From atop the ridge, the village looked like a vision out of a fable—too perfect, too serene, too untouched by time.
Nestled within the warm cradle of amber-kissed hills and pine-veiled mountains, the village of Elmsworth shimmered in the waning embrace of the evening sun. As twilight slowly painted the sky in gold and lavender hues, the quaint stone cottages—each topped with moss-flecked thatched roofs—reflected the soft light like aging gems. Dusk's golden spill poured across the valley, setting the meadows aglow and turning even the simplest grass blade into a strand of sunlight.
The homes, built with love rather than grandeur, stood quietly with a rustic elegance. Weathered stone walls bore wooden window boxes bursting with vibrant poppies and bluebells, their petals dancing lightly in the cool evening breeze. The shutters, some loosely ajar, creaked gently as wind drifted lazily through the valley, bringing with it a rich mix of pine, smoke, and freshly tilled soil.
Thin tendrils of smoke curled from chimneys, rising like sleepy spirits into the sky, carrying the aromas of roasted herbs, fresh bread, and simmering stews. The gentle sounds of village life stirred beneath the sunset: a blacksmith's hammer fading in rhythm, the coo of doves perched on eaves, and the distant mooing of cows returning home.
The pathways weaving through the village were of well-packed dirt, faded pale from centuries of footsteps. Wildflowers bloomed along their edges in cheerful defiance of order—daisies, foxgloves, and clover. One well-worn path curved upward from the valley, winding past clustered homes and gardens before vanishing into the tree-crowded slope that led to the outer ridges.
Terraced fields flanked the village's outer edges, quilted with golden wheat swaying like liquid silk in the breeze. Between the rows grew tightly packed herbs and vegetables—mint, turnips, leeks, and cabbage—tended to by villagers moving with patience and harmony, their rhythm tied to the pulse of the earth.
To the north rose a protective wall of towering pines, like a natural fortress shielding Elmsworth from the world beyond. Past it loomed deeper mountains, ghostly and gray, their ridges softened by mist and time. But here, bathed in twilight's glow, the village felt suspended in peace—not the peace born of silence, but one crafted by balance.
There were also barns attached to many houses, and from this height, small, strange creatures—barely visible—could be seen moving within their fenced enclosures. They were too tiny and indistinct to identify, but even from afar, it was clear Elmsworth was home to more than just people.
Julius stood still, breath caught in his throat. The sight moved him.
"It's... so beautiful," he said, eyes wide in wonder.
Zhou Rui stepped up beside him, nodding as he took it in.
"Yeah... this is my first time here too. It's incredible."
Marcus, standing slightly ahead of them, smiled.
"It's all thanks to the people who live here. They've kept this place alive and pure."
Down in the valley, villagers could be seen moving about—some working in gardens, others carrying baskets, a few simply chatting by fences. They moved with a calmness that seemed to belong to a different world.
At the far end of the ridge, just beyond where the mountain dipped downward, lay a smooth, sloped passage, carved neatly into the hillside. It was steep, but clearly designed for sliding down, with vines and sturdy bark lining the edges for grip. Alongside it was a second, narrower path made for climbing back up, lined with wooden handrails tied with rope—both paths clearly built by the villagers themselves.
Marcus stepped toward the edge and called back over his shoulder.
"Follow me, boys! Let's slide down!"
With a confident lean forward, he tilted and launched himself down the slope, the wind catching his cloak as he disappeared below the treeline.
Zhou Rui grinned and followed, shouting as he sped off after Marcus.
Julius hesitated for only a second before running forward. He grabbed the brim of his wizard hat and shouted,
"YAAAHOOOO!!!"
as he launched himself down the slope, laughter bubbling in his chest.
As they slid, a few villagers looked up from below, drawn by the sound of Julius's yell. Among them was a little girl standing in front of a cottage.
She was strikingly cute, with warm brown eyes and straight black hair that reached just to her shoulders, her bangs cut neatly above her brows. Her small frame was dressed in a refined, sleeveless A-line gown that flowed gracefully to her ankles. The fabric shimmered in warm, brown-reddish gradients, shifting from soft chestnut at the bodice to rich mahogany near the hem. Embroidered flowers in copper, amber, and rose gold adorned the top, their petals catching the evening light.
Around her waist was tied a wide, silky cocoa-colored bow, lending a delicate nobility to her youthful appearance. Her silver hair was unusually elegant for a child, tied with a deep maroon ribbon and dotted with tiny flower pins that matched her gown's embroidery. The lower part of her dress was etched with swirling patterns in hues of bronze, rust, and dusty pink, creating a moving tapestry as she walked.
Her reddish-brown almond-toed shoes completed the ensemble, subtle yet graceful.
As her gaze fell upon Marcus, her face brightened instantly. She gasped and, without hesitation, broke into a full sprint across the grass.
"Papa! Papa! Papa, you're back!" she cried joyfully, her voice filled with excitement as she ran toward him, arms outstretched.