In a distant land, far beyond the realms of history books, lived an old man in a secluded cottage on the town's outskirts. He preferred solitude over company, finding peace in the quiet life he led. Days passed uneventfully, with rare occurrences like a speckled cow's birth or an unusually bountiful harvest breaking the monotony.
However, one morning, the old man awoke with a heavy sigh, realizing that he felt quite lonely. The company of his farm animals was no longer enough. "Perhaps I should venture into town and find a friend," he thought.
Filled with newfound hope, he leaped out of bed with a burst of energy, dressing in his best trousers and shirt. After a final approving glance in the mirror, he grabbed his walking stick and satchel, setting off towards the town.
He hadn't gone far when he encountered an old hag by the roadside.
"You seek something, don't you?" the hag crooned.
"Indeed, good day to you. But who might you be?" the old man asked, puzzled.
"Never mind who I am. You're heading into town, aren't you? Please, give me the food you have packed. I'm hungry, and the townsfolk never notice my pleas. You're from out of town, so maybe you're different."
The man hesitated; he had only a few figs, barely enough to sustain him for the journey. But looking into the old woman's eyes, he saw a depth that made him feel safe. He handed her his figs, saying, "Madam, I have only these small fruits, but what's mine is yours. I'd like to be your friend."
The woman smiled, and her eyes began to shine brightly. Her entire body became so brilliant that the man had to shield his eyes. When the light subsided, she transformed into the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, a beauty so pure it made him feel unworthy.
Falling to his knees, he cried, "Please... I am not worthy." "Perhaps not, but that doesn't matter now," she replied, her voice soft and melodic.
"My name is Wisdom, and I need your help. The townspeople are under a terrible curse. They have traded joy for bondage, enslaving themselves for material possessions. They've forgotten how to love and care for one another, blinded by greed. All interactions are transactions; even friendship must be bought. They no longer dream."
She produced a tiny music box from thin air, handing it to the man.
"Take this music box and play its melody. Only this tune can break the spell, but they must truly listen.""My lady Wisdom, I will do as you say. But may I hear the tune first?"
"Of course. You already know it well." She opened the box, and at first, the old man heard a barely perceptible high-pitched ring. "Keep listening," she whispered.
Suddenly, the tune emerged, a whimsical melody that felt like starlight on a dark night, like sunlight filtering through leaves, like summer and childhood all at once. It felt like home.
"What is this?" he asked, his voice filled with wonder.
"Spirit. This melody is called Spirit, a forgotten gift. Play it for the townspeople, and maybe they'll learn to feel again."
Feeling part of something greater for the first time, he looked up to thank Wisdom, but she had vanished. In her place stood a fig tree, laden with fruit.
Taking this as a sign of urgency, he hurried into town with a newfound sense of purpose. Spotting a woman, he called out, "Madam, come here; I have a melody to play for you!"
The woman, frantic and desperate, grabbed the music box. "Play it! Play it now!" she demanded. The townspeople gathered around, each trying to claim the box.
"Play it! I'll buy it! No, I'll buy it!" they shouted, bickering and arguing.
Suddenly, a thunderous voice silenced the crowd. "What's this commotion?" boomed the mayor, a gluttonous man. He seized the music box and wound the key impatiently.
As the old man heard the tune of the Spirit, the townspeople heard nothing.
"Is this a trick? Where's the tune?" they demanded.
"Just keep listening!" pleaded the old man.
But the townspeople couldn't hear. They were too consumed by their own thoughts and troubles, having forgotten how to listen and imagine. Frustrated, the mayor tore the music box apart, searching for the tune.
"Where is it? Where's the Spirit?" he shouted.
But now, the music box was broken, and no tune could be played.