Back in the real world, the old man—now returned to his simple life—took a deep breath. He looked around, taking in the familiar sights of his small apartment. The wall clock ticked softly, the afternoon sunlight streamed through the window, and the distant hum of traffic filled the air. It was all such a stark contrast to the immense power he wielded in the fictional world, where all elements bowed to his will.
Though he knew his powers were limitless in the realm of fiction, here in the real world, he was just an old man with a slow gait, dressed in simple clothes, spending his days with old books and coffee. His daily life felt so ordinary, without any turbulence or magic. Yet, within that simplicity lay a deep contentment. For him, the real world was no less captivating, even without spells to summon with a word or universes to destroy with a single thought.
Each day, the old man walked to a small park near his home. He would sit on the same bench, under a large tree, observing the people who passed by. Sometimes, he chatted with young children playing in the park or shared stories with other elderly people. They had no idea that behind those tired-looking eyes lay a master of the universe, who had created and destroyed worlds with a mere touch.
In the park, he often saw an old woman who always sat on the bench across from him. They rarely spoke, only exchanging smiles and nods. She always carried a book, just like he did. One day, the old man gathered the courage to ask, "What book are you reading?"
The woman smiled faintly and replied, "A story about a world created from dreams. Strange, isn't it?"
The old man chuckled softly, sensing an intriguing coincidence. "I often dream of such worlds too. Worlds where I can create anything I desire."
From that day on, they frequently shared stories. He found happiness in those simple conversations. Although he held limitless power in his fictional world, here, in the real world, he discovered magic in the small things—in a stranger's smile, a friendly greeting, the birdsong in the morning. These things made him feel more real than any power he wielded in his created world.
Gradually, the old man began to see the real world as another kind of fiction—a more subtle one that required no great power to control, but rather a sincere heart to appreciate. Slowly, he realized that his greatest strength wasn't the ability to control everything but the ability to enjoy the little things around him.
As night fell, he returned to his apartment, sat in his chair, and gazed out the window. The old man recalled all the adventures he had as the Knight, the unquestionable master of the fictional world. But now, he understood that his true strength lay here, in the real world, which might be imperfect, but was filled with simple beauty. In his heart, he felt at peace. He knew that even though he could create any world he wanted, this real world held an irreplaceable story.
The old man smiled, closed his eyes, and let himself drift off. Between the real world and his fictional one, he had found balance. Now, he was not only a ruler of a fictional world but also a man who had found meaning in the simple reality of life. And for the old man, both worlds were equally important, equally real, and equally full of stories worth living.
After that night, the old man—who knew himself as the Knight in his fictional world—continued his life as usual. However, something changed in the way he viewed everyday life. Each morning, as he sipped his coffee and watched the sunlight streaming through his apartment window, he felt a deeper warmth. A sense of gratitude blossomed in his heart, even though he knew that in his fictional world, he could summon the sun whenever he wished or extinguish it with a thought.
He began to see this real world as a new source of inspiration. Although he could not change reality here as he could in his fiction, he realized that these limitations actually granted him the freedom to feel things he could not experience in his created realm. Every bird's song, the roar of traffic, even the scent of wet earth after rain—all felt more meaningful. He understood that the real world had its own way of communicating, with wonders that could not be created through great power but had to be experienced firsthand.
One day, in the park, he observed a group of children playing. They ran around, laughing, bringing to life their own little world, full of limitless imagination. The children reminded him of his past, before he recognized the power he held, before he created an unlimited fictional world. He saw himself in their joy, when he was young and the real world was the only one that existed.
The old man then approached a child sitting alone at the edge of the park, holding a stick that he used to draw in the dirt. "What are you drawing?" he asked gently.
The child looked up with curious eyes before answering, "I'm drawing a tall castle in the clouds. There's a king there who can make anything just by thinking."
The old man smiled, remembering his powers as the Knight. He chuckled softly and said, "I used to think like that too. Having a castle in the clouds and being a king who could do anything."
The child seemed fascinated and asked, "Are you really a king?"
The old man nodded gently. "In my imaginary world, yes. But here, I'm just a grandpa who enjoys walking in the park."
The child laughed, and for the old man, the sound of that laughter was music he could not create in his fictional world. It felt more real and vibrant. After that brief conversation, the old man returned to his bench, feeling more alive than ever. This real world indeed had its own power, though hidden behind the simplicity of everyday life.
Days passed, and the old man grew to enjoy his routine even more. He not only sat on the park bench but also began to stroll through his small town, exploring places he had never noticed before. Every corner of the town, every small shop, and every face he encountered felt like part of a world with hidden wonders. He found himself interacting more with the people around him, asking about their lives, listening to their little stories.
Behind the power he held in his fictional world, the old man realized that true strength might lie in his ability to empathize and connect with others. This real world gave him the chance to feel, something he could not create even in the most elaborate fiction.
One day, as he chatted again with the old woman who often sat on the bench across from him, he said, "This world is like a story that never ends. Every day, there's a new chapter to read if we are willing to see it."
The woman nodded and smiled. "You're right. Sometimes we forget that we are part of that story too."
The old man felt enlightened. He finally understood that he did not need great power to enjoy life. His true strength was not just about controlling the world but also about understanding and accepting the world as it was. With this realization, he felt a peace he had never experienced before.
At the end of the day, as the sun began to set, the old man returned home feeling happy. Even though he knew that in his world as the Knight he possessed limitless power, in this real world, he discovered a new strength—the strength to appreciate every second, every smile, and every moment he had. And with that, he felt truly alive, not just as a ruler of fiction, but as part of a world full of simple yet irreplaceable stories.