The night after the alley, I didn’t dream of shadows.

  I dreamed of cracks.

  Cracks in walls. In the ground. In Mr. Toshihiro’s hands. Cracks that breathed, that whispered words I couldn’t quite understand.

  When I woke, the Nebenbei was quiet. Not the usual silence before the bazaar opened, but something deeper.

  Mr. Toshihiro didn’t mention what had happened the day before.

  Neither did I.

  But something had changed.

  After witnessing how magic could rot inside the earth itself, I no longer looked at the ground as something unshakable. Even the most solid things could be wounded.

  Perhaps that was why, when Mr. Toshihiro told me I would meet the master of the Earth element, I felt something between anticipation and warning.

  If fire burns.

  If wind carries.

  If water drowns.

  The earth… what?

  Mr. Toshihiro led me down a corridor beside the main display of the bazaar. As we walked, the air of the Nebenbei shifted. Each step carried us farther from the familiar and deeper into something older.

  With a series of swift gestures, he summoned floating doors woven from filaments of light. Each one dissolved the moment we stepped through it.

  With every threshold, the temperature dropped.

  The silence thickened.

  The scent of incense and spice faded into mineral dampness.

  The final portal delivered us into a narrow passage carved from living stone. The air was cool, carrying the smell of rain-soaked earth.

  At the end of it, a stone door opened without being touched.

  What lay beyond stole my breath.

  A subterranean garden.

  At least, that was my best guess.

  It felt like standing outdoors on a verdant hill bathed in golden dusk. There was no visible sun, yet everything glowed with a soft, warm light.

  Massive roots cut through the ground, shining in emerald hues, pulsing like living veins. Between them grew plants of impossible shapes—copper leaves, flowers that turned toward a light that did not exist.

  Above us, fragments of stone floated in impossible balance.

  I looked down. At my feet, small shoots pushed through the soil with defiant vitality, as if the earth—aware of our presence—was demonstrating its power.

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  At the center of the garden stood a man.

  He wasn’t particularly tall, yet his presence outweighed any height. His skin was weathered like the bark of an ancient tree. In his hands he held a dark wooden staff, roughly carved and unadorned. Every line on his face resembled a fissure shaped by time.

  But his eyes—deep brown—held something immovable.

  Serenity.

  And contained force.

  Mr. Toshihiro spoke with quiet solemnity.

  “Maki, this is Eldreich. Master of the Earth element.”

  Eldreich studied me in silence. Not the way one looks at a person—but the way one examines soil before planting.

  “I have waited years to see whether the new apprentice would be worth the trouble,” he said at last, his voice low and unhurried. “Frankly, I am not impressed.”

  I blinked.

  “Excuse me?”

  My voice echoed beneath the vaulted ceiling. He didn’t even flinch.

  “I am told you recently spent an entire night struggling to meditate,” he continued. “That tells me you lack patience.”

  “At least I tried!”

  His gaze alone lowered my volume.

  “A sprout that rushes to bloom will break.”

  He turned and drove his staff into the ground.

  The earth trembled faintly. An amber glow spread in a circle at his feet.

  “Come.”

  I glanced at Mr. Toshihiro for support.

  There was none. Only that familiar silence of his—approval mixed with trial.

  I stepped forward.

  The air shifted. Heavier. Deeper. Not oppressive, but enveloping—like the pressure of water at great depth.

  “What is this place?” I asked.

  “The heart of the Nebenbei,” Eldreich replied. “Here, the Earth listens. Here, lies do not grow.”

  “Lies?”

  “The magic of Earth does not tolerate falsehood. If you deceive yourself, your bond will fracture before it is born.”

  “Well, that’s reassuring,” I muttered.

  A quiet cough from Mr. Toshihiro was enough to silence me.

  Eldreich extended his hand.

  The ground answered.

  Soil rose with a low rumble, shaping itself into an open stone flower. He held it effortlessly.

  “This is patience. Stone takes centuries to become a mountain. It does not hurry.”

  He lifted the flower and released it.

  Before touching the ground, it dissolved into copper-colored dust.

  “And this is impulse without roots.”

  I crossed my arms.

  “What exactly am I supposed to do?”

  He struck the ground again with his staff. Nearby roots twisted together, forming a small circle before me. From its center rose a rock the size of my chest, hovering just above the ground.

  “You will make a flower grow from that stone.”

  “A flower… from rock?”

  “From life. Whatever form you choose. But it must be born from your energy.”

  Mr. Toshihiro stepped back.

  “Remember, Maki. The element does not respond to force, but to harmony.”

  I knelt before the rock.

  It was cold. Heavy. Unyielding.

  I closed my eyes and searched for the Ki I had felt the night before—the warmth, the hum, that shared breath with the world.

  I inhaled.

  Exhaled.

  Nothing.

  The rock remained unchanged.

  “You focus on the outcome,” Eldreich said. “The Earth does not answer desire, but purpose.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “Desire wants to possess. Purpose seeks to understand.”

  His words lodged somewhere uncomfortable between pride and doubt.

  I tried again.

  Instead of forcing it, I let a memory surface. My great-grandmother’s garden. Her laughter. The scent of wet soil at dusk.

  Warmth gathered in my palms.

  The rock trembled.

  Hairline cracks spread across its surface like delicate veins.

  I smiled.

  And the stone convulsed violently.

  It shattered into dust.

  The garden fell silent.

  “I failed,” I whispered.

  Eldreich struck the ground with his staff.

  “Your bond is weak. You reflected a memory, but you could not sustain its essence.”

  “But it reacted!”

  “And then it collapsed. Life without foundation has no place in this world.”

  His expression was stern, but not cruel.

  “Return tomorrow. And this time, listen before you attempt to impose your will.”

  He turned and began walking away.

  Mr. Toshihiro approached, placing a hand lightly on my shoulder.

  “The flower almost emerged,” he said quietly. “That means the Earth answered you.”

  “It wasn’t enough.”

  “The first time never is.”

  Eldreich paused without turning around.

  “The Earth does not forget. If you touch it with sincerity, it will always respond.”

  The garden returned to its steady, breathing silence.

  I stared at the dust that had once been stone.

  There was no glow.

  No sign.

  Only earth.

  I leaned closer and whispered:

  “Next time, you’ll bloom for real.”