The Farming Emperor: I'll Raise My Empire from Fields

🍳 Chapter 8: Of Eggs, Echoes, and Eavesdropping

🌞 One Year of Soil and Silence

Sylas turned one.

He did not walk—not properly. He glided. Sometimes crawling, sometimes shuffling upright with eerie balance for someone his age. His family called it "root-walking," since his feet never quite stomped. Always grounded. Always connected.

He rarely spoke, but everyone felt he was listening more than most grown men.

And though he was barely one, when he placed his hand on a patch of dirt, plants straightened. Chickens settled. Cows hummed softly.

Even the soil seemed to still.

🎂 "Happy Dirtday"

His first birthday celebration was humble: warm goat's milk, roasted squash, and a shared barley pie.

Lira tied a ribbon around his cradle.

Bran carved a tiny wooden shovel.

Dalla, the awakened hen, offered an egg with a spiral scratched into the shell.

Bud—the leafy rootling companion—gifted him a seed wrapped in moss. "Dream seed. Grow… in moonlight."

And Olma the goat headbutted the porch in approval. (It collapsed, again.)

But amidst the celebration, Sylas felt a tug.

Not of spirit.

Of eyes.

Someone—was watching.

🌲 Eyes in the Orchard

That evening, Sylas wandered just beyond the garden with Bud riding on his shoulder like a strange mossy parrot.

He paused near the old orchard—rows of apple trees lined like sleeping giants.

"Bud," Sylas whispered, now able to form short, clear words.

"Watcher. Here."

Bud sniffed. "Dry smell. Boots. Metal. Not... farmer."

A leaf drifted down.

And in the distance, barely visible through twisted bark and shadows, a cloaked figure stood beneath an old plum tree—motionless.

Then gone.

🧺 Gossip at the Well

The next morning, Maelis and Elly went into town to trade eggs and herbs. Sylas, curious, traveled in Maelis's sling, peeking out quietly.

The town was small—stone-pathed, dusty, and slow-moving. But the moment the women approached the old stone well, a familiar trio of mouths got to work.

Gossip grannies.

"Did you hear about Marrun's corn field healing overnight?"

"Spirit-blessed, they say."

"Nonsense! I heard it was the Varenthor boy. You know, the quiet one."

"The baby?"

"He's not normal, that's what I'm saying."

Elly huffed. "Not normal doesn't mean bad."

Maelis simply adjusted Sylas's wrap, shielding him.

Sylas just stared at the old women.

They don't fear me yet. But they've begun... to whisper.

🥚 A New Egg Appears

Back at the farm, Dalla laid a new kind of egg.

It shimmered faintly, and when cracked—revealed no yolk.

Instead? A smooth seed-shaped stone, humming faintly with spiritual energy.

"Echo egg," Bud said reverently.

"Memory... from before chickens."

[System Alert]

Dalla has laid a Spirit Echo Egg

Stored Echo: "The Orchard Pact" (Locked)

Do you wish to activate the egg?

Sylas placed his palm on it.

The orchard whispered in reply.

🌿 Vision: The Orchard Pact

He saw—flashes.

Ancient orchard keepers, cloaked in green, burying stones with runes beneath trees.

A boy, chosen, walking among fruit-bearing spirits.

A tree creature with golden bark bowing low to a barefoot child.

Words echoed:

"The one who speaks without voice will plant kingdoms."

"He will walk the plow-line and bind the beasts to bloom."

"The Root Emperor shall rise from dirt, not blood."

Sylas staggered.

Bud caught him. "Too strong. Too old. Need more roots first."

🧥 The Watcher Returns

That night, Serra—his sickly eldest sister—stood at the window.

"Sylas," she whispered, "Someone's in the orchard again."

They all ran out—Aldric with a torch, Bran with a hoe, Lira with a boiling pot of stew.

But no one was there.

Only footprints.

Metal-heeled. Sharp.

And on one tree trunk, a mark had been carved:

A black spiral, reversed.