After finishing their meal, the five friends lounged lazily under the ancient oak, its immense canopy wide enough to shade at least twenty more groups like theirs. The breeze was unusually cool for a summer afternoon, brushing softly against their skin as if the tree itself was breathing life into the plains.
It was nearing 3 p.m., and the sun hung high in the sky, yet the spot beneath the tree felt calm and serene—almost like a place outside of time.
As they began to pack up their lunchboxes and seal them back into their inventory rings, Riven paused, squinting into the distance.
"Hey," he said, pointing toward the dusty road that cut through the far edge of the plains. "Look at that old man. He's gonna pass out any moment, don'tcha think?"
The others turned their heads. Far across the open field, where the road shimmered faintly in the sun's heat, a lone figure walked slowly—an old man in a long black cloak that fluttered slightly with each step. He moved with a heavy limp, hunched forward, as though the weight of his robes—or the years—was too much for him.
"There's no one else around," Selira murmured, her brow furrowed. "That road's empty for miles."
"Why would anyone be out here alone?" Arinelle asked quietly, hugging her knees to her chest.
"Maybe he's lost?" Auren said, frowning. "Or maybe his cart broke down somewhere."
"Or maybe…" Cairen said, lowering his voice and leaning in, "he's a wandering spirit, cursed to walk the world until he finds something he lost."
"Oh, is that so idiot." Riven said, rolling his eyes but mocking. "You've just read too many novel and webtoon."
Still, none of them looked away.
The old man moved slowly, deliberately, but without pause. His face was hidden beneath the deep hood of his cloak, and his steps made no sound they could hear, despite the stillness of the plains.
"Should we go talk to him?" Selira asked, a hint of concern in her voice.
Riven bluntly, eyes narrowing. "Yes we should. Are we gonna wait till that old fart faints and we go save him like hero's or something. We will just go pick him up and put him under this tree and provide him food and water."
"Hey..! he is not a damn piece of junk not he is a object, how can you say it in that tone" says Auren
"But Riven does have a point, are we just gonna see him faint and die from here and then go save him. why not just help him now, rather than after he dies." Arinelle suggested.
"Well that does make a point" Auren spoke in defeated tone.
Without waiting for agreement from the others, Riven stood up and brushed crumbs off his shirt. With a cheeky grin, he said, "Alright, that's it—I'm going over."
He tapped his satchel and whispered the activation phrase. A soft shimmer surrounded him as a small glider spell activated beneath his feet—one of the simple levitation tricks his father had taught him. One by one, the others followed suit, activating their beginner flight or glide runes. In a blink, the five children rose gently off the ground and began gliding across the fields, the wind rustling their hair as they headed toward the wandering figure.
As they drew closer, the details of the old man became clearer. His long cloak, once perhaps regal, was now faded and dusty. His hair, pure white, fell past his shoulders in uneven strands, and his thick beard fluttered in the breeze. He carried no visible belongings—no staff, no pack—only a single ring on his left hand that glinted faintly in the sunlight.
Hovering just above the ground, Riven called out, his voice bold but friendly.
"Hey! Old white-haired, white-bearded man who looks like he's gonna faint any second!" he said with a grin. "Where are you going? You'll collapse out here! Come rest under that big tree—we've got food and water left. Just come with us!"
The old man slowed, then stopped. For a moment, he didn't say anything. The wind picked up slightly, rustling the long ends of his cloak. Then, slowly, he turned his head toward them. Beneath the hood, his eyes were visible—clear, pale, and sharp like ice—but filled with something heavy... something ancient.
He studied them in silence for a long breath. Then he nodded once.
"I see," he said in a low, rough voice. "You five are brighter than the sun itself today..."
The children exchanged confused looks.
"Come, old man," Riven said again, waving eagerly. "You're gonna pass out standing there."
With surprising grace for someone who looked so frail, the old man began walking toward them.
And so they turned back, five small gliders leading one stranger through the golden grass, unaware that this meeting would change their lives forever.
Back under the massive oak tree, the old man sat with his back resting against the thick bark, his cloak now laid across his lap. The children gathered around him in a loose circle, the remains of their lunch spread out on a cloth between them.
Riven handed him a water bottle from his satchel. "Here, drink this. You looked like you were gonna drop any second."
The old man took it with a nod. "Thank you... It's been a long walk."
Auren offered him a piece of fruit. "Where are you coming from? There's not much out that way but hills and old ruins."
"Farther than your young eyes can see," the old man said, taking a slow bite. "I've been walking for days."
Selira leaned in slightly, curious. "Why didn't you ride a horse? Or at least use a cart?"
The man smiled faintly. "Ah... horses get tired too. Besides, walking keeps the mind clear."
"Still weird to walk through the plains alone," Cairen muttered. "What if you ran into a wild beast?"
"I'd be fine," the man said, with a strange certainty in his voice.
Arinelle watched him quietly, then asked, "Are you a mage?"
The old man paused for a moment before answering. "I used to be. Long ago."
Riven raised an eyebrow. "Used to be? You don't forget magic, do you?"
"No," the man replied, "but sometimes... you stop using it for different reasons."
There was a short silence as the children looked at one another.
"You talk like one of those mysterious wanderers from books," Riven said, smirking. "All quiet and dramatic."
The old man chuckled. "Well, I suppose I've had a lot of years to practice sounding dramatic."
"You got a name?" Auren asked, chewing on some bread.
The man looked up at the sky for a moment. "People used to call me Vaelir... but names don't matter much when no one remembers them."
Riven tilted his head. "Well, we'll remember it."
The old man gave a small smile. "Then that's more than most have offered me in a long, long time."
The old man gave a faint smile. "How about I repay your kindness with a myth… and a bit of knowledge?"
"A myth?" Selira perked up. "Really?"
"Of course," he said, his eyes twinkling. "Stories carry truths the world forgets."
"Come on, old man," Riven grinned. "You've got the beard—now prove you've got the wisdom!"
Vaelir chuckled, the sound dry and soft like leaves rustling. "Very well. But listen closely. This one is older than your oldest books… and twice as dangerous."
The children leaned in, curiosity flickering in their eyes.