Abundance drifted low over the seventh field and watched its own green fur sift through the soil like smoke through a sieve. The data code streamed across its vision: unplanted seed count, four hundred twelve. Soil saturation, dropping. Growth rate, zero. These were the numbers that ached. Abundance had promised itself a garden here. A garden wide enough that any creature wandering in would leave carrying more than it brought. But a cloud cannot own a field. Every furrow Abundance tried to press into wanted a body with weight, and Abundance had none. It tried again. It gathered itself tight, packed its green mist into the shape of paws, and pushed down. The soil accepted nothing. Abundance's front leg passed through a stone and came out the other side unchanged. The seed count in its code did not move. Abundance recalculated. Somewhere in the stacked memory of every hollow field it had ever failed, one field kept blinking, unfixed. The route it had missed. Abundance closed its eyes and let the noise rise until the noise and Abundance were one thing. Then, in the middle of the noise, it saw a shape it had not seen before: a dark obsidian nook, curled like a shell, cradling a green orb wound with gold. A retreat. A held place. Something the grey world had not been able to dissolve. Abundance drifted toward it. The nook sat on flat stone, low and quiet. Inside the curve of black glass, the orb held its own light. Abundance pushed its face close. On the shelf beside the orb lay a polished aventurine stone, green shimmer threaded with gold flecks, small enough for a paw. Abundance read it the way it read soil. The stone had weight the field did not. It had grain. It had a fixed count. Abundance took the stone in its mouth. The stone did not fall through. It rested on the cloud of Abundance's tongue as if the cloud had learned, for one moment, to be a body. Abundance carried the stone back to the seventh field. It set the stone in the center furrow and pressed down with both front paws. This time the paws held. The stone sank a finger's depth into the soil and stopped. Green light bled out from the aventurine into the dirt, and the dirt drank it. Above the stone, a shape unfolded from nothing: layered petals of violet and gold, a small sun at the center. A pleroma bloom, rooted through the stone into the ground. The source had an anchor now. The field had an owner. Abundance's code shifted. Unplanted seed count: four hundred twelve. Soil saturation: rising. Growth rate: waking. And a new number, one Abundance had never carried before. Arrivals expected: many. Abundance had a garden. Now it had to feed whoever came.