The lizard slowly stood.
It moved away from the fox, careful not to disturb the formation, and walked to the side of the room where the stone floor lay bare. It stopped there, posture straight, wings folded neatly, tail resting lightly against the ground.
It stared.
Blank.
Unfocused.
Inside, its thoughts aligned.
*First… earth spike.*
*Only one.*
*Not big.*
Its small claw lifted.
Paused.
Then **slammed down** into the stone.
Not violently.
Not weakly.
Controlled.
The ground responded.
With a muted **crack**, the stone split and an earth spike **shot up**, clean and sharp, rising about a foot before stopping. Dust settled around its base.
The lizard did not react.
Did not flinch.
It simply stood there.
Staring.
It could not see it clearly.
But it felt it.
The pressure shift.
The displacement.
The correct response.
*…Good.*
Its gaze remained empty.
*Now… something else.*
The image surfaced in its mind.
The cultivator's technique.
The way earth had risen and shaped itself into grasping forms.
Hands.
Claws.
Restraints.
*Like the humans,* it thought.
It lifted its paw again.
Held it there.
Its body stilled.
Its mind replayed the motion.
The shape.
The intent.
Then it **slammed** its paw into the ground.
The room fell silent.
Nothing happened.
The lizard stood there.
Unmoving.
Breathing slow.
Waiting.
Then—
The stone **shifted**.
A low grinding sound echoed as the earth bulged, cracked, and pushed upward. Soil and stone twisted together, shaping, forming—
A **claw-like hand** erupted from the ground, fingers half-curled, jagged and rough, reaching upward as if trying to grasp something that wasn't there.
The lizard did not jump.
Did not tense.
It simply stared.
Blankly.
Its head tilted a fraction.
*…Hm.*
A pause.
*It works.*
No excitement.
No pride.
Just confirmation.
The clawed hand remained there, unmoving, a rough, imperfect mimic of what it had seen.
The lizard stood in front of it, small body still, blurred eyes fixed forward, while inside something settled into place.
It was not just using the earth.
It was **shaping** it.
The lizard stared at the earth hand.
Blank.
Still.
*It is good,* it thought. *But it is wrong.*
A pause.
*The human ones move.*
The memory sharpened.
The cultivator's technique.
The way the earthen hands had surged, grasped, crushed—alive with intent.
*They control them.*
Its paw pressed lightly against the stone.
Its posture did not change.
But its **mind focused**.
Not strained.
Not forced.
Focused in the way predators focus before a strike.
It replayed the image.
The motion.
The flow.
The command.
Silence filled the room.
The earth hand trembled.
A faint grinding echoed as cracks spidered along its surface.
Then—
It **snapped**.
The hand elongated violently, fingers stretching, stone twisting like muscle as it **coiled and lunged** toward the lizard, fast and sharp.
The air shifted.
Pressure surged.
The earth hand rushed at it—
—and stopped.
An inch away.
Frozen.
The lizard did not flinch.
Did not step back.
Did not blink.
It simply stared at the stone claws hovering before its face, breath steady, posture relaxed.
*…Good.*
The thought was calm.
Satisfied.
*It works.*
Its paw shifted slightly.
The earth hand moved again.
This time not wild.
Not abrupt.
It extended smoothly, lengthening like a serpent, coiling in a controlled arc through the air. The fingers flexed, opened, closed—responding.
Obeying.
Then, with a small, deliberate motion of the lizard's paw, the hand **withdrew**, uncoiling and sinking back into the floor. Stone flowed as if liquid, sealing without a trace.
The ground became smooth again.
The lizard stood there, alone.
Silent.
Steam faint in the background.
The fox still cultivating.
Its tail flicked once.
*…Now,* it thought.
*Something else.*
Its gaze remained blank, but inside its mind was already moving—reaching, shaping, testing the limits of what the earth gene would allow.
Not excited.
Not cautious.
Just… **curious**.
The lizard remained where it stood, paw pressed lightly to the stone.
Its gaze was empty.
Its mind was not.
It focused.
Not on spikes.
Not on hands.
On the **shape**.
Long.
Flexible.
Coiling.
The image surfaced—the cultivators shaping earth into serpents, the way the ground had risen and twisted like living things.
Silence.
Then the floor **split**.
Two earthen forms surged upward, stone and soil flowing together as they shaped into **snakes**. Their bodies were thick, rough, segmented with jagged ridges. Their lower halves remained fused to the ground, as if growing directly from it.
They froze.
Unmoving.
Statues.
The lizard stared.
Blankly.
*…Hm.*
A pause.
*It is the same as the hand.*
Another pause.
*So control should be the same.*
Its paw pressed a fraction deeper.
Its mind tightened its focus.
The earth snakes **moved**.
Slow at first—coiling, twisting, stone grinding softly as their bodies flexed. Their heads lifted, jaws parting, rough fangs forming from jagged rock.
The lizard watched.
Then—
Both snakes **lunged**.
Not outward.
Not at the lizard.
At each other.
They collided in a violent crash of stone and soil, jaws snapping, bodies wrapping, tearing chunks from one another as they coiled and crushed. Rock cracked. Fragments scattered. The sound was harsh and sudden in the quiet room.
The lizard did not react.
Did not stop them.
It simply observed.
The two earth snakes tore into each other, ripping, breaking, their forms collapsing as control wavered. In seconds, their bodies lost cohesion.
Stone crumbled.
Soil fell.
And both constructs **collapsed back into the ground**, sinking, dissolving, the floor sealing over them until no trace remained.
Silence returned.
The lizard stood there.
Still.
Breathing slow.
*…Control is imperfect,* it thought.
Not frustrated.
Not disappointed.
Just noting.
*They followed intent… but not direction.*
Its tail flicked once.
*Need refinement.*
It remained there, gaze empty, mind already adjusting—already preparing to try again.
Behind it, the fox continued cultivating, unaware that a creature nearby was quietly teaching itself techniques that normally took humans years to master… and doing it by instinct alone.
The lizard stood in place.
Still.
Blank.
Its paw rested lightly against the stone, but its attention shifted inward.
*If earth works…*
A pause.
*…then others should too.*
Its gaze did not change.
But the air did.
The temperature around its body **dropped**.
Frost bloomed across its scales in thin, crystalline patterns, breath fogging faintly as cold gathered around it. The stone beneath its claws creaked softly as a thin layer of ice spread outward.
In front of it, the air **cracked**.
A spear of ice **formed**, condensing from frost and cold, long and sharp, hovering upright before it. The surface gleamed faintly, light bending through its translucent body.
The lizard stared.
Blank.
*…Same as the spike,* it thought.
A pause.
*But different shape.*
The ice spear trembled.
A faint cracking sound echoed as fractures ran through it—not breaking, but **rearranging**. The spear softened, lengthened, the structure shifting as if melting without heat.
The ice twisted.
Curved.
Extended.
In seconds, the spear reshaped into a **snake of ice**, its body smooth and glassy, head defined, fangs forming from sharpened frost. It hovered in the air, supported by cold and intent rather than earth.
The lizard watched.
*…Hm.*
*It worked.*
Its focus sharpened slightly.
The ice snake **moved**.
It coiled through the air in a smooth arc, circling the lizard, body gliding without sound, frost trailing faintly in its wake. It dipped, rose, twisted, responding cleanly to the lizard's intent.
No hesitation.
No backlash.
Controlled.
The lizard's tail flicked once.
Not in excitement.
In confirmation.
*…So it is not earth,* it realized.
*It is me.*
The ice snake completed another slow loop around its body, then hovered at its side, waiting.
Obeying.
The lizard stood there in the quiet chamber, steam from the fox's formation on one side, frost forming around its own body on the other—two opposing forces balanced around a small, blank-eyed creature.
Inside, something settled.
A rule.
*A gene is not a limit.*
*It is a door.*
And the lizard had just learned how to open them.