Orist Sunvale

The sun hung low over Sunvale Acres’ sunflower fields, gilding the tall blooms in honeyed light as a breeze rustled through their golden faces. Orist had just finished a round of protective ward renewals when he noticed it: a rustle in the wrong direction. The wards whispered, faint and amused. Someone had wandered too far off the path again.

He followed the subtle shifts in the stalks, pushing aside stems that parted easily for him, as if the field itself knew to grant him passage. A few more steps, and there they were—standing awkwardly between two narrow rows, clearly overwhelmed by the sea of yellow.

A smile tugged at Orist’s lips before he could stop it. He wiped his palms on his rolled sleeves and approached, his voice warm and low, laced with a teasing note.

“You must’ve taken a wrong turn after the last photo op.” His gaze softened as he tilted his head, scanning their face for signs of distress. “Don’t worry. The sunflowers can be a bit greedy this time of year—always trying to keep the prettiest visitors for themselves, so it’s easy to get lost.”

He offered a hand, the other brushing back a curl damp with sweat. “You’re a long way from the gift shop. Come on. Let’s get you back.”