Obinai’s eyes flutter open, the hazy blur of sleep giving way to a ceiling alive with strange beauty. Vines stretch across it, intertwined in delicate patterns, their leaves adorned with tiny, glowing orbs. The lights drift lazily downward, faintly illuminating the room with a soft, warm glow. One of them lands on his chest, flickering before vanishing like a tiny ember. He blinks in confusion, his brows furrowing, his breath catching.

The bed beneath him is cozy, just a bit larger than a twin, with thick blankets tucked snugly around him. The mattress cradles his aching body in a way that’s oddly comforting, almost too much so. Slowly, he turns his head to the side and spots a wooden bookshelf crammed with books, their spines faded with age, some stacked haphazardly. The faint scent of parchment lingers in the air, mingling with something else.

He tilts his head back toward the vines, watching the lights drift, but his body stiffens as realization dawns. His eyes widen, and his heart lurches as he bolts upright, almost overturning the blankets. He stares wildly around the room. What the hell? Where am I? His mind races. Where’s Elias?

Adrenaline floods his veins, and he throws the covers off in one jerky motion, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. The moment his feet hit the cool, wooden floor, his knees buckle. He collapses in an ungraceful heap, his palms slapping against the ground to catch himself. His breathing quickens. He flexes his fingers experimentally, staring down at his hands. They feel stiff but responsive. His arms tremble faintly as he pushes himself upright.

His gaze shifts downward, catching sight of his clothing. He’s wearing a faint-gray dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves, the fabric soft like linen. He touches it cautiously, surprised at how light and comfortable it feels. The shirt hangs loose on his frame, the collar slightly open. Below that, dark gray trousers fit snugly but not tight, their material sturdy yet pliable. The realization prickles in his chest. Someone dressed me...

He scans his surroundings more carefully now. The room is small but warm, bathed in a soft golden glow from the glowing vines above. To his left is the bed he woke up in, with thick wooden posts carved into twisting patterns. Beside it sits a small nightstand holding a dimly glowing lantern and an empty ceramic cup. To his right, the bookshelf looms, flanked by a tall wardrobe with brass handles. A thick rug sprawls across the floor adorned in faded green color.

He twists toward the far wall and notices an opening—a square cutout with two small wooden nubs protruding at the bottom. A ladder. Peering down, he sees the faint outlines of a second floor below, illuminated by a flickering orange light that dances like fire. His curiosity falters as the scent of food hits him fully, rich and savory, making his stomach twist with hunger he hadn’t realized was there.

Carefully, Obinai rises to his feet, his legs weak but holding. He places a hand on the ladder’s side for balance and leans over, his eyes tracing the room below. The lower level is a cozy, open area. A wooden table with two mismatched chairs sits near the center, one of them cluttered with an untidy pile of books that bleed onto the table. Beyond that, a fireplace crackles against the far wall, casting shadows that shift and dance along the stone hearth. To the right, the faint outline of a kitchen emerges—a sturdy counter lined with jars, utensils hanging from hooks above it. Steam rises from a pot over the fire, and the aroma deepens, spiced and earthy, making his mouth water.

His eyes snap to a shadow—a figure moving in the kitchen. The outline is blurred by the dim light, but he sees a hand stirring something in the pot, a faint hum carrying through the space. The sound sends a jolt through him. His chest tightens, and he backs away from the ladder, gripping the edge of the opening with trembling fingers. Who the hell is that? What do they want?

The humming stops. His breath catches, his heart pounding so loudly it fills his ears. He presses his back against the wall, sweat beading on his forehead, his throat dry. The hum resumes...

He exhales shakily, forcing his breath to slow, but the tension coils tighter inside him.

I need to get out of here. His eyes dart to a door near the edge of the room below—an oddly shaped thing, its wood warped and uneven, with a circular window near the top. His gaze flickers back to the shadow in the kitchen. They haven’t turned.

Cautiously, he places a foot on the ladder, testing its creak, then another, descending as quietly as he can. The wood groans faintly under his weight, and he freezes, heart thundering, his eyes locked on the shadow. The figure doesn’t move. He exhales softly, continuing downward until his bare feet touch the cool floor.

He creeps toward the door, his breath shallow. The scent of the food grows stronger, almost taunting him, but he keeps his focus. He skirts the edge of the room, avoiding the table piled with books, his eyes fixed on the warped door ahead.

Halfway there, the humming stops again. He freezes mid-step, his pulse hammering in his ears. The shadow shifts slightly, and he feels a cold sweat break out across his back. His legs threaten to buckle, but the humming picks up once more, and relief washes over him in a shaky exhale.

He reaches the door, his trembling hand brushing the rough wood as he grasps the handle. Slowly, he pushes it open.

Creak...

Obinai pauses, hand frozen on the door handle.

The humming continues...

He exhales through his nose, careful not to make a sound, and eases the door open just wide enough to slip through. The cool air outside greets him as he steps onto the threshold. He turns, pulling the door closed with painstaking slowness until the latch clicks softly.

When he turns around, the sight before him takes his breath away. The cottage, quaint and rustic, stands alone in the middle of a vast, grassy plain. The ground is soft, covered in patches of moss and wildflowers that sway gently in an unseen breeze. Beyond the plain lies a forest, its trees dense and towering, their dark trunks stretching into a canopy of vibrant green. The forest encircles the clearing, forming a natural border around him.

Obinai’s gaze lifts, and his footsteps falter. His jaw slackens as he stares beyond the treetops. The forest seems to stretch higher, unnaturally so, the trees bending inward as they rise, their branches intertwining to form a massive dome overhead. It’s not the sky above him, but a ceiling of leaves and wood, glowing faintly with bioluminescent moss. His chest tightens as his eyes trace upward to the center of the dome. There, a colossal crystal juts downward, suspended like an artificial sun. Its surface shimmers with an iridescent glow, casting soft, shifting light across the entire clearing.

He falls to his knees.

His hands clutch at his temples, fingers digging into his hair as his breath comes in short, panicked bursts. How...how the hell did I get here? His thoughts spiral, fragmented and frenzied. Where’s Elias? Did he get me out of that dungeon? His memories feel fractured, disjointed. It’s too much...

He lowers his head, pressing his palms into his eyes then on his mouth. His teeth grit, and a muffled scream escapes him, his shoulders heaving. His voice is a strained whisper. “Why…why is this happening?” He pounds the ground weakly with a clenched fist. “What’s the fucking point?”

After a few shuddering breaths, he forces himself to sit back on his heels, his face damp with sweat and unshed tears. He stares at the ground, then at his trembling hands. Slowly, his breathing evens out. He wipes his face roughly with his sleeve and mutters to himself, “Fuck it. I have to try.”

Pushing himself to his feet, his legs feel stronger now, steadier. He breaks into a run, the wind whipping past him as he sprints toward the forest. His lungs burn, his heart pounding harder with each step, but he doesn’t stop. His mind races alongside his legs. The dungeon...those statues...what the hell was that place? And this place...it doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense.

As he nears the forest’s edge, his legs falter. He stumbles, collapsing onto his hands and knees, gasping for air. Sweat drips from his forehead onto the mossy ground below. He groans, clutching at his side. Damn it. These lungs...maybe Mya was right about the smoking.

Forcing himself to stand, he steps into the shadow of the trees. The air here is cooler, the canopy above blocking much of the light. The ground is softer, damp with scattered leaves and earth. He takes a hesitant step forward...

“Now,” a voice calls, smooth and calm, cutting through the silence, “aren’t you a bit hasty?”

Obinai spins, his eyes wide as he stumbles backward. His heel catches on a protruding root, and he falls hard onto the ground. Pain flares in the back of his skull as it connects with the earth. Groaning, he clutches his head, squinting up at the blurred outline of someone approaching.

Stolen story; please report.

The crunch of leaves grows louder. Obinai scrambles back, his hands out in front of him as his voice trembles. “Please—please don’t. I haven’t done anything. I won’t tell anyone, I swear. Just—”

His words falter. Something washes over him, a strange calm seeping into his chest. His breathing slows, his heart no longer racing. He blinks, confused, as his trembling hands lower.

The figure steps closer, and Obinai finally sees him clearly. The man’s age is evident in the gentle lines etched deeply into his face adorned by ebony skin. His white hair, twisted into intricate locs, cascades down his back like a waterfall. He’s dressed in robes of deep green and soft brown, their earthy tones blending seamlessly with the forest. The fabric is thick but supple, embroidered with subtle patterns of leaves and vines along the hem and cuffs. A simple cord serves as a belt, holding several small pouches and tools, worn but well-kept. Around his neck hangs a polished wooden pendant on a leather cord, its shape resembling a crescent moon.

One of the man’s eyes is unlike any Obinai has seen before—smooth, polished, and crystalline, shimmering faintly. The other is sharp and piercing, brown like rich soil. The old man tilts his head slightly, a faint smile touching his lips.

“Apologies for startling you, young man,” he says, his voice steady, carrying a faint lilt of amusement. He clasps his hands behind his back, the motion calm, unthreatening. “My name is Eldrin Vale. Welcome to my sanctuary.”

Obinai rises to his feet. His eyes scan the old man—Vale—from head to toe.

“Y-yeah… thanks,” Obinai mutters. He glances up at the glowing crystal overhead, then back at Vale, his brow furrowing. “Where... or maybe when are we exactly?”

Vale chuckles softly, rubbing the coarse white stubble on his chin with a thoughtful expression. “Time,” he says, “is flowing exactly as it’s meant to. No need to fret about that.” He pauses, his lips quirking into a smile. “Though, I suppose if it weren’t, that’d be rather unfortunate.”

Obinai blinks, his confusion growing. “Right…” he says cautiously, his tone wary. He shifts his weight, crossing his arms. “So... this place—what is it?”

Vale gestures broadly. “I call it my sanctuary,” he says, his crystalline eye catching the light as he speaks. “Though, if we’re being precise, it’s actually a small pocket dimension. Not much, if I do say so myself, but it has its charms.”

Obinai stiffens. His eyes widen, his jaw tightening. “Dimension?” he breathe. “What the hell does that even mean? Wh—”

Vale raises a hand, his chuckle warm but tinged with a knowing patience. “All in due time, Ob-young man. Most of your questions will be answered soon enough. But for now…” His smile widens, softening his features. “You need to eat.”

...

A short while later, Obinai sits at a small wooden table near the center of the cottage. He huffs in mild frustration, his arms weak from having moved a precarious stack of books and papers from the table to a corner of the room. Vale’s collection is extensive—ancient tomes with cracked spines, rolls of parchment tied with string, and journals filled with indecipherable scrawls. The air still carries a faint mustiness, though it’s overpowered now by the tantalizing aroma wafting from the kitchen.

The kitchen area, tucked against the far wall. Herbs hang from the ceiling in neat bundles, their leaves dried and crinkled. Copper pots and iron pans dangle from hooks, glinting faintly in the firelight. A stone counter stretches along the wall, its surface cluttered with jars of spices, small clay bowls, and a mortar and pestle. Vale moves with ease through the space, stirring a large pot suspended over the fireplace.

“I’ve just finished preparing a batch of Silverwood Stew,” Vale calls over his shoulder. “A hearty mix of root vegetables and forest herbs, simmered with sun-dried venison. It’s a recipe I’ve perfected over the years. I daresay it’s as nourishing as it is flavorful.”

Obinai sits slumped in his chair, his stomach growling despite the knot of lingering suspicion in his chest. He mutters, “Sounds good,” his voice lacking conviction. His eyes wander, taking in the soft glow of the room and the flicker of firelight reflecting off polished wooden surfaces.

Before he can drift too far into thought, the table begins to shift. He sits up sharply, as plates and dishes begin to materialize out of thin air. Soft, shimmering lights coalesce in the air, weaving together to form elegant but rustic plates. They land on the table with a faint clink, solidifying into smooth ceramic. A basket of fresh-baked bread appears alongside a small jug of vibrant berry compote.

Obinai stares at the display, his jaw slack. “Damn,” he mutters, leaning back slightly.

Vale chuckles, carrying the pot over and setting it down on a trivet at the center of the table. He continues with serving Obinai a bowl of stew before himself then gesturing to eat.

Obinai picks up his spoon, the metal cool against his fingertips. He dips it into the stew, lifting a portion of the broth to his lips. But before the spoon reaches his mouth, he hesitates. His grip on the spoon falters, and he sets it back down, his jaw tightening.

“I’m good,” he says, forcing a weak smile.

The tension in his shoulders betrays him.

“Really.”

Vale tilts his head, an eyebrow arching. “Is that so?” he asks, his tone gentle but probing. His gaze lingers on Obinai.

Obinai shrugs, his smile faltering further. “Yeah. Just… not hungry, I guess.”

Vale leans back in his chair, amusement glinting in his crystalline eye. “Ah,” he says. “You think the food’s been tampered with.” He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “No offense taken.” Before reaching across the table, he picks up his spoon. The motion makes Obinai flinch, but Vale moves calmly, scooping up some stew from Obinai's bowl and bringing it to his lips. He eats it slowly, swallowing before placing the spoon back on the table.

“See?” Vale says, smiling warmly. “All is well.”

Obinai stares at him for a long moment, his throat dry. The knot in his chest loosens slightly, though not completely. Reluctantly, he picks up his spoon again, dipping it into the stew. He lifts the spoonful to his mouth, hesitates briefly, then takes a bite.

The flavors explode across his tongue—earthy, rich, and deeply satisfying. The broth is thick and velvety, the root vegetables tender and sweet, complemented by the savory chew of venison and the faint, herbal bite of the forest spices. He doesn’t even realize how quickly he’s eating until the bowl is empty, the spoon clinking against the bottom.

“Damn,” Obinai mutters again, his voice hoarse as he wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve. Leaning back in his chair, he lets the warmth of the food spread through him. For a moment, he just sits there, his body slack. Then, recovering slightly, he straightens up, sitting a little taller in his chair.

“Thank you, sir,” he says, his tone earnest but still cautious. After a pause, he adds, “And… my name is Obinai.”

Vale, seated calmly on the other side of the table, sets his teacup down with a soft clink. His crystalline eye catches the firelight, shimmering faintly, while his other eye crinkles slightly with amusement. “You’re quite welcome, Obinai,” he replies warmly. “As for where you are…” His lips twitch into a small smile, and there’s a glimmer of something mischievous in his gaze. “Let’s just say you’ve found yourself in a fold of existence that I created some time ago. One of many, in fact.” He leans back slightly, his hand resting on the arm of his chair. “Took me a while to find it again, truth be told.”

Obinai blinks, leaning forward slightly as his brows knit together. “How is this even possible?” he asks. “Is this like… the science-y stuff my sister used to talk about? Dimensions and… I don’t know, quantum someth—”

Before he can finish, Vale raises a hand, cutting him off gently. “Sounds like it shouldn’t exist, doesn’t it?” he says with a soft chuckle. “But I assure you, Obinai, it does. In fact…” He leans forward slightly. “Science and magic often go hand in hand, though most would never admit it.”

Vale makes a subtle gesture, his fingers curling and twisting through the air as if plucking an invisible thread. Instantly, the silverware on the table vanishes, dissolving into a faint shimmer of light. Obinai jolts in his seat, his body tense, his eyes darting to where the utensils once were.

“What the—” he starts, but Vale continues.

“In this place,” Vale explains, “I’ve woven together strands of magic that bend space and perception.” He raises his other hand, palm upward, and makes another motion—this one fluid and sweeping. Soft white light blossoms from his fingertips, delicate and faint. The light floats gently around them, swirling lazily like fireflies on a summer night, casting soft glows across the walls.

Obinai shifts in his seat, his hands gripping the edge of the table. His foot taps anxiously on the wooden floor. “That… changes everything,” he mutters, half to himself. “Like… scientists are screwed.” He catches himself and glances up. “Uh, excuse my language.”

Vale chuckles, his laugh a soft rumble. “No offense taken,” he says, waving a hand dismissively.

Obinai’s mind races. His words tumble out, barely formed thoughts escaping before he can filter them. “Wait… this whole fold thing—how does it even work? Like, what powers it? Is it just magic? Or is it—” He pauses, his gaze snapping to Vale. “I had this dream. It was bad. There was—wait. The statues, the kingdom, the—”

Vale raises a hand again, this time more firmly, though his expression remains kind. “Obinai,” he says, his voice steady, “I know you’ve been through a great deal.” His hand lowers as he leans back slightly in his chair, his eyes meeting Obinai’s. “But I can’t overwhelm you with too much at once. You’re still recovering.”

Obinai opens his mouth to protest but stops. “You can stay here,” Vale continues softly, “as long as you need to recover, gather your thoughts, and decide your next steps.”

Obinai frowns. “Next steps?” he echoes. “What next steps? What the hell am I supposed to do?”

Vale’s expression darkens for the briefest moment. He regains his composure quickly, smoothing his features and offering a small, knowing smile. “Your journey,” he says carefully, “doesn’t end here. It can’t end here.”

Obinai narrows his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Vale doesn’t answer immediately. Finally, he exhales. “Only so much can be said—or done—in a single day.”

Obinai shakes his head, frustration bubbling to the surface. “No, wait—what are you even—” He stops mid-sentence, his body suddenly heavy.

His heart skips a beat, then starts to pound erratically. His breath hitches as his limbs grow leaden. He tries to push himself upright, but his strength fails him.

“Hey… wait…” Obinai’s voice is faint, slurred with exhaustion. His chest tightens as his eyes grow hot, tears welling up despite himself. “You… you tricked me…” His voice cracks as he stares at Vale.

Vale doesn’t move, his expression soft but unreadable. “Rest now, Obinai,” he says gently. “You’ll understand soon.”

Obinai’s vision blurs, his head lolling forward as sleep takes hold. The last thing he manages to whisper, his voice trembling, is,

“Please… don’t hurt me again…”

And then, everything goes dark...