Ekon Amamihe didn't even try to go back to sleep. The silence Nguvu left behind was loud, vibrating with his absence and the memory of his massive, tense body lying six inches away. She felt her frustration bubbling up—a hot, invisible pressure that manifested as a flash of Red Huenergy.
She needed control. She needed life.
She climbed out of the giant bed, slipping into a light robe. Imani, who had been enjoying the diplomatic high-ground on the pillow wall, stretched luxuriously before leaping onto Amamihe's shoulder.
—'He is gone. Finally. It smelled like over-boiled cassava in here. Now, use your talents. Make it habitable.'—
"Agreed," Amamihe murmured, walking out into the central Atrium.
The Atrium was a vast, circular space intended to be a cold, formal reception area. It had high, arched windows and polished marble floors. It was sterile, which Nguvu, the Warlord, probably loved.
Amamihe raised her hands. Her Indigo Aura flared, soft and deep, like the twilight sky. Unlike Nguvu's aggressive, protective Blue, Amamihe's Indigo was the color of possibility and growth. It touched the marble floor.
She closed her eyes and channeled Ase, whispering a command of life: Grow.
The change was instantaneous and breathtaking. Fine, mossy turf erupted from the grout lines. Where the pillars met the floor, thick, curling vines of vibrant pink bougainvillea burst forth, racing up the columns like living ribbons. Giant water lilies, their petals the color of sunset, sprung up from the corners where puddles had collected.
The room's aesthetic was gone, replaced by a lush, aromatic, and distinctly feminine wilderness. The cold marble felt warm and alive under her feet.
"A fountain," she decided, staring at the central space. The estate had a complex plumbing system. Using a precise, complex application of Florakinesis, she manipulated the underlying structures, channeling water to burst upward through a patch of newly grown volcanic rock, creating a three-tiered fountain lined with lilies that resembled her Ocean Gourd artifact.
The coup de grâce came in the form of a pair of towering, broad-leafed trees that erupted near the grand staircase. She didn't grow them, but rather commanded two mature trees from the exterior garden to uproot themselves and enter through the windows, their branches thickening to form a dense, natural canopy inside the building.
When she was finished, the Atrium looked less like a reception hall and more like a hidden temple. She felt the heavy, nervous Ase of the house lighten, replaced by a joyous, chaotic life force.
—'Much better. Though the color contrast of that pink bougainvillea is highly distracting. Can you adjust the hue to a deep violet? Also, I require a bowl of fresh rainwater.'—
Amamihe ignored Imani's critiques. She felt centered and calm. The tension from the bed was gone, displaced by her need for creation.
Dawn arrived, and Nguvu returned.
He strode into the estate from the Western Courtyard, sweat dripping from his Silhouette skin, his massive chest heaving rhythmically. He was mentally, physically, and spiritually exhausted—the tension from the bed was now transferred into the ground where he had been practicing Weapon Arts for six hours straight.
He entered the Atrium, expecting the cool, familiar formality of the marble hall.
What he saw stopped him dead in his tracks. His massive, perfectly toned body froze mid-stride.
The room was a jungle.
The Solar fly's light, that was already filtered nine times by the Astraposphere lightning-sheath, was then filtered again by the towering trees Amamihe had placed indoors, casting the entire space in a soft, verdant gloom. It smelled like rain, rich earth, and exotic pollen. A gentle drip-drip-drip came from the three-tiered fountain she had conjured.
His Warlord mind registered the changes:
Perimeter Breach: Two immense trees had breached the structural integrity of the house.
Terrain Hazard: A floor of moss and soft turf—an unstable fighting surface.
Impassable Barrier: Vines covered the walls, blocking visibility.
He saw Amamihe sitting on the edge of the new fountain, her long braids draped over her shoulder, sipping tea from a small ceramic mug. Her Brown Iris eyes met his, and a shy, defiant smile crossed her face.
"Good morning, Ekon Nguvu," she said softly. "I took the liberty of establishing my designated cultivation space. I found the low humidity of the Atrium to be problematic."
Nguvu's Blue Aura pulsed in confused astonishment. He looked from the floor to the ceiling.
"You... you grew trees inside the structure?" His voice was a flat baritone of disbelief.
"They needed a change of scenery," Amamihe replied, picking a small, crimson hibiscus flower from a vine and tucking it behind her ear.
—'Tell the boulder his presence is crushing the Ase near the stairs. He needs to stand lighter.'—
Nguvu didn't need the cat to tell him that. He was used to commanding armies, securing diplomatic borders, and fighting giant monsters. He knew how to deal with existential threats.
But this... this was domestic terrorism by Florakinesis.
"The Article I (Amendment 2) clearly stated," Nguvu ground out, his shoulders tensing, "that Cultivation must be confined to the designated Atrium, and exterior gardens. This is not a 'designated Atrium'. This is a botanical invasion."
Amamihe shrugged, taking another sip of tea. "It is now the designated Atrium. And I used my Florakinesis to ensure a healthier Ase flow. I was upholding the spirit of the Article, if not the precise letter of the law."
He was furious, but beneath the fury, the part of his Warrior brain that appreciated natural, overwhelming power was silently impressed. It took immense Ase control to manipulate matter on this scale without collapsing the walls.
"And where," Nguvu demanded, pointing his sword at a massive, broad leaf that blocked the light from the eastern window, "am I to conduct my early morning meditation?"
Amamihe waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, find a stump. Or train Hasani to be your yoga mat. You are a Warlord, Nguvu. Adapt."
She had won the first battle of the home. Nguvu was a general without a map, lost in his own home. He looked at the lush, blooming chaos, felt the oppressive Green Huenergy (Fear/Anxiety) rise in him—not fear of the Cultivator, but fear of the utter lack of order.
He turned and walked back out into the sunlit, dusty Western Courtyard. He needed a fight. He needed to attack something that didn't have feelings.
He needed to restore the balance of the universe.
And Amamihe, watching his Blue Aura retreat, felt a tiny spark of Yellow Huenergy (Happiness). Being alone was still awkward, but at least now her home felt like hers.