Ren stepped out of the Wayslip and onto the soft, familiar grass of his own farm. The air was sweet with the scent of his crops, the sun was warm on his face, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of his reborn 'Harmony Tree.' He was home.
Lyra and Ser Kaelen, who had been anxiously waiting, rushed to his side.
"You're back!" Kaelen exclaimed, relief washing over him. "What happened? The cosmic energies... they went quiet."
"Did you win?" Lyra asked, her eyes searching his for any sign of injury.
Ren just smiled, a peaceful, tired expression on his face. "I did," he said. "It was a farming competition. I won with my compost. The big space bugs won't be bothering us anymore."
His explanation was so simple, so utterly absurd, that they could only stare at him. He had just returned from a multiversal contest where the fate of their world hung in the balance, and he described it with the same casual air as winning first prize for his pumpkin at the village fair.
The peace that followed was real and profound. The threat of the Blight was gone, a promise secured by Ren's victory. The kingdom of Eldoria entered a golden age of prosperity, fueled by the agricultural boons originating from Oakhaven and the new political stability that came from having a "Farmer God" as a sworn ally.
Ren's life finally became what he had always wanted: simple, quiet, and filled with the honest work of a farmer.
He did not become a king or a high priest. He remained on his farm, tending his miraculous plants. The "Royal Pest Control Act" kept away all but the most respectful visitors. The world, for the most part, learned to leave him in peace.
His 'followers' evolved. The villagers of Oakhaven continued their worship, not with grand temples, but with simple acts of community and by tending their own gardens with a newfound reverence. To them, good farming was a form of prayer.
The mages and scholars from the capital, led by Archmage Vance, formed the "Royal Society for Agrarian Arts." They would occasionally make a pilgrimage to Oakhaven, not to ask for miracles, but to sit at a respectful distance and simply observe Ren's techniques, filling volumes of books with their notes on his "transcendent cultivation." Ren mostly ignored them, but would sometimes offer them a fresh carrot if they looked hungry.
The Dragon Elder became the silent guardian of the skies, a protector of the realm, his debt to Ren paid daily through his quiet vigilance. He and Ren would sometimes have long, silent conversations, a farmer and a dragon sitting together on a mountaintop, simply enjoying the view.
Lyra remained by his side, her role shifting from guard to partner. She found a new purpose not in the shadows, but in the sun, helping Ren manage the now-famous farm. Her past as an assassin faded, replaced by the quiet joy of a life built on growth instead of death.
Ser Kaelen remained the Royal Liaison and a true friend. His visits were a welcome tradition, a bridge between Ren's peaceful world and the kingdom he had saved.
One afternoon, a few years after the cosmic competition, a young, aspiring bard made the long journey to Oakhaven, hoping to get a firsthand account for an epic poem about the legendary Farmer God. He found Ren not performing miracles, but on his hands and knees, pulling weeds from his carrot patch.
"Excuse me, Lord Ren?" the bard asked timidly.
Ren looked up, wiping sweat from his brow. "Just Ren is fine. Can I help you?"
"I... I wanted to write the true story of your great deeds!" the bard said, his eyes shining with awe. "Of how you harvested an army and defeated the darkness from beyond the stars! I want to tell the world of your power!"
Ren looked at the young man's eager face. He looked at his hands, caked with rich, dark soil. He looked at Lyra, who was laughing as she tried to shoo a chicken away from the 'Sunstone' wheat. He looked at the sun setting over his peaceful fields.
He smiled, a simple, contented smile.
"There's no great secret to it," Ren said, turning back to his work and patting the soil. "Power isn't about moving mountains or commanding armies."
He gently pulled another weed, making room for a young carrot to grow.
"It's about helping good things grow. That's all. The rest is just... details."
The bard stood there, watching the unassuming hero tend his garden as the world he saved continued to turn, oblivious to the grand cosmic truths and simple, profound wisdom that lay in a small, quiet farm on a hill. The greatest power in the universe wasn't a sword or a spell. It was the patient, nurturing hand of a farmer. And the harvest was peace.