"Hello, sir. Here is today's newspaper."
"Here are your two copper coins."
A young boy wearing a fedora, holding a fresh newspaper to sell, handed it to an old man in a wheelchair. The old man handed over the money and smiled warmly as he greeted the boy.
It was under the fresh sunlight of an approaching spring—the season of change and brightness, where the sky reclaimed its radiance after countless freezing nights.
That very spring always served as a gateway for a new day to arrive, dispelling the piercing cold of the old year.
Today was December 30th, 2995, and common knowledge dictated that today would host a New Year's celebration.
Old Haller was no exception; he, too, had been looking forward to a small feast with the children he used to raise.
Old Haller rolled his wheels, moving bit by bit, slowly and deliberately across the street.
He looked at the bustling street packed with crowds passing by, seeing people busy going out and enjoying themselves. He was also well aware of the horse-drawn carriages carrying happy families, which only made his heart feel heavier.
The old man rolled into a flower shop. Since it was supposed to be a joyful day, bright and passionate flowers would always be neatly arranged right in front of the shops. However, there would always be flowers reserved for various other occasions.
Old Haller picked out a bouquet of white chrysanthemums from a forgotten corner shelf inside the shop. Seeing too many people lining up to buy flowers at the reception desk, he quietly walked over to the counter, placed ten silver coins down, and walked away. That amount of money was probably equivalent to a whole week's wage for that shopkeeper.
Having done so, the old man silently left the shop and looked off into the distance, where the clock tower was chiming to signal the passing hour.
Every watch (two hours), it would toll once. Right now, it was 12 o'clock noon.
"There you are."
He spotted a young man sitting on the roadside reading a book, leaning his back against a lamppost. Realizing that it was indeed the person he was looking for, the old man let out a sigh and called out loudly.
"Hey, Ron. Over here."
…
Upon a vast, deep green meadow, far away from the buildings that breathed of magic and technology, Ron and Haller were traveling along a muddy path that was filthy and foul-smelling.
Ron pushed Haller's wheelchair forward. Neither of them showed a single trace of emotion on their faces, though boredom was written clearly in old Haller's eyes.
It wasn't until the thick mud no longer offered a path to walk on, and a long stretch of towering grass completely obstructed old Haller's vision, leaving him unable to see anything, that Ron finally stepped in front of him and bent down. His movements were as precise and practiced as a pre-programmed machine.
Old Haller said nothing more. He grabbed onto Ron's shoulders and mustered his strength to wrap his arms around his neck until he no longer worried about falling.
He also noticed the jagged roughness of Ron's spine pressing through the fabric of his shirt, but he chose to say nothing about it.
Just like that, one person carried the other on his back through the lush green grass, moving forward.
They walked like that for over ten minutes before they finally began to speak, with the old man Haller breaking the silence.
"Are Emma and Lunas not staying in the village this year? I haven't seen them anywhere."
"They just left on a business trip a few weeks ago. They aren't young anymore, so they don't exactly have free time."
Hearing this, Ron merely offered a couple of casual responses as a matter of formality, and then he kept walking.
The two of them eventually reached a grand, spacious house that resembled a mansion, except for the tragic fact that it had been burned to the ground. Only ashes and blackened, charred fragments of wood were still desperately clinging to the earth second by second.
Strangely enough, grass seemed utterly incapable of growing around that area, let alone growing tall, creating a completely flat clearance for the house.
Ron didn't halt his steps, nor did he look around the place. He simply kept going, venturing deeper into these ruins.
It wasn't until he spotted an open-air corridor leading to another section that he finally stepped into it.
In stark contrast to the area that had been burned so thoroughly that not even ash remained, the open-air corridor built from marble was incredibly sturdy. Although it bore many ruins and the wear and tear of time, at least a few patches of grass and flowers could be seen growing there.
The destination Ron and Haller were approaching was a place connected to that building—an ancient, ruined church built in gothic architecture.
The two of them walked inside. Noticing that the sanctuary hall was still in relatively good condition, not heavily destroyed aside from the layers of soot and the telltale signs of a place left unvisited for a very long time, they finally relaxed to some extent.
Ron helped Haller place the bouquet of flowers at the base of the crucifix statue, and then he walked over to the pews.
Ron set Haller down on a long bench right near the hall while he sat down immediately beside him. Neither of them said much; they just sat there, listening to the birds chirping and catching the scent of fragrant grass.
It was unclear how much time had slipped away, only that the sun had not yet set, and they remained sitting motionless in the quiet, desolate space. It was only when they heard a bell echoing in their ears through the use of magic that they finally stood up—well, Ron stood up.
But before climbing onto Ron's back, the old man asked.
"So tonight, are you coming?"
Hearing that, Ron hesitated before responding, though it was unclear how long he had been pondering it.
"Tonight I will be participating in the night banquet. I'm not entirely sure..."
The old man nodded understandingly to let it pass. After all, they hadn't really spoken to each other in a long time.
"I hope we'll meet again."