It was horrible: my head spun around so hard it was as if I was on an out-of-control merry-go-round. I felt nauseous in the swirling white mist, pushing and tugging me forwards as I struggle to even take a breath. A revolting force was acting on every side of my body; I felt like I would rather explode into bits and pieces instead of being compressed like this. Safe to say, my journey through the Gate has easily become one of the things I despise the most.
The journey lasted like forever—I didn't know when it was going to end, but I sure hoped it would any second now. I couldn't bear it: the compression, the endless tugging, my head spinning out of control... Please, just let it end already...!
It was a mistake to even step into the Gate. Perhaps that 'different fate' would be better than this hell of a journey. I felt seasick, but I wasn't anywhere near the sea. I felt motion sickness, but I don't even know if I'm actually moving or not. Though, maybe I am moving—maybe I'm travelling at light speed across space, moving millions of kilometers forwards to the other world.
Yeah, maybe that's it... My, if I think about it like that, then maybe this journey isn't so bad after all. Instead of some bad wobbling ride inside a rocket ship into space, this is starting to feel more like an exhilarating roller coaster ride, albeit without the howling air rushing through my face. This is... fun...?
I was about to forget all that pain exerted on my body, when suddenly, it all stopped. That sudden halt felt like plunging forwards when a speeding car came to a sudden stop, but amplify the speed a million times and that's what it would feel like. Something was restraining me from lunging forwards a thousand meters per second, but then again, I could be imagining it. Whether this invisible seatbelt exists or not, I'm certainly not into being stopped by such a large force ever again, no matter how soft that force may be.
I could breathe again, I noticed. Surprisingly, my breathing was calm, as if that warp-speed trip didn't even happen—however, my mind was the opposite of my heart and lungs at the moment: thoughts were rushing through my head, question after question popping in and out as I stood up again. It was then that I noticed I was lying on some kind of hard ground, perhaps like a flagstone one would find on a path? Nonetheless, I stood up, regained my composure, brushed off the non-existent dust on my clothes, and looked:
It was breath-taking.
I stood in the middle of a straight, wide street, lined with stalls full of buzzing hawkers and gleeful customers; pedestrians walking around, minding their own business; large, medieval-styled houses covered the spots off the road; in the far distance stood a magnificent castle on a small hill with its tall turrets and high walls running along the main building. Carriages pulled by horses occasionally come along and add more chaos into the already riot-like atmosphere, what I'd call a lively town square.
The people wore all sorts of outfits: cloaks so long it almost scrapes the ground, rugged shirts befitting the Dark Age feel this town has, hats of different shapes and sizes, the men having all too many belts below their thick jackets, the women in their elegant blouses charming those they pass—it was a heck of a site. It's exactly what one would picture in an adventure game, with quests and treasures and mythical monsters and all that. I truly felt like I was in one of those games—except it isn't a game: it's reality.
A huge grin crept on my face, completely forgetting about that awful journey that I had to get here. I was absolutely breathless, standing in the middle of it all, realizing that I am now part of this world where I could only previously imagine in my head. For a few moments—or rather, in the eyes of other people, several minutes—I stood there, in the middle of the road like an idiot, trying to take in what my eyes are telling me.
As much as this newfound world carries such enticing fantasies, I can't help but compare it to my previous home world, Earth, especially about their similarities. The sky here was just as blue as my old planet, the same green plants carrying out their photosynthesis, the architecture being all too alike with the ones I usually see in history books. The biggest similarity, however, stems from the fact that, every person, walking, working, talking, or doing just about anything in this lively town square, is just as ordinary as the next person. For that, I felt included, even though it was such a trivial and pathetic thing to draw that line of similarity from.
I looked down and spotted my luggage, containing all my necessities to survive here. Good thing it came through with me here, or else I would've had to wear the same clothes every day until I get to buy new ones here. Then, it struck me: How, in God's grace, is a twelve-year-old boy from a completely different planet, who potentially speaks a completely different language, supposed to survive in this supposedly middle-age world?
Panic quickly rose through my mind, thinking about all sorts of things that I would need to even survive a full day here. Food, water, shelter, money... The important things one would most probably need came into my mind first and foremost. And, so it seems, I have none of anything on that list, excluding money if the currency on Earth can be used here.
Okay, don't panic: I should think about this step by step. If I want to have any sort of decent living condition in this world, then the first thing I should probably do is to ask someone for help. Yeah, I thought to myself, get some help. Speaking of getting help, can the people here understand English? If they speak some sort of other-world language that I'm not aware of, then this situation will serve to be more troublesome than I originally thought it would.
I walked up to a rather empty stall and waved at the stall-keeper to get his attention. The stall-keeper was a tall man with an average build, had thick, curly golden hair that shone beneath the hot sun, bright green emerald-like eyes, a cleanly-shaved sharp chin, and a warm smile on his face. He wore generic adventurer's clothes: white shirt under a brown vest, a strap running diagonally down his body which is supposedly for his little merchant's bag. The rest of his body was blocked by his stall selling different liquids filled in vials, each with their own properties, which I suspect to be potions.
The man looked friendly, which honestly was one of the reasons why I came to his stall instead of any other one, along with the fact that there were no customers crowding around his shop. "Um, mister?" I asked, trying my best to sound polite, though I felt thoroughly jet-lagged due to the light-speed trip to this world a few minutes ago. "Um... I wanted to ask, do you understand what I'm saying right now?"
To be frank, I wasn't sure what to say. I wonder what this charming man, who looks about like he's in his early thirties, is feeling, seeing a little boy wearing some outlandish outfit (in his eyes), and possibly speaking gibberish like anyone could understand him? For a few seconds, the man quizzically looked at me, scanning my body as he tries to interpret what I just said.
"Er, yes, I suppose?" The man, to my surprise, replied in English, and his voice, unsurprisingly, was just like how I imagined: deep, but with a certain charm befitting of his character. "What are you getting on about, boy?" He raised his eyebrows.
"O-Oh, it's nothing, I apologize for troubling you," I replied back frankly. "You see, I am... say, new to this world, if what I'm saying makes any sense."
The golden-haired man looked at me longer, then nodded in understanding. "I see. I should've suspected you were an other-worlder. You look exactly like them," he laughed.
"Other-worlder? Is that what you people call those who come through the Gate?" I asked, curious as to how this naming scheme came to be. Of course, naming those who come from another world should rightfully be called other-worlders, but seeing as though this name is somewhat of an anticlimax and a rather obvious one without more etymology to it than that made me question how this world names its things.
He raised his eyebrows, looking at me firmly with abject fascination, yet his eyes glistened with humor. "Is that not obvious enough?" He asked sarcastically. "As boring as you may think that word given to your type is, it serves its purpose fittingly enough for the rest of us to not care about changing it any further. Perhaps, you have an objection towards it?" The man snickered.
"Oh, by no means I am saying that," I answered as calmly as I can, though in reality, I was shocked that he could almost sense what I was thinking. Either this man is dangerously sharp, or he can read other people's minds like it's normal business. "In fact, I have an unrelated question in mind."
"Hm? And that question being?" He waited patiently.
"What language do the people of this world speak? Or, if I would phrase it in an easier way for you to answer, what language are you and I speaking right now?" I asked. Yes, to any normal person, this question would sound rather stupid. I am speaking whatever this unknown language of theirs fluently, and I can understand them perfectly—the only thing being, the communication between this man and me is portrayed in English, rather than whatever his native language sounds like.
"Is that a question you should ask a shopkeeper? I personally don't think so, to be frank with you. It was already quite a sight to see a small boy in a rather weird outfit coming alone to my stall and asking if I understand them, but now that same boy is asking questions befit for an eccentric? Any sane person would've submitted you to the guards already," he added.
I raised my eyebrows in turn to his unexpected reply. I was further alarmed by him mentioning the guards taking me away if it were any other person.
"Then, mister," I replied snidely, "I'll take it by your words that you are insane? Surely—and I quote—any sane person would've submitted me to the guards already."
The golden-haired man was almost unfazed by my retort—in fact, his smile grew even wider. Honestly, what does he think of me? A humorous little kid that he can toy around with to give himself some amusement during his boring job? What sort of normal adult would even do that? Then again, he did admit that he's insane, so it does seem like the picture here is clearer now.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
"Perhaps so," he said so casually, as if he calls himself insane every day. "But, do remember that I'm not calling for any child welfare services only because you are from another world."
"Child welfare—? What? Those exist here?" I asked amidst my confusion in digesting his words.
"Oh, no. Those don't exist, at least not in this world," he said. Then, everything clicked inside my mind. This person—the only reason why he didn't turn me in to the guards, the only reason why he so easily recognized me as an other-worlder, the only reason why I can understand what he's saying... is because he is also from Earth.
My eyes widened in surprise, albeit a very welcome one. Somehow, through some sort of perfect coincidence, the first person I come in contact to in this new world is a person just like me—an other-worlder. Knowing this, I felt more at ease, though the surprise is still flushing through my whole body.
"You... you're from Earth as well, aren't you?"
He smirked, choosing not to answer my obvious question, and instead saying something completely different. "Now, back to your original question... The language that we are using to communicate right now—it's English. Unfortunately for you, boy, this world has its own tongues—that's a plural, by the way—so just like Earth, this world has many different languages. Best learn one or two if you're choosing to scour the world."
I nodded, slightly disappointed that I need to learn a whole new set of words in order to communicate with the locals. However, this turn of events has not stopped me from wanting to go on an expedition around this new mystical world, not even close. All of that is only one extra obstacle—another challenge that I can conquer.
"Now then," the stall-keeper continued, "I suppose you are in need of a place to stay?"
I nod again, this time lighter and feeling a bit sheepish about this selfish request of mine.
"Look no further, then. As a fellow Chosen One, I'll be more than happy to accommodate you in my humble abode. Little Rona will be delighted to have a buddy around," he added, a warm smile forming on his face again.
"'Little Rona'? Is she your daughter?" I took a wild guess. By the look of his face, it seems I was spot-on.
"Indeed, she is. Speaking of which, we haven't introduced ourselves yet, have we?" He mentioned, as I also noticed it as well. "My name is James Heartwood," he said flamboyantly, gesturing with his hands in a fancy motion as he said that.
"I'm Ernie Neswitt," I introduced myself plainly.
"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Neswitt, pleasure indeed," said James.
"You can call me Ernie, I won't mind," I offered generously, which I have not been able to do in quite a long while.
"Ernie it is, then," he beamed. "Come, my house is just behind me, as you may have noticed the position which I have placed my stall at. My wife and I will make your stay as comfortable as possible." James guided me behind his potions stall and into the fenceless house, its wooden door creaking slightly as it swung open. "After you," he said. I nodded and went inside as he told me so.
The semi-detached cottage was moderately-sized, though it looks comfier above everything. The dim, golden candlelight illuminated the cozy living room, which boasts a small rectangular wooden coffee table and two sofas placed right against the left wall, a carpet with intricate patterns slid right below the sitting area. A small plant in its clay pot was placed on a drawer on the opposite corner of the living room, where two openings stood:
To the right-handed opening was the kitchen and dining room—it was only slightly bigger than the living room beside. It was clean and simple: an L-shaped wooden counter ran along the front wall and the rightmost wall, with a window on each wall separating the cupboards which ran parallel with the kitchen counter. A traditional knife-holder hung above one of the counters, along with a sink, a plate rack, a stove, a variety of cooking utensils, a large pantry, and, the most bizarre of all, a refrigerator at the end of the counter. A refrigerator, I thought. Does electricity even exist in this world?
The dining table was rather cute: it was a rectangular wooden table which can at most sit six people at any given time, though only four chairs were nestled below it. In the centre of the table was a decoration of sorts: candles, a small potted flower, a holder for toothpicks, and a tissue box were placed together.
Backtracking into the living room and moving into the other opening archway opposite to the entrance to the house, there were quite a few things of note: a bathroom, packed with the essential sink, toilet and shower; a storage area under the stairs right outside the door to the bathroom; and not to mention the staircase itself, twisting ninety degrees to the right after reaching its sixth step, then continuing on to the second floor.
It was rather impressive for a place that housed a family of three, at least that's what I assumed. Right as James closed the door behind, a little girl came down from the stairs and observed me, to which in turn I observed her back.
She had flowing blonde hair, with each strand twirling in curls at the tail end. She had fair skin, big glowing green eyes just like James, and elegant facial features all around. She wore what one would commonly call a "commoner's dress" —a white, long-sleeved blouse covered by a green gown, its front laced in criss-cross patterns. Her puffy skirt went far below her knees, its hems ruffled up as she peered above the stair's railings.
"Ah, Rona, my girl. Let me introduce you to Mr. Ernie Neswitt here, a fellow other-worlder like your father, who will be staying with us starting from today," James introduced me as I examined his daughter.
The ten-year-old girl skipped down the stairs and came face-to-face with me, she having to look up as I was almost a head taller than her. Her eyes were glimmering with excitement, as if she's never seen another human before.
"Hello," I muttered, as I held out my hand for her to shake.
"Hi!" She grabbed my hand with a force I was not expecting, promptly shaking it vigorously up and down. "I'm Rona Heartwood," she beamed, her white teeth showing.
"Nice to meet you, Rona," I smiled back, though I probably look like a weirdo at the moment, wearing this maroon jacket that I have yet to see anything else sport in this world.
"Nice to meet you too!" She replied gleefully. "Hey, is it true? Are you from the Other Side like daddy said?" She came up uncomfortably close to my face, her eyes twinkled furiously, excitement and anticipation flowing through it unlike anything I've seen before. I stumbled backwards as she continued to stare at me fervently.
"Now, now, Rona, no need to get so excited over it. You're going to scare Ernie away," joked James. I could only smile awkwardly at Rona. To my best hopes, another person walked down the stairs, presumably the mother to Rona and wife to James, as I just can't help but notice how identical the mother-daughter pair looked.
The woman's blonde hair was tied neatly in braids encircling the rim of her forehead, a small ponytail ending in curls rested in front of her left shoulder. Just like her daughter, she wore an extravagantly elegant dress, laces and all, the main difference being the skirt—it reached to the bottom of her legs, barely scraping the floor as it swayed. Her features were beautiful like an angel's, her eyes a clear sky blue, distinct from the virescent irises of her spouse and only child.
"Darling, there you are!" James exclaimed the moment he spotted the woman, his smile even more bedazzling than before. "Meet Ernie Neswitt, an other-worlder like yours truly which I have taken a liking to," he explained as he patted my shoulder.
James's wife tilted her head to the side ever so slightly, her charming smile not fading whatsoever as she climbed down the rest of the stairs. She took a moment longer to glance at me from close up, then proceeding to greet me. "Hello there, Ernie of the other-world" —she chuckled— "has your time here in our world been great?"
She spoke slowly in a soft voice, though her pronunciation of English words had a bit of an accent. I suspect that she's not from Earth, and that she is local to this world.
"Oh, it's been wonderful," I exaggerated. "I was fortunate enough to run into Mr. Heartwood and he ever so kindly offered me your place to stay," I added graciously.
"Yes, I was about to mention that" —James cut in— "Arianna, dear, you won't mind Ernie here staying with us for a while, do you? I remember we have an unused guest bedroom upstairs; it should be perfect for him."
"Oh, be my guest, Ernie. Do make yourself at home, alright? I'll prepare your room by tonight, so if you don't mind, you can explore the house with Rona a bit. Are you up to it, dear?" She turned to her daughter as she said her last sentence. Rona nodded enthusiastically, grabbing hold of my wrist and pulling me to the stairs, which we promptly climbed up and reached the landing of the second floor ("Wait, what about my luggage?!" I screamed), to which I heard James sighing from behind, "That girl sure does love her company."
The second floor of this cosy home was plain: the stairs led to a small landing with a framed picture hung on the wall, right below it was yet another potted plant on a table. The corridor continued to our right and then forked left again, revealing another long corridor with two doors on either side of the walls. Rona guided me into the first one to our right, which was her own bedroom.
It was small and clean, her magenta bed already-made neatly with all her cushions, pillows and plushies on top. On either side of her twin-sized bed were nightstands which also served to be drawers, the one closer to the door containing a lamp, while the other nightstand had a few books piled on top. The walls were a plain beige which had a faint tint of velvet; it made the room look awfully pink and plain at the same time.
Right by the window directly opposite of the door to her room was her working desk, with more books aligned neatly in a row, among many other things. Against the wall that stood to the left of the desk was her wardrobe, which, by my guess, is where she stores all her clothes. To top it off, a wooden ceiling fan which had an in-built light hung on the ceiling, its three blades containing several patterns that swished and swirled to make it look fancier than it actually is.
"This is my room," Rona stated the obvious, swinging her arms out as if revealing a climatic secret. "How d'you like it?"
"It looks exceptionally like you," I joked. Rona sniggered as she turned around and told me all about her things, from the tiniest belongings to her prized possessions. By the time she finished, the evening sun was beginning to hang low in the orange sky.
"Hey, Rona, your collection of exotic rocks is fascinating and all, but I'm rather keen on seeing the other rooms in your house, if you so please to tour me throughout?" I suggested.
"Oh! I completely forgot!" She laughed, then putting her things that she previously took out to show me and leading me out of her room and into the corridor again. The rest of the tour went in a breeze: the first door to the left of the corridor was another bathroom, bigger than the one below; the room next to Rona's was her parents' master bedroom, which was rather grandiose with its royal purplish walls and big queen-sized bed.
The tour ended with my room, which by now has already been neatly cleaned by Mrs. Heartwood for my use. It was the same size as Rona's room, though its walls were a plain white instead of her velvety beige. The twin-sized bed (which was placed in the far corner of the room) was simple with its pastel yellow sheets, a singular white pillow rested on the head. To the right of the bed was a lonely nightstand. Following the pattern of going to the right, a working desk similar to Rona's was placed against a window facing the back of the house. Right opposite of the bed was a wardrobe, and beside it also stood a small bookshelf which already has several books inside. Finally, at the foot of my bed was my trunk, which was brought up here without me knowing, nevertheless appreciated whoever helped me carry that heavy load up here.
I felt a sense of warmth in my heart when I saw my room—it actually feels like my home. I sat down on my bed and indulged myself in my thoughts. I was genuinely happy to be able to live a peaceful life in this world, without all those comparisons being made between me and my sister every so often. I was finally at ease, knowing full well that I am living in the hands of capable people. Tonight might be the first night where I can sleep without negative thoughts flooding my mind...
...Yeah, it was a great feeling. This place, which I can call my new home, is better than anything I've expected coming into this new world. For that, I want to give my appreciations to Mr. and Mrs. Heartwood for their selfless act of letting me stay in their house, as well as Rona who I can spend time with as a friend. It wouldn't be so much a stretch as to call them my second family.