"Mother!" Fir gasped, sitting up. Pine rubbed his eyes, dazed but smiling when he saw familiar faces. The reunion was quiet but powerful — tears, trembling hands, and whispered gratitude.
Roland waited patiently, offering a small, understanding smile as the emotion passed between them.
Then came the elders — three in all, each wearing simple robes patched countless times. Their leader, an elderly elf with silver-green hair and tired amber eyes, stepped forward and bowed slightly.
"You brought back our children… and the bull of the forest walks beside you," he said slowly. "You have our deepest thanks. But… we sense something else. The land—it feels… different."
Roland nodded, folding his arms loosely. "It was being drained by a tree at the far end of your fields. It wasn't malicious — just evolving. A Lumescent Willow going through a tier shift from copper to iron. Its roots were absorbing too much energy without realizing it."
The elders exchanged surprised looks. One of them whispered, "We thought it was a curse… that the land had turned on us."
Roland shook his head gently. "No curse. Just nature doing what it does — without balance. I've stabilized it with Nutrient Booster Seeds, so your fields will recover over the next few days."
The old leader blinked several times, disbelief flickering across his worn face. "You… fixed it already?"
Roland gave a faint, humble smile. "A farmer's eyes see life where others see loss."
For a moment, silence hung between them — the kind of silence that carried awe rather than words.
Then Sol, who had been sniffing around the empty village road, perked his ears and gave a small whine. He trotted back to Roland's side, tail swishing.
Roland knelt and scratched his head affectionately. "Sol," he said softly, "we'll need something for everyone to eat. Think you can handle it?"
The dog's eyes lit up — golden energy flickered briefly across his fur. Before anyone could react, Sol's body shimmered and expanded, muscles tightening, fur bristling with vitality. In a flash of light, he doubled in size, now towering as high as Roland's chest.
The elves gasped, staggering back in awe.
"Good boy," Roland said with a grin. "Go bring us something hearty."
Sol gave a deep, rumbling bark — then bolted into the forest in a blur of motion, vanishing between the trees like a streak of sunlight.
Brontus chuckled, his deep voice echoing warmly. "Still holding back, that one."
As the villagers murmured in amazement, the elder stepped closer to Roland, voice soft but trembling with gratitude. "You've done more for us in one morning than we could in a year. We… don't have much to repay you."
Roland waved a hand. "No need. Just take care of the children — and your fields. I'll check on the land again in a few days to make sure the Willow's stable."
Fir, still half-asleep, reached out toward Roland as her mother held her. "Mister Roland… thank you."
He smiled down at her. "Grow strong, little sprout. The world's brighter when good roots take hold."
Brontus lowered his head beside him, golden eyes soft. "And remember," the bull rumbled, his voice deep and steady, "even the weakest seed can split stone if it never stops growing."
The children nodded, holding tight to their mother as dawn fully broke across the horizon.
And somewhere beyond the trees, a faint echo of Sol's victorious bark rang through the forest — a sign that breakfast was on its way.
The villagers gathered around slowly, still dazed by the turn of events. Fir and Pine's mother held them close, whispering quiet thanks to Brontus and Roland. The elder, still thin but steady in posture, motioned for Roland to follow him to a shaded seating area beneath an old oak.
"Please," the elder said, lowering himself to sit on a carved root, "forgive our lack of hospitality. It has been long since we've welcomed a traveler — much less one who comes bearing food and healing."
Roland smiled lightly, resting his Verdant Bracelet arm across his knee. "No apology needed. I came because I couldn't ignore two hungry kids."
The elder chuckled weakly, then tilted his head curiously. "You said you live on a farm nearby. But… where exactly? There's only barren ground beyond the hills — even the hardiest weeds don't survive there."
Roland looked off toward the distant horizon where his home lay beyond the forests. "Aye. That's the land. Dry, rocky, nearly lifeless when I first arrived."
The elder's eyes widened. "Then how—"
"I fixed it," Roland said simply, his tone casual but certain. "Patience, soil cultivation, and a little divine guidance."
For a moment, the elder could only stare, his expression torn between disbelief and reverence. "Then it is true… the dead lands beyond the river bloom once more?"
Roland nodded once. "Verdalis helps. She's a divine sapling, young but growing strong. The land there heals faster every day."
The elder bowed his head low. "Then forgive our earlier fears. We thought that land cursed — the scar of an old battle. Many of our kin perished trying to restore it."
Roland's voice softened. "Then they were farmers in spirit. The land remembers effort like that."
The elder gave a faint smile, his voice turning reflective. "Our village was once a thriving border settlement. Centuries ago, before the Great Withering, this valley was green — trees that touched the sky, rivers thick with silverfish. But when the mana tides shifted, the heartwood of our forest cracked. Many elves left for the inner sanctuaries, those blessed by the high courts. We… remained."
"Because someone had to keep the roots alive?" Roland asked gently.
The elder's weary eyes glimmered faintly. "Aye. Even if the world forgets the small places, someone must tend them."
Roland smiled faintly at that, his farmer's heart resonating with the words. "Then we're the same kind of fool."
Brontus let out a rumbling chuckle beside him, shaking his horns. "Fools who feed the world," he said approvingly.
The elder chuckled quietly, but the sound was thin — tired. Roland noticed the other villagers nearby: hollow faces, gaunt arms, children staring with cautious curiosity.
He reached into his magic inventory, and with a faint shimmer, several sacks of vegetables, bundles of herbs, and a small crate of wild grain appeared beside him.
The air filled instantly with the scent of freshness — carrots, leeks, tubers, Mandearoz herbs.
"I can cook," Roland said, rising with a light grin. "All I need is a large pot — something to feed everyone."
At that, Fir's mother lifted her head suddenly, hope flickering in her tired eyes. "The… festival pot," she whispered. "It's old, but still whole. We used to make stew for the Harvest Moon when times were better."
Roland smiled. "Then let's bring it back to life. Just like the land."
Brontus nodded approvingly, his tail flicking. "I'll fetch water from the river."
"And I'll make sure the fire's steady," Roland said, turning toward the gathered elves. "You've all gone hungry long enough. Let's change that."
The elder bowed deeply, his voice shaking. "You honor us, Roland of the Green Lands. The old songs speak of divine farmers who walked among mortals, restoring the soil and feeding the weak. I never thought I'd meet one."
Roland laughed softly. "I'm no god, Elder — just a man with a stubborn streak and a good shovel."
But as the morning sun climbed higher, casting warm light over the recovering fields, the elves couldn't help but look at him differently — as if the quiet man before them carried spring itself in his hands.
And somewhere beyond the treeline, Sol's triumphant bark echoed once again — signaling the return of fresh game for the feast to come.