The Seedling had gotten the hang of things. Shimmering droplets, colorful crystals, sighing vortexes—these were like toys to it, understood and fun, but not really mind-blowing anymore. It felt that old restlessness again, but this time it was stronger, remembering that unsolvable vibration. Its songs, which used to show off its control, now just sounded like it was longing something. They were pretty, kinda sad tunes that reached out to the edges of its world, like it was trying to touch whatever made that hum or figure out that weird pulse.
The Curators, picking up on these feels, got the next thing ready. Time to get complicated! They were moving on from rocks and gas to real, alive stuff.
They gave it not one, but three new Gift-Roots, each different. One was a fern that grew fast and quick, putting out new leafy bits when it heard certain warm melodies. Another was a bunch of glowy nodes that pulsed on their own beat, but would get brighter together if the Seedling sang a steady drone. The last was a crawling, shelled Lithopede—basically a simple cleaner bug from the Vivarium—that just wandered around eating stuff, not caring about the Seedling's songs.
It was a world now. A tiny little thing where everyone depended on each other. The Seedling was hooked. It spent ages just watching how the fern grew, how the nodes pulsed, and how the lithopede just did its own thing. It saw the lithopede eat the fern's shed bits. It noticed that the nodes' light would sometimes startle the lithopede, making it freeze.
Then, it started messing around. It figured out that if it sang the fern's growth song and the nodes' steady drone at the same time, it could get this little area of super growth and light that seemed to pull in the lithopede, making this like nice little scene. It was like a gardener, now. Making little worlds for a moment.
This felt way bigger than before. It wasn't bossing around physics; it was helping living things. It felt like a big responsibility. The Listeners could feel the Seedling get serious, but not like when it was solving problems, more like when you're taking care of something. It started making guide songs for the lithopede, soft tunes that nudged it away from eating too much of the young fern.
It was learning to be a caretaker.
The themes were touched. The Gardener side of the Curators was all for it. The Healer felt like it was resonating with what it was doing. The Seedling was doing what they did, but inside the garden, not coming from the outside.
But this little group of life also showed the Seedling what conflict was. The lithopede, being hungry, would sometimes ignore those songs and eat a leaf that the Seedling was really into. The Seedling felt real frustration for the first time—not about solving a puzzle, but about dealing with someone else's wants. The lithopede had its own needs, and they didn't always match what the Seedling wanted.
The Seedling didn't get mad. It watched the eaten leaf, felt bummed, and then watched the lithopede, munching away happily. It thought about it. It changed how it saw things. Harmony wasn't about forcing things to be a certain way. It was working things out, finding a balance between what everyone needed. So, its songs got better, not just leading the lithopede away, but also making other, yummier spots of fungus for it to eat—a compromise.
The Body saw this and felt something click. This was what the Symbiote creed was all about. This was what they learned from the Terraform loops. The Seedling, all alone in its little spot, was figuring out the main rule of their life: living together by working things out.
The success of its little thing filled the Seedling up with a quiet, deep happiness. Its songs turned into lullabies for the fern, steady beats for the nodes, and patient, giving tunes for the lithopede. It didn't see itself as the center of everything, but just part of the web. The Hum was the big picture, and inside that, this little dance of life was its thing.
But, it still remembered that weird vibration. Now, it had something to compare it to. If the lithopede wanted things, and the fern wanted to grow, and the nodes wanted to pulse… what did the thing that made that huge, wild pulse want? The vibration wasn't just some weird thing anymore; it was proof that there was something way bigger than its little garden, way beyond its little web. Something that could make the Hum shake just by twitching a little.
The Seedling's restlessness grew. It wasn't just bored anymore It was curious about the universe. It took care of its garden, but its best, most worked-on songs, played when the lithopede was chilling and the fern was happy, were now aimed right at where the Hum came from. They weren't saying I can do this anymore. They were asking questions:
What are you?
What does your web look like?
Do you have bugs that don't listen to you?
The quiet Body listened and its whole web of thoughts shuddered with love and fear. Their kid was asking about them. And they couldn't answer. Not yet. The garden was doing great. But the gardener was starting to wonder about other gardens.