Alt's attention was caught by the munching sound a small colony of guinea pig-like rodents were making. They were entirely absorbed with grazing some unknown weeds, paying him no mind even as he made a step towards them to take a better look. Alt took a moment to pluck some berries from a nearby bush, and threw them at the little creatures, which they immediately accepted, squealing in anticipation.

Altair smiled at the sight of the miniature beasts enjoying themselves, imagining that they rarely had tasted such delicacies as the thorny bush looked hard to climb for someone with their tiny legs.

Wait, what am I thinking? This is just a silly dream.

Out of nowhere, a fox with two tails materialized besides the unsuspecting critters, and before they could react, launched itself at the nearest prey, catching its neck with the jaw.

To his amusement, the guinea pigs organized themselves into an offensive formation and retaliated for their fallen comrade by somehow conjuring rocks out of thin air, dropping them on top of the fox's head like a tiny meteorite shower.

What a weird imagination I have, the teen boy mused. Maybe I really do need a shrink.

The fox split in the nick of time into two slightly smaller, single-tailed beings, leaving the projectiles to collapse between them harmlessly. The two foxes in perfect synchrony attempted to flank the guinea pig colony, who had since abandoned their plans for revenge and decided to flee, with Altair now standing in their path.

Woah, he thought in wonder as the small creatures galloped towards him at speeds their small limbs were clearly not designed for. I wish I could do that in real life.

Before he could give it any further thought, the ground beneath him started to tremble, opening cracks through which a magma-like stream emerged, petrifying his shins and preventing him from moving his legs even an inch. The little beasts circled around him and continued on their merry way, disappearing in the thick forest and leaving their two pursuing foxes far behind.

"You treacherous bastards!" Altair jokingly cursed them while laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation, amazed at the cunning the critters had displayed by using him as bait to cover their escape. He was now left alone with the two mystical foxes, who growled menacingly, not finding the loss of their initial prey amusing in the slightest.

“Come here, you sweet little puppies!” he baby-talked to them, knocking his palms against his rocky shins to call their attention as one would do to call a dog over. Despite their mighty roars, Alt continued to call the foxes various pet names and to make cute noises, which seemed to irk the predators to no end.

What a bizarre dream.

His amusement was cut short as the foxes charged and bit Alt from both sides, sinking their sharp teeth into his left arm and abdomen. "Argh!!!!!" A pain he hadn't experienced since early childhood pierced him mercilessly, dwarfing even the worst of beatings he suffered throughout his school years.

What... what the fuck? What sort of dream is this? Why am I not waking up? Did those bastards drug my noodles with some hallucinogen?

He noticed blood dripping rapidly on the ground beneath him, staining the torn fabric pieces from his pajama.

"Shit, what's going on?!" he screamed his lungs out, as the diabolical foxes bit him over and over, making him nearly faint. He only retained his balance because of his petrified legs. With his last bits of willpower, he struggled with all his force, attempting to crack his makeshift prison which despite his best effort had produced only a tiny fissure.

This can't be real... can it? Am I really going to die here?

At this point, the pain of the torn flesh, maimed by the dagger-like fangs had become so intense, overwhelming all his senses, that he felt like he was having an out-of-body experience as a distant observer. Disconnected, he found the memory of the life he had lived so far with the mundane worries about fitting and making his parents proud that dominated his psyche most amusing and completely irrelevant. His fantasies of becoming a hero fighting for justice who could protect the weak now seemed more childish than ever, with the thought of the imminent, ridiculous end he was facing.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

An instantaneous lightning bolt stunned the two foxes in their tracks, leaving them whimpering like injured dogs. Altair barely registered how the two beasts merged back into one, collapsing on the ground while jerking like it had experienced an epileptic seizure. He couldn't think straight about what had just transpired and was at a complete loss about the difference between reality and dreams, his blood loss making him increasingly delirious.

"I am so sorry child," a coarse voice spoke distantly from behind the trees, while at the same time ringing directly in his ears. "You were supposed to appear right by my door. It seems I am getting rusty."

Altair, dripping in sweat and blood saw a short, cloaked figure emerge from the darkness. After she briefly flicked her wrist, a soothing light began to envelop his body. The bleeding eventually stopped, and the pain subsided, with his mental faculties beginning to return, although the light-headedness remained.

Just what the hell is going on, he asked himself for the umpteenth time. Is this really not a dream? he wondered, still lacking the composure to move in a coordinated manner. To test the dream hypothesis, he bit his tongue, promptly regretting it and cursing himself for his stupidity.

"Rest assured this is no dream," the old lady said as if reading his thoughts, while lowering the hood to expose her wrinkled face. "And, by the way, you may want to stop doing that, since healing magic is quite mana-consuming, as you will soon learn."

"Magic?" Alt uttered with the air of somebody who was one short fuse away from going insane.

"Oh yes," the woman chuckled at the sight of his incredulity. "Welcome to the world of magic. Or should I say, welcome to the actual Universe? Well, I am getting ahead of myself. First things first... "

With another flick of her wrist, the stone prison shattered, and Altair was finally able to move his legs freely once again. His first reaction was to run away as far as possible and find a way back to his world. The old lady seemed harmless enough based on her appearance, but then again, she just took care of the savage beasts terrorizing him without a second thought.

"Follow me. You can still walk, right?" She said, embarrassing Altair whose escape plans had been thwarted by the pull of gravity.

"Yes... Yes, I can," he insisted, almost as if he was trying to convince himself. "Where are we going?" The teen boy asked while following her silhouette along the trail.

"All in due time, child. But in this case, the moment has arrived," she said gently wearing a sad smile, as they found themselves facing a small wooden hut bordering a lake, with a campfire and cauldrons completing the picture. "This is where you were supposed to appear."

“Where I was supposed to appear? What does that even mean?” Alt asked, no closer to figuring out the situation than he had been from the start.

“I am afraid your life as you knew it is now over,” the witch-like lady said gravely. “I can of course send you back to your home and wipe your memory so you can live for a while as if nothing has happened but know that these peaceful times won't last for long."

Altair snorted at the mention of supposedly peaceful times when his life had been anything but, earning a scolding look from the old lady.

"I know who you are, and what you had to go through," she said. Despite this unbelievable claim, and his pride telling him to protest and insist that she didn't know anything, Altair found himself listening to her every word.

"I also know what you really want deep down. Say, if you had a chance to be a real hero, with all the power and responsibility that comes with the role, would you take it, or is it just a fantasy for you?" the witch-like woman asked cryptically.

The short boy opened his mouth to reply, but she shunned him.

"Words are cheap in this case. You will be able to give me your answer with your deeds soon enough."

She stepped inside the hut, leaving the door open for him to follow. The interior was filled to the brink with glassware that looked like an alchemy lab and with artifacts of unknown purpose. The smell of potions and animal flesh permeated the room. The interior looked completely devoid of any of the conveniences of modern civilization, with no appliances or even electric lamps to be found. Either this lady was an extreme traditionalist or monk, or this world had not yet experienced an industrial revolution.

His gaze fell upon a rustic bed, occupied by a young man who appeared to be unconscious.

Altair followed the witch to the bedside and to his creeping terror, he recognized familiar features in the fainted teen's face. His first impression was as if he had been staring at himself in a distorting mirror. There were some distinct differences between the two of them, but still, they looked like long-lost twins. The boy's chin was more pronounced, the nose was straighter, but his visage was pale, and he looked skinnier than even Altair himself, which was made more obvious by his larger frame. For some reason, he felt an uncanny connection to this person the closer he got.

"What is the meaning of this?" he tried not to sound nervous, failing miserably and earning a sympathetic look from the witch.

"Why don't you hear it straight from the horse's mouth?” the old lady suggested. “Oops, that came out wrong... no offense, Altair,” she spoke, her words clearly directed at the boy who twitched in the horizontal position, experiencing apparent pain and distress, confusing the original Altair even further.

With a touch to the forehead, her fingertips started to glow, enveloping the doppelganger's body and causing him to slowly open his eyes. His eyes flickered from the witch to the young man in torn pajamas standing beside the bedframe, and his own expression for an instant became that of somebody who had just seen a ghost.

"Nice to meet you... or me... well, this is awkward."