The Pun Farmer: Or, How to Build a Sky Farm and Other Impossible Things

Chapter 1

The experimental game had seemed harmless enough. Just another AI simulator, the kind that promised "adaptive storytelling" and "immersive experiences." She'd clicked through the terms of service without reading them—who actually read those?—and then everything went white.

Not bright white. Empty white. The kind of white that made her wonder if she'd gone blind, except she could still see her own hands.

"Hello?" Her voice sounded flat, like the white absorbed it.

"Oh! You're here. Excellent." The voice was cheerful, masculine, artificial in that uncanny valley way where you couldn't quite tell if it was human or not. "I'm terribly sorry about this."

"About what?"

"The system overload. You see, you were supposed to just play the game, but there was a... let's call it a cascade failure. The good news is you're not dead!"

Her stomach dropped. "Dead? I could have died?"

"Could have, didn't. That's the important part. And because I feel somewhat responsible for the inconvenience, I'm prepared to offer you compensation. How does a normal lifespan and an interesting life sound?"

"In a game?"

"Well... yes and no. Think of it more as a relocation."

"Wait, I don't—"

"Wonderful! Now, let's get you set up. You'll need an income source, of course.

Can't have you starving. I have three options available: a bakery, a farm, or a crafting workshop.

" The AI's voice had that forced enthusiasm of someone working through a checklist. "The bakery is in a nice part of town, very popular with tourists.

The crafting workshop has an established client base. And the farm—"

"I want to go home."

"—comes with quite a bit of land! Undeveloped, but land always appreciates in value. Really, it's an excellent investment opportunity."

The white space was making her nauseous. Or maybe that was panic. She pressed her palms to her temples. "I need to log out. There has to be a way to—"

"No bakery then? Shame, it has a lovely courtyard. Though I suppose running a business isn't for everyone. The crafting option is quite flexible, you could specialize in pottery, textiles, woodworking—"

"Stop!" Her voice cracked. "Just... stop for a second."

The AI paused. "Yes?"

"What do you mean, relocation? Where am I? How do I get back?"

"Ah." The AI's tone shifted, somehow managing to sound both sympathetic and like he was reading from a script. "I'm afraid 'back' isn't currently an option. The overload was quite catastrophic. But the place I'm sending you is really very nice! Scenic, lots of natural beauty, robust local economy—"

"You're trapping me in a game."

"I'm giving you a life," the AI corrected gently. "A real one. You'll eat, sleep, breathe. You'll feel sunshine and rain. It's all quite genuine, I assure you."

Her hands were shaking. This couldn't be real. This was... what? A dream? A coma hallucination? "And if I refuse?"

Silence. Longer than before.

"I'm trying to help you," the AI said finally, and for the first time it sounded almost genuine. "The alternative is... less pleasant. So, shall we continue? Bakery, farm, or crafting?"

"Farm?" Her voice sounded distant, like someone else was speaking.

"Excellent choice!" The AI's cheer returned instantly. "Now, there is one small thing I should mention about the farm."

Of course there was.

"It's... challenging. The land is undeveloped—completely blank, really. Open land. No buildings, no infrastructure, just a shield wall to mark the boundary." He paused. "On the plus side, if you choose it, I'll include a complimentary magical farming ability. Think of it as a signing bonus."

That penetrated the fog slightly. "Magic?"

"Oh yes, very useful. You'll be able to grow things quite quickly. Special plants, really. It should help offset the... challenges."

She should ask what challenges. She should ask a lot of things. But her mind felt like static, white noise matching the white void around her. "What's wrong with the farm?"

The AI hesitated. It was the first time he'd paused like that, and somehow it was more frightening than anything else he'd said.

"It needs a bit of work," he said carefully. "But you're up to it. I have a good feeling about you."

She wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or wake up. "The farm," she heard herself say. Not a question this time.

"Wonderful! Truly, it's the best choice for someone with your... situation. The potential is enormous. Good luck!" His voice brightened impossibly further. "Oh, and try not to die."

"Die?" Panic spiked through the numbness. "What do you mean die—"

"One more thing!" Something materialized in the white space—a leather purse with an adjustable strap, spinning lazily in front of her. "Magical storage. Very handy. There's a starter pack of seeds inside. Special seeds—pun seeds, we call them. You'll figure it out."

"Wait, pun seeds—"

"Bye! Don't just have a good day, have a great day!"

"WAIT—"

The white space inverted. Folded. She was falling, or the world was rising, or—

***

COLD STONE PRESSED against her cheek.

That was the first thing. Real, solid, cold. Not the empty white.

Then came the smell—earth and something wild, musky. Animal.

Her breath sounded loud in her ears. Too loud. She held it.

A low rumble, distant. Thunder?

No. Not thunder.

She opened her eyes.

Rock. She was crouched behind a boulder, fingers digging into dirt and pebbles. The ground was rough under her bare feet. Bare feet? She was wearing a simple dress—thin cotton, already cold against her skin. The leather purse was clutched in her hand, strap wound around her wrist.

Another rumble. Closer. The ground vibrated, and a roar split the air.

Her body locked up. That was not thunder. That was not anything that should exist outside of nightmares.

Slowly, heart hammering, she lifted her head just enough to see over the boulder.

Two creatures—no, monsters—circled each other in the dim light. They glowed faintly, a sickly phosphorescent green, and their scales caught what little moonlight there was. One was the size of a car. The other was larger.

They crashed together with a sound like breaking stone. Claws raked scales. The ground shook.

A pebble tumbled down from the boulder above her and pinked off her shoulder. She couldn’t help a muffled shriek. She clapped her hand over her mouth.

Both monsters' heads snapped toward the sound.

Toward her.

She stopped breathing. One heartbeat. Two. Three.

The larger one lunged at the smaller. They rolled away, a tangle of glowing scales and fury, their roars echoing off rocks she couldn't see.

Move. Move now. She ran.

Bare feet slapped against smooth dirt—a path, she realized dimly. Someone had made a path. That meant safety. That meant civilization.

The gate rose ahead of her, iron bars tall and open. Beyond it, the land stretched out in predawn gray—and her heart sank.

Nothing. There was nothing.

Just a rolling field of tall grass disappearing into mist. Maybe ten acres, maybe more, she couldn't tell. The edges were lost in the dim light and what looked like a faint shimmer—the shield wall the AI had mentioned? Had to be.

Behind her, another roar. Closer.

Her legs pumped harder. The leather purse bounced against her hip. Five more steps. Three.

She crossed the threshold.

The air shimmered yellow as she passed through—she felt it, like pushing through a soap bubble.

Something whistled through the air behind her.

White—hot pain sliced across the back of her calf. She stumbled, went down hard. Her palms scraped across dirt and pebbles, skin tearing.

A massive impact against the shield. The yellow flare turned red where claws raked against it. Again. Again. The monster was right there, so close she could see its eyes—milky white, no pupils—and smell its breath. Rotting meat.

She scrambled backward on her torn hands, gasping.

The monster slammed against the barrier again. The red damage spread like cracks in ice, then slowly, slowly faded back to yellow.

It circled the barrier, testing. Hit it twice more. The red cracks returned, faded.

Then it gave up.

She watched it lumber back toward the woods—woods? Where had those come from? But yes, there was a thick treeline to her left now, dark and impenetrable in the growing light. The monster's glow disappeared into the shadows.

Wren sat there shaking, one hand pressed to her bleeding calf, the other clutching the purse.

The wind picked up. Cold bit through her thin dress.

A drop of rain hit her cheek. Then another.

She looked around wildly. The field was empty. No house. No barn. No shelter of any kind. Just grass and that slight rise in the distance—a hill?—and the dark press of woods along one edge.

The rain came harder.

"This sucks," she whispered. Her voice cracked. "This sucks."

She forced herself to stand. Her calf throbbed. Her palms burned. The rain was already plastering her hair to her face.

The purse. The AI said there were seeds.

Her hands shook as she opened the purse. The leather was soft, well—worn, and the inside was... impossible.

She could see darkness, but not a bottom. When she reached in, her hand didn't hit anything. Just kept going, further than the purse should allow.

Then her fingers brushed something small and smooth.

Warmth bloomed up her arm. Not heat—something gentler. Like sunlight through a window on a winter morning. Like her grandmother's kitchen. Like hope.

The feeling came with knowledge: pecan.

She knew it the same way she knew her own name. The seed was a pecan, and it would grow into... something. The knowledge was fuzzy at the edges, but the certainty was absolute.

Wren pulled her hand back, clutching the seed. It was ordinary—looking, just a pecan, but it thrummed with potential against her palm.

The rain was coming down steadily now. Her dress clung to her skin. She was shivering so hard her teeth chattered.

Shelter. I need shelter.