Leo's mind was on fire. He'd just had his first interaction with the locals, and it had been terrifying, confusing, and profoundly inspiring. Those elves... they were so pristine, so connected to their environment. It made him feel like a slob, like a walking, talking pile of artificial chemicals. His granola bar had felt like a sacrilege in their presence.
That thought, combined with the endless expanse of fertile, unclaimed land within the dome, coalesced into a single, brilliant idea: agriculture.
If the water was magic, what would the soil do? What kind of life could spring from this untainted earth?
This wasn't just about making money anymore. This was about creating something pure. Something worthy of the place he had stumbled into. And if that pure thing happened to also be extremely valuable, well, that was just a happy bonus.
First thing the next morning, feeling rested and flush with cash, Leo went shopping. He skipped the thrift stores and bodegas and went to a proper, high-end gardening supply center in a nicer part of town. He walked in feeling gloriously out of place in his jeans and t-shirt, a ghost of his old, broke self in this temple of suburban hobbies.
He bought a sturdy trowel, a hand rake, and a small gardening fork. He bought a high-quality watering can—no more clunky bottles. Then he moved to the main event: the seeds.
He walked up and down the aisles, looking at the colorful packets promising bountiful harvests. He didn't know the first thing about gardening, but he was driven by a powerful, unshakeable confidence. He wasn't buying Miracle-Gro or chemical fertilizers. He wouldn't need them. His logic was simple: the magic was in the place itself. Any seed planted in that sacred soil, watered with that life-giving water, would surely flourish beyond its wildest genetic potential. He was the chosen one; his garden would be a miracle.
He picked out seeds for things he recognized and liked: carrots, bright red cherry tomatoes, crisp heads of lettuce, and some strawberries for dessert. He imagined pulling a carrot from that dark, rich soil. A carrot grown in a place untouched by pollution, pesticides, or acid rain. He grinned to himself. A carrot from here could probably cure erectile dysfunction or something. The thought was absurd, but it felt... plausible.
Lugging his haul back to the apartment—his 'base of operations' as he now called it—he prepared for the second phase of his interdimensional business venture. He named it "Project Eden." It felt fitting.
He kitted himself out: tools in a canvas bag slung over his shoulder, watering can in one hand, seed packets in his pocket. Then, he opened the door.
He appeared in the familiar twilight forest, the scent of moss and flowers washing over him. The memory of the silver-eyed elves was fresh in his mind. He needed a spot that was secluded. He couldn't risk them stumbling upon his little farming experiment. He trusted his ability to vanish if they turned hostile—the dome was huge, after all, and he could pop out anywhere along its edge—but he'd rather avoid the confrontation altogether.
He walked for a solid fifteen minutes, heading for a part of the dome far away from the living gate and his initial bottling stream. He found the perfect location: a small, sun-dappled clearing where the canopy overhead was slightly thinner, allowing the gentle, pearlescent light to reach the ground. A tiny tributary of the main stream bubbled nearby, providing a convenient water source. The soil here was dark, loamy, and felt alive to the touch.
He got to work immediately. He used his new tools to turn over the soil, clearing a small, rectangular plot. The earth yielded easily, soft and free of stones. It smelled richer and cleaner than any soil he'd ever encountered. As he worked, he felt a strange sense of rightness, of purpose. He wasn't just taking from this place anymore; he was participating in it, adding to it.
He carefully tore open the seed packets and planted the tiny, promising specks in neat rows, following the rudimentary instructions on the back. Tomatoes here, lettuce there, carrots in the back. He was clumsy and inexperienced, but he worked with a meticulous care he hadn't applied to anything since he'd tried to fix his grandfather's watch years ago.
Finally, he filled his watering can from the nearby streamlet and gave his newly planted garden its first drink. As the crystal-clear Clarity water soaked into the dark soil, Leo could almost feel the latent energy in the ground stir. A spark of life meeting a font of magic.
He stood back, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of a dirt-streaked hand, and looked at his small patch of tilled earth. It was humble. It was tiny. But it was his. It was the first acre of a new world's economy, planted by an unemployed guy from a rundown apartment.
A wide, genuine smile spread across his face. He felt like a king surveying his lands. Now, all he had to do was wait. He had no idea how fast things would grow here, but he had a feeling he wouldn't be waiting long.