The Flower Field.
The air here smelled sweet. An intoxicating scent of nectar, rain, and fertile soil.
I arrived at a clearing where a field of flowers stretched as far as the eye could see. It was a riot of colors that hurt the eyes of someone used to the gray of a cave and the dark green of the woods. Too beautiful. Too serene. The exhaustion of running for days finally caught up to me. I set down my bag and weapons beneath a shady tree. Sat down. Leaned back.
My vigilance melted away in the floral scent. My eyelids grew heavy.
I fell asleep.
Ting..... ting...
Soft music slipped into my dreams, pulling me out gently.
I opened my eyes. A light drizzle was falling. Yet, strangely, there were no dark clouds. The sun still shone brightly, creating a shimmering curtain of golden rain.
The music. A melody not born from any familiar instrument. Light, yet full, filling every gap in the air. The birds were silent. The wind had stopped. Even the rain seemed to fall in rhythm with the tune.
A man walked through the curtain of rain.
Long golden hair, pointed ears, a robe entirely untouched by the water. He walked without touching the ground—or at least, his steps were so light that the grass did not bend beneath his feet.
An elf. So this world had them.
He stopped in the middle of the flower field, his back to me. The music ceased. The rain eased, then vanished. Nature resumed its breathing, but to a rhythm dictated by his presence.
Did he not notice me? Or did he just not care?
My heart beat faster. Not out of fear, but from the sudden social awkwardness striking me after three months of total isolation. I stood up.
The man turned slowly. His face was smooth, flawless, and ageless. He looked at me. There was no surprise in his eyes. Only a quiet curiosity, like someone finding a unique pebble at the bottom of a river. He scanned my appearance—dirty clothes, bone armor, bloodied weapons. A harsh contrast to the perfection surrounding him.
I met his gaze. Pale blue.
I bowed my head slightly. "Forgive me for trespassing."
My brow furrowed. My language. Did he even understand?
"Vad pratar du om? Jag förstår inte."
The intonation of his voice was foreign, melodious, but the meaning remained entirely out of reach. Communication. The first wall of civilization.
I sighed, sitting back down and leaning against the tree. A minor frustration surfaced. The unknown, once again. Fine. Body language was universal.
I stood up again. Looked into his eyes. Pointed to my chest. "Me." Made a walking motion with my fingers on my palm. "Came." Pointed to the ground beneath us. "Here." Clasped my hands in front of my chest, bowing deeply. "Sorry."
The man watched with the intensity of a child learning something new, nodding along. Then, a wide smile broke across his face. He approached and patted my shoulder. His touch was light, yet firm.
"Inga problem, bra åtgärd."
He gave me a thumbs up. He understood.
He then crouched near my pile of weapons. His expression grew slightly serious. He crossed his arms into an X, pointed at the weapons, then patted the ground outside the flower field. No weapons allowed. It made sense. This was a garden, not a battlefield.
"Mhm... Okay." I returned the thumbs up. I had to play it safe.
We walked to the edge of the forest. I hid my spears, armor, and knife in the dense bushes. It felt strange to leave them behind—like shedding a protective layer of skin.
"How's this?" I tilted my head, gesturing with open hands toward my hidden belongings.
"Bra." The man gave another thumbs up. He extended a hand. "Jag är VIELA," he said, pointing to his chest, then to mine.
I shook his hand. His skin was cool. "I am Azisa."
He gestured, inviting me forward. We walked in.