The mountain had long since vanished behind him.
For three days, Arin walked without rest. The wind followed him like an old friend, whispering softly through the grass. Each night, he slept beneath open sky, the stars watching like quiet guardians.
He had never walked so far.
He had never seen so much.
The forest thinned gradually, replaced by low hills and stretches of farmland. Strange wooden poles rose from the earth, lined with wires that hummed faintly in the breeze. A distant hum of machines drifted on the air — steady, alien, rhythmic.
And for the first time in his life, Arin saw smoke that did not come from wood.
He paused at the crest of a hill. Ahead, nestled in a small valley, lay a village — his first.
It wasn't large. A cluster of rooftops, a handful of narrow roads, fields rippling golden in the wind. He could see people moving — small figures bent in labor, carts rattling, dogs barking.
The sight filled him with something strange.
Excitement. Curiosity.
And beneath it, a faint ache — the kind that comes when the world feels both vast and close at once.
---
He began to descend.
As he walked, Karo bounded ahead, tail wagging furiously. The wolf had grown strong and tall over the years, his coat a silver-gray sheen under the sunlight. Farmers in the fields looked up at the sight, some startled, others wary.
By the time Arin reached the first dirt road, a few children had already noticed him.
"Hey!" one shouted. "Who's that?"
"I think he's from the mountains!" another said.
"Look at his clothes! He's dressed funny!"
Arin looked down at himself — plain gray robes tied at the waist, sleeves loose, worn from years of training. His hair fell long past his shoulders, tied loosely at the back.
He smiled faintly. "Do I look funny?"
The children stared, uncertain if they were being teased.
"You talk strange too," one muttered.
"I do?"
"Yeah! Like an old book."
Arin chuckled. "Then maybe I've read too many trees."
The children blinked, clearly confused, and then burst out laughing anyway. The sound filled him with warmth.
Laughter — he'd heard it from his master, but this was different.
It was messy, alive, contagious.
He smiled and bowed lightly. "Thank you."
"For what?" a boy asked.
"For showing me what laughter sounds like among people."
They exchanged baffled looks, then ran off shouting, "He's weird!"
Arin only laughed softly. "Maybe I am."
---
He continued into the village.
The streets were narrow, lined with small houses of stone and wood. Smoke rose from chimneys. Chickens clucked, dogs barked, carts creaked over cobblestone.
It was all noise — constant, layered, alive.
For someone who had grown up in silence, it was overwhelming. Every voice, every clang of metal, every call of a merchant pulled at him like waves in a storm.
He stopped several times, simply listening, trying to separate sound from sound. But the world below the mountain did not speak in stillness — it shouted in a hundred directions at once.
He smiled despite himself. "So this is what Master meant by chaos."
Karo whined softly, brushing against his leg.
Arin knelt and stroked his fur. "It's alright. We'll get used to the noise."
---
Eventually, he reached the marketplace.
It was small, crowded with stalls selling vegetables, spices, bread, and worn clothes. People moved briskly, their voices a constant hum of bartering and gossip.
Arin watched them with fascination. He'd never seen so many faces. So many stories, all pressed together.
He approached a stall where an old woman was selling fruit.
"Good morning," he said kindly.
The woman glanced up. "Morning. You buying?"
He looked at the fruit — bright oranges, red apples, a few pears. "What do I give you for one?"
"Coins," she said, suspicious. "You got any?"
Arin tilted his head. "What are coins?"
The woman froze, staring at him as if he'd asked what air was. "You what?"
"I don't know this word," Arin said calmly. "But I have these."
He reached into his robe and produced a handful of smooth stones, each polished until they gleamed. "They're from the stream near my home."
The old woman blinked, then sighed heavily. "You really are a mountain fool."
Arin frowned slightly. "I'm not a fool. Just new."
The woman huffed, clearly deciding he wasn't dangerous, just strange. "Keep your rocks. Here—" she tossed him an apple.
Arin caught it easily, blinking. "You're giving this to me?"
"Sure. Maybe you'll bring me luck."
He smiled gently. "Then I'll give you something too."
He reached out, plucked a single pine needle from his sleeve, and placed it on her counter.
"For what?" she asked, half amused.
"For kindness," he said simply. "It's rare, so I thought it deserved a gift."
The woman laughed — a dry, genuine sound. "You're a strange one, boy."
"So I've been told," Arin said, taking a bite of the apple. "Thank you."
He turned and walked away, leaving her staring after him — smiling despite herself.
---
As he wandered deeper into the village, he began to notice things he hadn't before.
Children playing barefoot in dust. A man shouting at his wife near a doorway. A beggar sitting by a wall, ignored by everyone passing by.
He stopped.
The beggar was old, his clothes little more than rags, his eyes half-lidded in exhaustion. A tin cup lay before him, empty.
Arin approached slowly, Karo following close behind.
The old man stirred. "Got any coins?" he rasped.
"I don't," Arin said. "But I can share my food."
He broke the apple in half and handed one piece to the man.
The beggar took it without a word, chewing slowly. Arin sat beside him.
"You don't have to sit here," the beggar said after a moment. "You look… different. Not like us."
Arin smiled. "There's no 'us' or 'them'. Only people."
The man laughed weakly. "You talk fancy for someone sharing a meal with dirt."
Arin looked around at the passing villagers, their hurried steps, their loud voices. "I like dirt. It's honest."
The beggar blinked, then smiled faintly. "You're mad."
"Maybe," Arin said. "But I think madness might be the price of seeing clearly."
---
They ate in silence after that.
When the apple was gone, Arin stood. "Thank you for sharing with me."
The beggar looked up, startled. "Thank me? You gave me the apple!"
"But you gave me company," Arin said simply.
Then he turned to leave.
The old man watched him go, something warm flickering in his chest for the first time in years.
---
By sunset, Arin found himself sitting at the edge of the village, watching the sky turn crimson. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys. Dogs barked in the distance.
He had met laughter, confusion, hunger, greed, and kindness — all in a single day.
It was overwhelming.
And beautiful.
He smiled softly to himself. "You were right, Master. The world is wide. And it needs healing."
Karo rested his head on Arin's lap. The boy stroked his fur absently, gazing at the horizon where the sky met the fields.
Somewhere beyond those fields lay cities, people, suffering — and hope.
And so, as night fell over his first village, the man who had descended from the mountain whispered to the stars:
> "Let my hands bring peace. Let my silence teach sound. Let my steps be light enough to never harm what I walk upon."
The stars above shimmered softly, as though listening.
And the wind — his eternal companion — brushed his cheek in quiet affirmation.
---