The Legendary Mage (Alavin)

Alavin retraced his steps back to Griffin's Roost. This time, he traveled much faster than on his outward journey, but as he neared Griffin's Roost, he stumbled upon a strange sight. As dusk approached, Alavin bathed beneath a waterfall in a valley, caught a trout, and was preparing to start a fire to cook it when someone suddenly burst into the valley. Staggering, with tattered clothes and dark shackles hanging from his limbs, the man looked like a prisoner. He swayed weakly and wearily.

Alavin frowned slightly and slowly stood up, his right hand reaching for the throwing knife at his belt, vigilant.

The man's hair was disheveled, his body was filthy, and he seemed surprised to find someone in the valley. He stood at the entrance to the valley for a while, then slowly backed away. But at that moment, shouts came from the old woods outside the valley, sounding like a group of people rushing this way.

The man's hair was matted to his face, making it hard to see his expression, but Alavin could feel his internal struggle. The voices grew louder, and the man gritted his teeth and turned to flee. Alavin suddenly pointed deeper into the valley. "Hide there!"

The man looked into the valley, then back at Alavin, said nothing, and stumbled to the deepest part of the valley. There, thick vines and a hidden nook offered concealment.

Alavin acted as though nothing had happened, sitting on a rock and roasting his trout.

Before long, a group of men in black tunics rushed into the valley. Their presence was strong, like unsheathed swords, and their intensity could be felt from afar.

They saw Alavin by the lake, cooking his fish, and all frowned in unison, not rushing in.

Alavin tensed inwardly but forced himself to look up calmly. The group wore matching clothes and curved knives, and all wore white masks with only two narrow slits, giving them an eerie appearance. "Did someone pass through here?" one of them asked Alavin, his voice deep and heavy. His eyes behind the mask stared at Alavin coldly.

Alavin looked at them and then around, continuing to flip his trout. "Are you speaking to me?"

"Is there someone else here?" the man in black asked, his tone growing colder.

"If you want some fish, I can share. If you're looking for trouble, I'm game," Alavin said calmly, bluffing to intimidate them, ready to dive into the nearby lake if things went awry. The lake seemed small, but a channel beneath led to a raging river outside. He knew the terrain well, or he wouldn't have dared to rest and dine here so boldly.

"Heh, an arrogant boy," the group scoffed, yet none entered the valley, feeling a hint of caution. This was deep in Cloudveil Woods, a place rife with danger, where it was difficult for a lone person to survive. The youth not only appeared neat and clean, as if he had just bathed, but he was also leisurely cooking fish. Either he was truly confident, or he had companions who were temporarily absent. The woods were often frequented by formidable figures training their Protégés.

They had a mission and didn't want any trouble, so after a while, they all retreated.

Alavin continued to cook his fish, at ease. The man concealed in the valley did not make a hurried appearance, waiting until the sky turned dark and the group did not return. Feeling relieved, Alavin let out a sigh. Gradually, the man made his appearance.

"Care for some? It's just right," Alavin offered, dividing the golden-brown trout, placing half on a leaf beside him, and eating the other half himself.

The man stood for quite some time, and only when Alavin had almost finished did he approach, take a look at Alavin, and begin to eat voraciously. The man was likely starving as he finished quickly. Alavin passed him his own piece. The man didn't hesitate, taking it and devouring it greedily.

Alavin asked nothing. Saving him was a simple gesture, but it didn't mean he wanted to get involved, especially since the group's attire suggested they were from some special faction.

Deep into the night, the man did not leave and curled up behind the vines. He was emaciated, his clothes were in tatters like rags, and heavy shackles on his wrists, ankles, and waist left shocking bloody marks. His face was covered in grime and blood, making it hard to discern his true appearance.

In the darkness, he stared blankly at the weeds before him, his thin body shivering occasionally from cold or pain.