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I still hadn’t opened the first letter. Crazy old ladies at renaissance fairs usually handed out leaflets for homemade herbal tinctures or knitting circles, not wax-sealed envelopes claiming to change lives. So when I got back to my apartment and emptied my fanny pack, I expected kooky New Age literature. Instead, I found parchment.

"Dear Tyler King," it began in ornate script, "On behalf of the Council of Witches/Warlocks, I am pleased to extend an offer for you to join the esteemed ranks of the Bothwell School of Witchcraft as a Fetch."

Fetch? Like, go-fer? This had to be a joke.

I tossed the letter on the cluttered coffee table and grabbed a soda from the fridge, letting the cold can soothe my still-shaking hands. The Rainforest Café had been its usual madhouse—loud, sweaty, with more than one toddler meltdown in the gift shop. The whole place was a sensory overload, from the animatronic gorillas to the hourly "thunderstorms." I worked a double shift, then headed straight home. No wonder my hands were still trembling like one of those robotic parrots.

Settling onto my threadbare couch, I picked up the letter again. The calligraphy was absurdly beautiful, like something out of a boy wizard knock-off.

"Our community has long observed your resourcefulness and bravery. We believe you possess the qualities necessary to serve the magical world with distinction."

I snorted. Observe me? Bravery? The most dangerous thing I'd faced recently was a busted toaster. Still, a tiny spark of curiosity flickered in my mind.

"Service as a Fetch is demanding yet rewarding. You will gain unique skills and insights, and build bonds that last lifetimes. We invite you to meet with us and discuss your future."

A different kind of spark lit up in my chest as I read the closing lines. Washed in gold foil, the words shimmered with an almost tactile warmth: "Magic is real, Tyler. Come see for yourself."

Magic. It sounded so ridiculous, yet here I was, actually considering it.

I shoved the letter back into my fanny pack and stood, stretching the kinks out of my spine. Maybe a hot shower would rinse away the day's lunacy. As I made my way to the bathroom, the lights in the hall flickered. Once, twice, then steady. I paused.

“Great, now the wiring's going,” I muttered. My landlord was going to hear about this. Again.

The shower hissed to life, spewing a geyser of rust-tinted steam. I stripped down and checked my phone while waiting for the hot water to make its sluggish journey through the pipes. No texts from Morgan. Typical. We'd been seeing each other for three months now, and she still bailed more than a flaky croissant.

Just as I stepped into the scalding cascade, I thought I heard a whisper. "Tyler..."

I froze, every muscle tensed like a cooked shrimp. The voice had sounded ethereal, stretched thin like a ghost in a B-movie. I turned my head slowly, half expecting to see a translucent figure holding my loofah.

Nothing.

“Must be the neighbors,” I reasoned, though the closest apartment was a good fifty feet away. The complex had once been a posh hotel, and the cavernous halls gave it an eerie, abandoned feel. Still, sound carried in strange ways. Probably.

I toweled off and changed into sweats, feeling more human and less cooked. Back in the living room, I fired up the TV. Static. I flipped through the channels; all were the same crackling white noise, like a nest of angry electric eels.

I sat heavily on the couch, biting my lower lip. Had my TV just bit the dust? That thing cost more than a month’s rent. My gaze drifted to the letter again. Magic.

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"Tyler..." The whisper came again, this time clearer, more insistent. I bolted upright, heart doing a nervous salsa in my chest. The air felt charged, like the moment before a lightning strike. I swiveled my head, searching for the source, but my gut already knew where it was coming from.

The fanny pack.

Slowly, like disarming a bomb, I unzipped the pack and peeked inside. The envelope shimmered, a soft glow seeping through the parchment. A breeze—impossible in my sealed-up, no-ventilation apartment—rustled my hair and carried with it a third, breathy call: "Tyler..."

Okay, maybe it wasn’t the wind after all.

I stared at the glowing envelope, half-expecting it to burst into flame or sprout wings. My fingers tingled with static as I pulled it out, the light growing brighter, almost blinding.

What the hell was I doing? This was nuts. I should toss it in the nearest garbage chute and forget the whole thing. But something deep in my bones told me there was more here. Something calling me.

The envelope's radiance filled the room, washing out colors and casting exaggerated shadows. I squinted, holding it at arm’s length, when a beam shot from its center and pierced the front door like a laser pointer on a cat. My jaw dropped.

The light formed a wavy, molten trail, like spilled phosphor, and stretched down the hallway. I took a tentative step toward the door, then another, as if walking on glass shards.

Unlocking the deadbolt, I cracked the door open and peered into the hall. The trail of light shimmered and danced, beckoning me like an anime spirit guide. I glanced back at my apartment, at the mess of tools and takeout containers that was my life.

Screw it. I slid on my shoes and stepped into the corridor. The trail snaked around a corner, and I followed, half-excited, half-terrified, like a kid on Halloween opening the door of a real haunted house.

Outside, the night was uncharacteristically calm for the city. No sirens, no shouting drunks. Just an uneasy silence. The glowing path weaved through the courtyard and toward the street. I hesitated at the curb, clutching the now-dull envelope.

This was insane. Totally, utterly insane. And yet…

I took a deep breath and stuffed the envelope back into my fanny pack. If nothing else, I’d get a funny story out of it.

I started walking, the trail lighting up beneath my feet, making me feel like some kind of wizard-in-training.

Because right now, magic was the only thing that made sense.

The glowing trail led me through the deserted streets and past darkened storefronts. I half-expected it to die out at any moment, leaving me stranded and feeling more foolish than ever. But it persisted, flickering like a will-o'-the-wisp, always just a few steps ahead.

After fifteen minutes, we arrived at the edge of town where a small park butted up against an expanse of woods. The trail of light swirled and pooled like molten glass, then shot straight into the forest. I stopped, hands on knees, and panted out a laugh. This was starting to feel like a real adventure. Or at least a very elaborate LARP.

I checked my fanny pack again, making sure the letter was still there. The glow had faded, but the warmth lingered, like embers after a bonfire. Something in me had shifted; the skepticism that usually guarded my thoughts was giving way to hope. It was fragile, like the first green shoot of spring, but it was there.

The path into the woods was narrow and winding, bordered by ancient oaks and pines. Their branches intertwined overhead, creating a tunnel of leaves that rustled with unseen life. The air here was different—cooler, crisper, with a hint of moss and loam. It felt…alive.

As I ventured deeper, the trees began to change. What started as rough-barked trunks grew smoother, almost crystalline, as if carved from jade or emerald. They glowed with an inner light, casting eerie green shadows that danced like forest spirits. I reached out to touch one and felt a gentle pulse, like the heartbeat of an old god. I pulled my hand back, skin prickling with goosebumps. This was beyond surreal.

The glowing trail finally tapered off and I found myself in a small clearing. In the center stood a stone archway, covered in ivy and etched with runes that shimmered like stardust. It looked ancient, out of place, like a relic from a forgotten civilization.

I approached the archway with cautious steps, circling it once, then twice. The thing was massive, easily three times my height, and had a presence—like it was watching me. I fished the letter from my fanny pack and opened it. The parchment was warm to the touch, words appearing in a graceful script:

"Step through and begin your journey. The Crossroads await."

I glanced up at the archway. It didn’t look like it led anywhere; I could see the trees on the other side, swaying gently in the night breeze. But there was a haziness to them, as if viewed through a pane of frosted glass.

Was I really going to do this? The rational part of my brain screamed no, but it had been losing ground all night. What did I have to lose? A life of busted appliances and flaking girlfriends?

I took a deep breath and held the letter tight. With one last, resigned shrug, I closed my eyes and stepped through.