Grant stepped back instinctively, unsure what to make of the sudden appearance of another person. The first thing that struck him about the newcomer was her beauty. Her olive skin and sharp, angular features gave her a more striking and intimidatingly beautiful look than any woman he had ever met. She was tall, almost as tall as his six feet two inches, and he guessed her age to be close to his 20 years. She was dressed in an eclectic mix of drab leather body armour and brightly coloured ribbon wrapped randomly around her torso. Her gloves, breeches and vest all resembled his typical idea of leather armour from all the fantasy or historical media he could remember, yet her chestnut hair was adorned with at least a dozen ribbons each a different colour spanning the entire colour spectrum. More ribbons were tied around her wrists and ankles, as well as the hilt of the sword she wore strapped to her right side, held in a sheath made in an odd criss-cross pattern. Looking at the sword, Grant felt a simultaneous spike of elation and fear as it was added to the growing list of evidence that he had been transported to a magical realm. In addition to the sword, she was carrying a modern-looking hiking bag on her back, complete with tent and a small propane camping stove hanging from the side.
The woman stopped short at the sight of Grant, blinking in surprise.
“That was quick,” she said, her faint accent reminding Grant of the Greek family that he used to live next door to, “I... I was expecting to have to wait at least a few days. How long have you been here?”
Grant’s heart pounded, and he stepped back even further as he began to raise his arms defensively. “You were expecting me? Does that mean you’re the one that brought me here?” he said apprehensively, ignoring her question.
The woman raised her empty hands in a peaceful gesture, shaking her head. “No, no - sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I assure you I mean you no harm - just the opposite in fact. I’m your designated welcoming committee.” She smiled softly, hands still facing palm out.
Reassuring as it was to find he wasn’t alone here, Grant still was unsure if he should trust her words, visions and memories of every femme fatale and hapless male story flickering through his mind. Seeming to sense his unease, the woman slowly knelt down on one knee and reached up to shrug off her pack. Opening the flap, she reached in and pulled out a sandwich wrapped in cling film and unwrapped it, offering him half. “Here. Have something to eat, you’ll feel better. I’m Kyra, by the way. What’s your name?”
Her tone was gentle, soothing, almost like one would talk to a wild animal. Grant studied the offered meal more suspiciously than he’d ever bothered to examine food before. It looked like a perfectly ordinary chicken sandwich, but better to remain cautious for now. “Grant. I’m Grant. And thanks, but I’m good.”
Kyra shrugged and took a large bite out of the other half. “Suit yourself,” she mumbled around the food, “But I’m starving. Wasn’t expecting to have to come out here today.”
Shoving the uneaten half back in the bag, she stood up and stuffed the rest of the sandwich into her mouth. She studied him intensely, eyes sweeping up and down his body as her gentle demeanour faded slightly, though her smile remained even as she ate. Grant became acutely aware that he presented a very odd picture, wearing his fluffy blue slippers with jeans and a t-shirt emblazoned with the AC-DC logo. He shuffled his feet self-consciously, distrust beginning to fade and embarrassment taking its place as her frank gaze swept over every inch of him.
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
“What are you looking at?” he demanded belligerently, “And, more importantly, what the hell is going on? Where am I? Who are you exactly? How do I get home? And why on Earth do you have a goddamn sword! Who carries a sword nowadays?!”
Kyra’s smile became more genuine, eyes stopping their perusal and returning to his face as she swallowed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to unnerve you. I was just… surprised. You aren’t the type I was expecting. And please, I know exactly how confused and scared you must be, but do try and relax. As I said, I’m not going to hurt you. My job is to lead you safely back to Sanctuary, where I promise you will find all your answers. Until then, I’m afraid I can’t tell you much. We’ve discovered through experience it’s best to fill you in in a safe, comfortable space. Which this is most decidedly not.”
“Ominous,” Grant said sarcastically, arms still raised half-heartedly in a defensive posture.
“More so than you know. I’ll tell you what I can on the way, but I suggest we get moving. It’s over an hour’s walk home, and I’d like to make it back before it gets too dark.”
“What are you talking about?” Grant frowned and glanced up at the sky. “It can’t be later than eleven or so.”
Kyra let out a chuckle as she slung her bag back onto her shoulders. “Quite right. It is about that time here. But I’m guessing you haven’t yet looked behind me - at the door I came through.”
She stepped aside, and for the first time Grant saw that the door to the quaint, old-timey cottage, still wide open, didn’t lead to any indoor room. Through the frame of the door, he could see a snow-covered plateau that fell away after a kilometre or so, a mountain range rising off in the distance that stretched across the horizon. Emerging from the mountains at random, impossible angles were dozens more buildings, ranging from what looked to be a few small houses to a skyscraper that must have had at least 40 stories, sticking out at an angle so sharp it should have snapped in half - but physics obviously didn’t fully apply here. Grant stared for a moment before he realised what he was seeing - an undeniable, impossible phenomenon that had only one explanation: magic. He was in a world with magic. Magic was real. Magic was real.
Before he even realised he was doing it he had stepped toward the open door, mind whirling as he grappled with the implications of this reality. Kyra stepped beside him, surveying the door. “Incredible view, isn’t it? I must say, you’re reacting far better than I did when I first saw this - I spent the first day or two convinced I was in a coma, and tried to punch my guide in the face.”
“I haven’t ruled it out,” Grant said absently, still transfixed by the door, “but if there’s one thing my semester of philosophy taught me it’s that it doesn’t really matter if I am.”
Then the full implication of her words sank in and he turned to face her. “Wait a minute - you’re saying that this happened to you too? You just woke up here one day?”
Kyra nodded, eyes losing focus as she stared into the distance, reminiscing. “Yes. Over three years ago now. I’m the most recent arrival - besides you, of course.” She turned to face him, raising a hand and gently touching his shoulder. “You’re not alone, Grant. Everyone you’re about to meet has gone through the exact same thing as you just have. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you first came through - like I said, we weren’t expecting the new arrival to come through for a day or two at least. The normal procedure is to have a nice meal and a comforting drink ready, but you got here early somehow. I’m sorry, but please, trust me - I’m here to help you.”
Grant looked into her eyes, searching for any trace of deception or malice, but found nothing but sympathy and concern. For whatever reason, her words seemed to resonate within him, and he felt more of the fear and tension leave his body. He took a deep breath, raised his arm and laid his hand over hers, nodding. “Alright then. I suppose trusting a colourful ninja-warrior chick would be the least crazy thing about this situation.”
She let out a laugh, arm falling back to her side. “Trust me,” she said, moving toward the door, “things are only going to get crazier from here on in.”
With that, she turned and stepped through the door. After a final beat of hesitation, Grant followed.