Twilight crept through the trees, and the forest slowly fell into a lull. The wind whispered gently through the leaves, and the distant chirping of crickets began to replace the vibrant calls of daytime birds.
The sun was dipping behind the canopy, casting long shadows over the forest floor.
In a modest clearing surrounded by aged oaks and tall pines, a campfire crackled gently, its orange light dancing across the trunks and illuminating the scene with a warm, flickering glow.
A modest tent had already been set up, fashioned from thick hide and canvas, propped up by wooden poles and twine.
Beside it, supplies had been neatly stacked—bedrolls, a cooking pot, some burlap sacks of provisions, and a sheathed short sword resting within arm's reach.
A family of five sat around the fire, their faces touched by its warmth. A pot hung over the flames, filled with a bubbling stew that carried the aroma of wild herbs, root vegetables, and salted meat.
The mother stirred the contents gently with a wooden ladle, her expression calm but focused.
"We should move again tomorrow," said the father, his voice low but firm.
He was a broad-shouldered man in his late thirties, his hair dark and tied back with a leather strap. His stubble suggested a few days of travel, and his tunic bore patches of old leather armor. Though not outwardly imposing, his presence was steady and protective.
His wife glanced at him. "Same direction?"
"East," he replied, pulling out a rolled-up map and unfurling it across a flat rock beside him. "If we follow the ridge for another day or two, we should hit the river. Once we cross it, Orario isn't far."
The name lingered in the air—Orario. The labyrinth city.
The older daughter, perhaps thirteen, leaned closer to peek at the map. She had shoulder-length auburn hair and a curious look in her eyes. "That's where the Dungeon is, right? Where the real adventurers go?"
The father chuckled. "Yes, Lily. That's where the 'real' adventurers go. Though I don't recommend exploring it unless you want to get eaten by a giant lizard."
Lily stuck out her tongue playfully and leaned back. "Gross."
The younger daughter giggled beside her, no older than seven, clutching a hand-carved wooden toy in her lap. She had their mother's golden hair and a bright innocence in her expression.
The son, seated slightly apart, kept his gaze sharp on the trees. He was the spitting image of his father—dark hair, square jaw, and sharp brown eyes that darted with quiet caution.
Fourteen, maybe fifteen, he sat with a small dagger strapped to his side and a wooden practice sword leaning against his shoulder.
"Still think it's safe to sleep out here?" he asked without turning his head.
"Safer than trying to camp on the mountain trail," the father answered. "There haven't been any signs of monsters in this region for weeks. Besides—"
He patted the hilt of the sword resting beside him.
"Your old man's still a level 1. That counts for something."
A moment of silence passed.
"Right… a level 1 adventurer," the boy muttered under his breath.
The mother gave him a sidelong glance. "Ronan, your father's done more than most men out there. Don't forget that."
Ronan nodded once, but kept his eyes on the woods.
The mother returned to the stew and began ladling portions into small wooden bowls. "Dinner, everyone. Make sure to cool it down before you burn your tongues."
The girls cheered softly and reached for their portions. The father handed his son a bowl, and Ronan accepted it silently, only briefly taking his eyes off the treeline.
The camp settled into the comforting rhythm of evening: the soft clatter of bowls, the quiet laughter of children, the occasional pop from the fire.
Then came the sound.
Snap.
Not loud—but distinct. A dry twig, freshly broken.
The entire family froze.
The father was the first to move. In a flash, his hand was on his sword, and he rose to a crouch. Ronan, trained by his father, mirrored the motion, quickly shifting in front of his mother and sisters, shielding them with his body.
Another sound followed—this time a gentle rustle of leaves, like something—or someone—brushing past a low bush.
The mother stood slowly, wrapping an arm protectively around her daughters and stepping behind Ronan.
The father narrowed his eyes. "Stay here."
With sword drawn but lowered, he moved silently toward the edge of the clearing, every step measured and careful. His heart beat faster, but his hand remained steady. Whatever it was, it hadn't attacked yet. That was a good sign.
More shuffling. Then—
A figure emerged from the trees, stepping just into the light of the fire.
The sight stole the breath from everyone present.
It was a boy—or rather, someone boy-like. No older than twelve in appearance, barefoot, draped in a pristine white toga that flowed softly in the breeze. His skin was a pale, unnatural green that shimmered faintly under the firelight.
Was His hair, long and silken white, cascaded past his shoulders. But it was the ears—long, pointed—and the eyes—gray irises glowing faintly with amber light—that silenced the clearing.
"By the gods…" the mother whispered.
Ronan's grip tightened on his makeshift sword. "Monster?"
The stranger stopped at the edge of the firelight, hands raised slightly in a gesture of peace.
"I'm not here to hurt anyone," he said calmly.
His voice was soft but clear, oddly articulate—cultured even, like someone who had studied etiquette and diplomacy.
The father didn't lower his sword. "What are you?"
The stranger blinked. "A glind."
That made everyone pause.
The girls clung to their mother. Ronan didn't move.
"Is that another term for…spirit?" the mother asked.
The stranger tilted his head, curious. "No. I don't think so."
"You look like an elf," Lily whispered.
"I don't think I'm that either," he answered with a faint smile.
The fire crackled, and silence stretched between them.
Finally, the father spoke again. "Then what do you know?"
The boy lowered his hands slowly and took one tentative step closer.
"My name is A," he said. "I… woke up not far from here. I don't know how I got here. But when I saw the smoke from your fire, I followed."
His eyes looked past the father, toward the camp, the tents, the family. He didn't seem hungry—nor exhausted. But there was a strange detachment in the way he spoke, like someone who had been alone for a very long time.
"I saw the light," A added. "And I hoped… maybe I could find someone who could help me."
The father hesitated. His grip on the sword loosened slightly, but he didn't lower it.
"You're not from around here, then."
"I'm not even sure what here is."
The mother glanced toward her husband. "He's just a boy…"
"He doesn't look like any boy I've ever seen."
"I know," she said softly. "But he's alone."
A took another step forward. His features were unreadable, but something in his eyes—despite their unnatural color—conveyed no malice. Just confusion. Hope.
"Please," he said. "I don't know where I am. I don't even know the name of this land."
The mother stepped past Ronan, gently moving her daughters behind her.
"This is the western stretch of the Loki Familia trade route," she said cautiously. "We're about two days west of Orario."
A blinked. The words meant nothing to him. "Orario?"
The father finally lowered his sword, though he didn't sheath it.
"You really don't know?"
"No. I'm sorry."
"You said your name was A?"
He nodded.
The father studied him carefully, then sighed.
"I'm Garron. That's my wife, Selene. Our children—Ronan, Lily, and Mina."
The youngest peeked out from behind her brother's tunic, then quickly hid again.
Garron stepped aside slightly. "You're welcome to sit by the fire, A. But if you try anything, understand that I'll treat you like a monster."
A bowed his head slightly. "Understood."
He moved forward slowly, hands still at his sides, and settled down on the opposite side of the fire. The warmth reached him almost immediately, more comforting than he expected.
Selene handed him a bowl of stew, hesitating only a moment before letting it go to which A accepted it.
He stared at it for a second. "Thank you…"
Ronan sat across from him, still tense but less openly hostile. "You really don't know what an adventurer is?"
A shook his head. "I've heard the word… but not in a way that makes sense here."
Garron scratched his head. "That's… odd. You don't even know Orario, and you don't know adventurers. But you're in the wilderness. Alone. Dressed like some kind of priest."
"I wish I had answers," A said softly. "But I don't."
Lily leaned forward slightly, curiosity overcoming caution. "You said you woke up here? Like, in the forest?"
"Yes."
"You're not hungry?" Mina piped up suddenly, her voice small.
A paused. "No.." He recalled in the dragon ball anime and manga that supreme Kais don't get hungry and can never be tired.
The family exchanged glances, clearly unsure what to make of the strange boy. He wasn't hostile. If anything, he seemed… misplaced. Like a puzzle piece from another box entirely.
Selene finally broke the silence again. "You said you were looking for help."
A met her eyes. "Yes. If I may…"
He looked around the fire at the faces watching him—cautious, curious, and human.
Then, with quiet dignity, he asked:
"Could I ask for directions?"
End of Chapter 3