Deep in the heart of a vast, quiet forest, far away from the bustling civilization, there was a small, isolated home.
Nestled among towering trees, the house sat on a modest piece of land, surrounded by fields of crops and the occasional animal grazing nearby. It was peaceful here, far removed from the noise and conflict of the outside world.
The forest itself seemed to hum with life, the gentle sway of the branches and the distant calls of wildlife creating a rhythm that matched the slow pace of life Caled had settled into.
The sun crept in slowly through the small wooden window, a soft golden glow filling the room. Caled's eyes fluttered open, the light already warming his face.
The air smelled fresh, the scent of the trees and earth mixing with the faint hint of flowers blooming outside. It was peaceful here, far away from the chaos that once defined his life. For a moment, he lay there, staring at the wooden ceiling, feeling the weight of time on his chest.
He stretched, the muscles in his arms and legs stretching as he rose from his bed. He didn't have much to his name anymore, just the simple things he needed to survive—no more titles, no more accolades. Life had shifted dramatically from the days of battle and bloodshed. Here, it was a life of routine, calm, and solitude. Some days, that was enough.
Caled walked to the small wooden basin, splashing cold water on his face from the nearby river. The chill of the river water against his skin was invigorating.
The sound of the water rushing over stones brought a comfort that he hadn't realized he missed until now.
Caled's hair was a deep black, falling in loose waves around his shoulders, almost like ink spilled in the wind. His eyes, equally dark, held an endless depth, as if the night itself had settled within them, unfathomable and constant.
His skin was pale, smooth, and almost luminescent, giving off an ethereal quality, untouched by the harshness of the world around him.
His tunic clung to his torso as he dried himself with a small towel, the morning air mixing with the remnants of the cool water. His body, though lean and toned, showed no signs of the battle-worn man he had once been.
He had forgotten what it was like to feel old, to feel the weight of time in his bones. To those who might have seen him from the outside, he appeared to be no older than twenty years, a mere youth.
But Caled had lived far longer than that, seen things most people couldn't even imagine, and the memories of those days sometimes felt like ghosts following him around.
As he turned back toward the house, the rustling of footsteps broke his concentration. He didn't have to look to know who it was—Argin. The old man had been with him for decades now, ever since Caled had found him as a homeless child in the slums.
Argin had grown into a man, a father, a grandfather, and now, an elder. He had seen Caled change over the years, just as Caled had watched him grow and start his own family.
"Marza cooked breakfast, join us, Caled."
"Thank you."
Caled followed Argin to the house, the familiar smells of fresh bread and sizzling vegetables drifting toward him as he entered.
Inside, the house was filled with the sound of laughter and the chatter of Argin's large family. His wife, Marza, was bustling around the stove, her smile matching Argin's in its easygoing warmth.
Their children and grandchildren were seated at the long wooden table, enjoying their morning meal in the same way they had for years. The simple joy of the moment settled over Caled. This life, though quiet, was something he had come to treasure.
"It's been 70 years since you brought me here."
"You're the one who brought life to this place. It was just me here at first. This place was dead, just a farm and a house. You made it into a home."
As they ate, Caled couldn't help but think back to the early days, when it had been just the two of them, working the land in silence. It had been peaceful, but it had also been lonely.
Over the years, though, Argin's family had grown, and with that, so had the life in this small settlement. There were children's laughter now, the sound of footsteps running across the dirt, and the warmth of shared meals. In some ways, it felt like Caled had found something he didn't know he had been searching for—a family.
After the meal, Caled took his usual position in the fields. The land was his now, his constant companion. He had always been a man of action, of purpose, but here, there was no immediate goal or enemy to face.
His work was simple—planting, harvesting, maintaining—but in its own way, it was enough. There was something therapeutic about the repetition of it all, the connection to the earth. Every shovel in the ground felt like a small victory in a life that had once been ruled by larger battles.
His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden shift in the air. It was subtle at first, like a whisper against his skin. Caled's brow furrowed, and he stopped working, listening closely.
He didn't need to see it, he didn't need to hear anything more—the barrier he had placed around the settlement had been triggered. It was designed to keep out anyone with ill intent, to protect the peace they had built here.
The bell in the center of the settlement rang softly, its sound echoing through the trees. It was a signal, a warning that someone or something had crossed into their space.
But it wasn't the sound of danger. No, Caled knew the bell well. It only rang for those who could pass through it without triggering its full wrath. It was a unique kind of person—rare, and only a select few.
Argin looked at him, a knowing smile on his face.
"Seems you've got a visitor, Caled. Another old friend, perhaps?"
Caled wiped his face with the towel, his expression unreadable.
"Most of my friends are long gone. There's only one I can think of who's still around."
He moved toward the entrance of the settlement, his pace steady but deliberate. As he approached the gates, he saw her standing there, just beyond the perimeter, waiting.
She was shorter than most, with long, flowing blonde hair that seemed to shimmer under the morning sun. Her eyes—blue as the sky itself—locked onto his as soon as he stepped forward, a sly smile curling on her lips.
Her ears were long, pointed and elegant, unmistakable signs of her elven heritage. She wore a simple white one-piece dress that made her look innocent, the fabric flowing gracefully around her.
She looked impossibly young, barely twenty by human standards, but Caled knew better. She was ancient, over a thousand years old, and the weight of that age was reflected in the way she carried herself.
Her appearance hadn't changed, and neither had the look in her eyes—mischief mixed with something else, something deeper, something only he could understand.
"Aifi."
The woman's lips curled even further into a smile, her eyes gleaming.
"Is that how you greet an old friend who came all the way here just to see you... Legendary Hero, Caled Stellarion?"
Caled folded his arms across his chest, a small frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.