This adventure was caused by a purchase made in the marketplace. Zha’tar is the origin of this quest.

The bean is planted carefully, almost instinctively.

Within hours, the ground splits as a thick, pale stalk forces its way upward. No leaves. No shoots. Just mass and shape, leaning subtly toward warmth.

By morning it has structure. By nightfall it reacts to voices.

Roots press against stone. The air smells green and wet.

The first words come as a whisper through the dirt, slow and deliberate:

”Feed me, Zha’tar.”

And then it waits.