Bunz, The World Hopper

Some souls are born with roads already written into them.

Bunz was one of those souls. Before the Enchanted Hollow ever whispered his name, Bunz traveled beyond its borders, across lands shaped by stone villages, echoing bells, and stories older than memory. In the Hollow’s language, these places are remembered as the Western Reaches, a world where every path seems to lead somewhere meaningful, even if you don’t yet know why.

Bunz did not walk alone then. He traveled beside a devoted Guardian of Healing, one whose calling carried her across oceans and into long halls of study. They were companions for a time, learning, growing, and wandering together,until her path began to demand stillness where Bunz required motion. She understood something essential: Some beings are not meant to pause their becoming. So when the time came, Bunz chose another road.

“En avant, (Forward.)” he said with a hopeful grin, and the road answered.

Bunz stepped into the Enchanted Hollow like someone who had been waiting for it his whole life whether he knew it or not.

The moss glimmered beneath his paws. The trees blew softly in the wind, as if greeting him in a language he almost remembered. Bunz’s ears twitched constantly, catching whispers of magic that curled through the air like laughter.

“C’est magnifique, (This is beautiful)” he breathed, but wonder alone does not make belonging.

Bunz had traveled widely, yes, but always on his own rhythm. He spoke quickly, moved decisively, and told stories as if the world were listening (because, often, it was). The Hollow, however, is a place of balance, and balance already lived there.

Sage was the first to truly meet him. The herbalist moved slowly, deliberately, her presence grounded like deep roots. She invited Bunz to gather herbs with her, not to instruct him, but to see how he moved among growing things. When he rushed ahead, the plants seemed to shy away.

Sage simply smiled. “Roots grow quietly,” her silence said.

Amethyst came next. The enchantress shimmered with intent, her magic responding to emotion as much as will. When Bunz spoke too boldly, her crystals flickered, not in protest, but in playful warning, as if reminding him that magic listens best when spoken with, not over.

Bunz laughed. “D’accord, d’accord, (Alright, alright)" he said.

And then...

Binx. The alchemist. Binx, who treated recipes like rumors and measurements like myths. One afternoon, Bunz watched Binx toss herbs, powders, and something that definitely glowed into a cauldron.

“Shouldn’t you… measure that?” Bunz asked carefully. Binx tilted his head. “Why would I insult the magic like that?”

The cauldron bubbled.

Sparked.

Changed color twice.

“Mon dieu (My goodness)…” Bunz started, then caught himself.

Binx grinned. “See? Perfect.” The potion turned out to be a mild tonic that made your ears tingle and your thoughts smell like cinnamon. No one questioned it further.

Bunz struggled at first, not because he lacked kindness, but because he had never learned how to weave himself into others. He spoke when silence was needed. Led when listening would have served him better. Shared stories before understanding when to let them rest, and somewhere nearby, always observing,

Oddity.

Sharp-eyed. Quick-minded. Impossible to ignore.

Their paths crossed often, sometimes with sparks, sometimes with stubborn silence. The Hollow watched closely, amused and patient, knowing that some understandings take longer to bloom, but magic works quietly.

Days passed. Then seasons.

Bunz began to notice the rhythm beneath the Hollow, the way Sage paused before harvesting, the way Amethyst breathed before calling her crystals, the way Binx somehow knew when to step back before things exploded.

Bunz changed.

Not by losing who he was, but by expanding it.

As twilight settles over the Enchanted Hollow, lanterns glow like captured stars. The air moved with soft magic, and stories rise easily now.

Bunz sits among the others, voice warm instead of hurried.

“Chaque endroit m’a appris quelque chose, (Every place taught me something)” he says softly.

Sage listens, thoughtful. Amethyst’s magic curls gently, as if agreeing. Binx offers a mug of something steaming, insisting it’s “probably tea.”

Bunz looks around the circle and smiles, not the smile of someone passing through, but of someone who has arrived exactly where he is meant to be.

The roads he carried did not disappear.

They rooted. They became paths others could walk beside him, and the Hollow, ancient, whimsical, and endlessly patient, marked the moment quietly, the way it always does:

With a soft glow.

A deeper hum.

And the knowledge that the World Hopper had found not an ending…

…but a home.

By: Brittney Humphrey

December 30th, 2025