was more pronounced now, a sickly, discordant glow.
Ren ignored the piles of treasure, his gaze fixed on the great beast. "No," he said, his voice calm and clear, cutting through the Dragon's booming tones. "I've come to talk about my tree."
The Dragon let out a dry, rumbling laugh.
"You gave me a gift with poison in it," Ren stated simply. "You broke my trust. And you tried to ruin my home. That wasn't very neighborly."
Ren just shook his head slowly, a look of genuine pity on his face. "You've been sitting on this mountain alone for too long. You've forgotten what's important." He looked around at the vast, cold, lifeless hoard. "All this treasure... it's just a pile of dead rocks. You can't eat it. It doesn't grow. It doesn't bring you joy. It's just... heavy."
The Dragon's eyes narrowed.
"You command fire, yes," Ren conceded. "But you don't understand the soil. You've forgotten how to grow things. And when you forget how to grow, you start to rot from the inside."
This simple, farmer's truth seemed to strike a nerve deep within the ancient creature. For a moment, the violet light in his eyes wavered, and a flicker of his old, golden pride surfaced.
"You're not a king," Ren continued, his voice soft but relentless. "You're just a lonely old lizard who got tricked by a smooth-talking voice in the dark because it promised you things you were too lazy to earn yourself. You didn't even want the power, not really. You just didn't want me to have it."
He opened his great maw, and a torrent of golden, liquid fire, hot as the sun's core, poured down towards Ren.
Ren did not move. He did not raise a shield or prepare a counter-spell. He simply stood his ground, and as the fire was about to engulf him, he stomped his foot once on the cavern floor.
It was not a magical stomp. It was a farmer's stomp, the kind one uses to settle loose soil around a new planting.
But when Ren did it, connected as he was to the very concept of Earth and Growth, the entire mountain shuddered in response. From the stone floor of the cavern, a single, massive root erupted. It was not a normal root; it was a 'Prime Root,' a conduit of the purest life and earth energy from Ren's own domain, brought here through the conceptual network he now commanded.
The Prime Root shot up in front of Ren, meeting the torrent of dragon-fire head-on. It did not burn. It did not sizzle. It simply absorbed the fire. The molten, elemental flames, a force that could level cities, were drawn into the root as if it were a thirsty plant drinking water, turning the raw, destructive energy into harmless nourishment.
The Dragon stopped his assault, his great jaw hanging open in disbelief. His ultimate weapon had been nullified, drunk by a piece of wood.
The Prime Root, now glowing with absorbed fire energy, did not attack. Instead, it gently, almost tenderly, coiled around the Dragon's massive form, not constricting, but holding him in a firm embrace. From the surface of the root, tiny, green shoots sprouted, pressing against the Dragon's golden scales.
These shoots did not carry poison or acid. They carried life. They carried the memory of the 'Sun's Fury' tomatoes, the clarity of the 'Blue-Leaf' carrots, the peace of the 'Moonpetal' beans, and the unshakeable optimism of the 'Sunstone' bread. They were injecting the pure, undiluted essence of Ren's farm—of community, of simple joy, of honest work—directly into the Dragon's ancient, corrupted soul.
The Dragon thrashed, roaring in a mixture of pain and confusion.
The violet light of the Overmind's influence in his eyes began to hiss and sputter, fighting against the encroaching tide of pure, benevolent life. The Dragon was caught in a war being fought within his own spirit.
"I'm not here to kill you," Ren said, his voice echoing in the now-quiet cavern. "That would be a waste. You're a part of this world's ecosystem. You're just... sick. You have a pest problem in your soul."
He placed his hand on the Prime Root. "I'm just helping you weed your own garden."
He poured a final, gentle wave of his will through the root—the same balanced, neutral energy from the 'Seed of Equilibrium.' It was not an attack on the Overmind's corruption, but a simple, absolute reset.
A final, agonized roar tore from the Dragon's throat as the violet light in his eyes was extinguished in a puff of purple smoke, purged from his being. The great beast sagged, the fight going out of him, his massive weight resting in the gentle embrace of the living root.
The Dragon Elder, his eyes once again their pure, original gold, looked at the small farmer standing before him. The arrogance was gone, replaced by a deep, soul-shaking shame and a profound, humbling awe.
Ren had not come to fight a monster. He had come to cure a patient. And he had done it with the most powerful weapon in his arsenal: the simple, unshakeable truth of a healthy garden.