Together Luka, Franky, and Eve rode across slowly descending pathways, their mounts easily walking on the pebbly trails. Sporadic black stone soon found the group, interlaying with the normal gray that poked from under the grass and orange leaves. The forest canopy quickly smothered the bright blue sky, rendering it nothing more than a simple backdrop cresting the emberwood trees.

Occasionally they’d pass a grove or clearing, finding evidence of life within the trees. Large blocks of stone rounded a pit of ash, weeds and wildflowers growing from the long-cool coals. A rusted wire rack was discarded in the grass, a rotisserie spit or some kind of roasting tray. Benches made of moss-covered, downed logs sat unused, termites and other insects making them into a new home—a new community.

It only took a few minutes on mounts to reach the village proper from the outlying buildings. They slowed from a trot abruptly, causing Luka to lurch forward, his legs clamping Leo tight.

“Trust the wolf!” Franky yelled, his lack of saddle, reins, or blanket to sit on evident. “No dire-beast will let their rider fall!”

Leo adjusted under the World Walker, keeping his legs up while simultaneously easing his momentum. Luka leaned over the beast, finding his foot had slipped from the stirrup. He pushed his boot back into the—he paused, Leo squirming to keep him upright.

Luka scanned his boots, his eyes tracing himself to his pants and shirt. His clothes were not his, not from Earth. They were like Franky and Eve’s—a fabric similar to cotton but more scratchy, like unrefined wool. His boots were leather, but again, not typical cow hide.

Strange, he thought, taking a closer look at himself. The wool shirt and pants were… soft? Too soft, even. The longer he felt the fabric, the smoother the material became. In a matter of moments, it transformed from scratchy wool to a polyester athletic shirt.

Franky and Eve pulled up beside him.

“Hey, uh, what’s with this shirt? Why’s it so weird?”

Eve leaned over Olive’s head, the bird trying to look as well. “Looks like it's magically imbued. Probably an enchantment.”

“Magically?” he asked.

“Magic, like you know, ‘magic.’” She pinched her fingers in the air.

“There’s no magic on Earth.

“Really? That’s strange.”

Before he could respond, Franky reached out and touched his shirt. “Feels like a variable softness enchantment. I had some of those when I was a kid. Expensive.”

“Probably a self-stitching enchantment too,” Eve added. “If I’m reading the glyph-residue right.”

Luka raised both hands, one still clutched tightly on Leo’s reins. “Wait a sec. Why is it strange for my world to not have magic?”

The siblings shrugged. “Just a way of life here, I suppose,” Franky suggested.

He took a deep breath. “Fair. And what’s ‘glyph-residue?’ Do I need to wash my shirt already?”

Eve smirked, stretching. “Interested in magic, are we? Feels good not to be the student for once. Magical residue is the term for seeing magic that’s supposed to be invisible. And no, you don’t have to wash it. In fact…” She reached out as well and felt the shirt. “These might even have a self-cleaning enchantment as well.”

Franky whistled. “Where’d you get ‘em?”

Luka tried to think back. Was he wearing clothes while talking to the goddess? Maybe? It was kind of hard to focus on unimportant things.

“I think the goddess gave them to me.”

Eve loudly cursed, Franky’s jaw dropped slightly.

“What?” he asked. “Is that bad?”

Even puppy Leo looked at him strangely for the question.

Franky answered, “It just means, you’re either a rich man or you’ll have priceless treasures in your hamper.”

“Or they’ll get stolen,” Eve muttered.

“Or that. You probably shouldn’t tell anyone else where they came from.”

Suddenly feeling like the trees had eyes, Luka made himself look smaller.

Eve smacked her brother on the arm. “Don’t listen to him. No one from Emberwood is going to steal them. When you go traveling or boast in a city tavern, sure, but not the villagers here.”

Nodding, Franky said, “Most living here are too old to care.”

“Speaking of old, we should find Tram.”

He groaned. “Can we just—”

“She’ll want to know a World Walker’s in the village.”

Rolling her eyes, Eve led Olive forward into the village, the others following. Old, mostly run-down huts dotted the landscape. Built in haphazard rows, foundations of black stone set deep within the ground keeping the rotting wood on top still standing. Weathered paint chipped off in large flecks, each building the same sun bleached yellow. Some of the homes had shattered windows and sagging roofs, others radiated warmth and smelled of cooking breakfast.

Orcs and short men and women sat on porches, smoking pipes or staring out past the tree line. Through the woods, a blue-green lake stretched into the distance. Surrounded by a black cliff face of stone, Luka remembered Franky mentioning a filled quarry.

Eve pulled the group to a stop in front of the only building made entirely of stone. Two stories and built like a fortress, Emberwood’s courthouse and jail was marked by a chiseled sign near the front entrance.

Luka frowned at the words. “Why can I read that?”

“More World Walker magic, I’m sure,” Frany said. “It’d be dumb for the goddess to send you here without blessing you with universal translation.”

He opened his mouth to ask another question, but an elderly orcish man pushed open the door of the courthouse. Wearing sleeveless robes and carrying a watering can, the man paused at the trio of mounts and their riders.

“Is the mayor in?”

“She’s with the kids by the lake. The boys are getting pretty competitive about swimming, it seems that’s all they’re wanting to do lately.”

“Thanks Ben!” Franky waved to the man, prompting Eve to do so as well. They resumed walking, past the courthouse and toward the lake.

“That’s our local judge, not that he practices much anymore,” Eve said. “Not much crime around here.”

The road opened wide, separating the homes from one another. The black pebbles lining the grass increased, and soon they were walking strictly on stone and weeds. They passed more short people and orcs, and another humanoid made of sticks and vines.

“Anyway,” she continued, “back to magic. Everyone sees magic differently. For example, I see little birds budding off of magical items or nesting in the magic itself. That’s why I have bird tattoos, they’re a part of me, literally. Franky sees weird growths.”

She flexed her arm, showing off her ink.

“Growths?” Luka asked with a hint of worry.

“Tiny mushrooms,” answered the bald orc. He waved his hand, a few of Sebby’s hairs stuck to his green skin. “’Growths’ sounds bad and it’s unfortunate my magical glades developed when they did. I was a youngster harvesting mushrooms out in the deep woods, and for some reason, the imagery stuck.”

“Uh huh…”

“Do you see anything?” Eve asked. “Maybe around your peripheral vision?”

Luka tried to look. “Yeah. I see… strands? Threads? Hairs? I don’t know what they are, but they get in the way sometimes.”

“That sounds like magic. Don’t worry about them getting in the way, that happens all the time for novices. You’ll get used to them and learn to control them like a third hand.”

Franky snorted. “Once Eve tripped down a set of stairs because her birds were ‘nesting along the floorboards.’”

His sister glared. “And once Franky sliced off his thumb peeling carrots. Our aunt had to reconnect it while he screamed about how the ‘mushrooms were growing in his bones!’”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Luka didn’t hide the look of horror plastered across his face. Sebby, likewise, was looking strangely at his rider.

“Hey! I thought we said we’d never talk about—”

“And I thought you understood that falling down the stairs is something all novices of the magical arts have to go through! And yet, you still bring it up trying to embarrass me!”

“If everyone does it, why is it embarrassing?”

“Because—” Her jaw creaked like a rusty gate. “Because it just is! Especially in front of a World Walker! You’re scaring him!”

Franky clamped his mouth closed, glancing at Luka. “Are we?” he asked after a second.

Luka shrugged. “I’m… not sure, actually. Is this all even real?”

The siblings shared a glance.

“It’s real.”

“We’re real.”

He wasn’t convinced. “Maybe I’m in a hospital bed dying of infection. Maybe this is a fever dream.”

Eve’s eyes softened. “You know, there’s a saying about World Walkers: ‘They have panic attacks for the first two days and slay a dragon on the third.’”

He stared blankly.

“It means, the first few days are rough for everyone, then the sky’s the limit.”

Luka straightened his back and adjusted his grip on the reins. “I got it. Don’t, uh, worry about me.”

Franky jumped in, saying, “The goddess wouldn’t put you here if she didn’t think you could handle it. World Walkers are great people.”

“I think I hurt people,” he whispered.

“What?”

Luka didn’t look at him. “I—I can’t remember most of my life. And yet, I know I didn’t deserve to be reincarnated here. I’m no one great.”

Eve patted him on the knee. “Trust in the gods, Luka.”

“Faith, huh? Not really my thing.”

She shook her head. “Trust in yourself, then. I’ve never been a pious one either.”

The wolf pup growled, his head drooping.

Franky translated, “’Stop being upset,’ he says.”

Rubbing the beast’s snow white mane, Luka said, “I’m not upset—just scared. Thanks buddy.”

Soon the group traveled down a slope, arriving at a broken section of the cliff. Perfectly chiseled into the black stone, a staircase led down to a wide landing and lakeside beach. Rounded stones took the place of sand, and large hexagonal basalt columns lined the verticality of the cliff face. People gathered at the top of the stairs, jumping off into the waters or lounging in the sun.

“This isn’t a natural formation, right?” Luka asked.

Eve answered, “Nope! All magical. Who’d cut stone by hand when there’s perfectly good glyphs to do it for you?”

“Are glyphs like… spells?”

“Later,” she promised. “Right now we’ve got an important meeting, Mr. World Walker.”

Before them was a band of preteens. Orcs, green and red, leaped from the cliff, flattening themselves out and landing in the water belly first. They disappeared under the gentle waves, reappearing smiling and laughing. Next, a few particularly short kids dove in, jumping the orcs already in the water. They devolved into a mosh pit of dunking, each ganging up on whichever kid was “it.”

A group of girls sat together, their feet in the water. They took turns braiding each other’s hair with golden rings and ivory sticks woven throughout. But, unfortunately for them, one of the boys splashed them. After a declaration of war, the girls dove into the water, content with rehashing old school-yard wounds. They didn’t so much as notice Luka and the others approaching.

Sitting at a picnic table a dozen paces from the cliff edge, an elderly orcish woman sat reading a book. Her once fiery red hair bloomed from her roots like the leaves of the emberwood tree, graying toward the tips. The wind blew against her back, the cold lake air bristling against her worn leather robes and jewelry mounted with bones and gems. Age removed her muscles, but a piercing through the bridge of her nose kept her looking fierce.

She looked up, sliding a pair of glasses on with elegant ease—the piercing not in the way. She scrunched her face.

“And who’s this?” she asked.

“Hey, Mayor Tram,” Franky said, slowing Sebby to a stop. “This is Luka.”

She stiffened at her title and gave Luka a hesitant glance. “And what is he trying to sell us?”

“Nothing!” Eve jumped in. “This is Luka from the planet called Ear-ath.”

The mayor’s eyes widened as Luka muttered the correct name for his home world.

“He’s a World Walker if that wasn’t clear—”

“I got it!” she snapped before flushing all hostilities. Tram took a deep breath, then closed her book gently. She pressed her hands together and dipped her chin. “Hello, World Walker Luka.”

Luka repeated the gesture, “Hello, Mayor Tram.”

“Just Tram is fine.”

“Then just Luka is fine as well.”

She gave him a once over. “How old are you?”

Franky leaned over. “She means ‘how old are you in this world,’ not your actual age.”

Luka gave a shrug. “An hour, maybe? Unless you count the time with the goddess.”

Tram nodded absentmindedly. “Which goddess?”

“I don’t think she said her name. She was big, made of light, and kept using her hair to do magic… I think.”

“Sounds like Goddess Tippy.”

To punctuate the mayor’s words, a butterfly landed on her nose. She froze, her jaw going slack as she stared at the bug perched on her piercing. It then took off, a trail of motes of glittering light following its wake.

Luka looked between the orcs, finding Eve and Franky likewise frozen. Even Sebby and Leo watched the butterfly go, their tails tucked between their legs in submission. Olive the emu, however, was looking the opposite way, happy as a clam.

Tram loudly swallowed, clearing her throat. “Looks like it was Goddess Tippy.” She then stood and stretched out a hand to Luka. He took it and shook, causing her eyebrows to hike-up. “Is this some sort of greeting from your world? I was just trying to help you down.”

Luka turned red. “That was a handshake, yeah. And I think I can get myself down, I hope.”

Leo snorted, dropping to his belly to give his rider a fighting chance. Beside them, Eve and Franky dismounted easily, their boots crunching into the pebble gravel. Soon enough, they all sat around the table, Eve explaining the events of the last hour.

Luka traced Tram’s blotted tattoos, each one curling around her knuckles like a prizefighter’s tape before a cage match. He recognized the ink as a word, one that stretched across both hands. They read “humble orc.”

“Gonna stare at me all day?” she suddenly asked.

He sputtered, looking off to the side and finding the kids watching from a safe distance.

“I—”

Tram burst out laughing. “Humans!” she sang, “Even from another world they’re all the same! Nosey!”

Luka wasn’t impressed. The siblings were.

A tiny hand stopped the giggles. A girl no taller than Franky’s knee pulled at the hem of Luka’s shirt. She had the face of a living wooden doll, a pail grain moving with her bark lips and mossy eyebrows. She was covered in leaves and vines, the shrubbery making up her clothes, perhaps even her skin. Tears made of sap welled in her eyes.

“Mr. World Walker human,” she cried, “c-can you fix Mr. Sticky?”

She thrust out a humanoid doll made of carved wood—one that looked strikingly similar to the girl holding it. In one hand was the doll’s main section, the other held a broken-off leg.

“I don’t—”

Luka couldn’t finish the sentence, the girl interrupting. “My m-mom used to tell me about World Walkers before she died! They always have powerful m-magic! Can y-you heal Mr. Sticky!?”

Mayor Tram kneeled down. “Now, now, Nicole. Luka here just arrived on this world. Before he can do any magic, he has to have enough time to practice, right?”

The girl, Nicole, wiped away tears. “B-but Mr. Stick!”

Something burning caught in Luka’s chest. It itched beside his heart, and he almost flinched trying to scratch it. But movement in the sky stopped him. He spotted the glittering motes of light the butterfly had summoned. A message from the goddess to help, he recognized. But what was he supposed to do about a broken doll? Goddess Tippy, if she was so powerful, should help the kid—

The itch moved, barreling up his throat and into his mouth. His spit turned to tar, and the whiff of rotten milk flooded his nose. The itch moved higher, reaching his eyes and causing the strands of magic circling his vision to glow. They wagged like on fire, begging Luka to put them out—to use them.

An image of roaring flames came to him in the back of his mind. Buildings crumbled in seconds, blown apart by hellfire. Memories, he recognized, but ones he couldn’t fit amongst his others.

The butterfly landed on his head, and the flames subsided.

As everyone stared at it, Luka said, “I was an engineer on Earth. Let me see Mr. Sticky, I’ll try my best to fix him.”

Nicole let him take the doll. Around, the other children inched closer until they were surrounding the table on all sides. One yelled something about “resurrecting” the doll, only to get twenty shushes in response—one for each of the kids.”

Luka ignored them, his vision swirling with glowing strands of hair. He thought back; what was the chemical process of making glue? Maybe he could find a natural forming variety? Maybe even—

He stopped himself, the strands urging a different solution—a magical one. What had Goddess Tippy said again? He could create anything so long as he had the material and created happiness.

“Would fixing Mr. Sticky make you happy, Nicole?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes!” she answered instantly. “He was a gift from my parents before they died! He’s my only family left!”

Across the table, Eve whispered, “Luka you don’t have to—”

He held up his hand. “Walk me through this magic thing, please.”

“You can’t just make magic work. You need spell practice and glyph knowledge.” She let out a silent sigh. “It’s not going to work. I’ll go get my aunt. She’ll fix it.”

Luka bit his lip. “I’m a World Walker, remember? A goddess put me here. She gave me clothes, she gifted me magic.” He looked at her. “She made it so I met you and your brother, and she knew Nicole would ask me to fix Mr. Sticky.”

Eve just stared.

He fiddled with the doll, matching the broken leg against the snapped thigh. “I think I already know the spell. I just don’t know how to activate it.”

“There’s still the prerequisites.”

“All reached, I think.”

“Then you just do it. Orcs just follow their instincts to do magic. Humans usually have a formula or ritual. I don’t know if that matters for you.” Eve gritted her teeth. “I just… I don’t know, okay? I just trust my birds to fly me to the best outcome!”

Focusing on the strands, Luka watched them elongate and thicken. Warmth jutted through his body like a hot drink on a cold day. It itched, but far from the terrible itching before. It was gentle, it was nice.

It was like Goddess Tippy’s radiance as they viewed the world together. She cast magic without rituals or formulas, why couldn’t he?

The strands caught the doll, raising it from his hands. He guided them around its broken leg and thigh, holding them in place together. Luka then reached out and touched Nicole’s cheek, gathering a sappy tear on his finger. He then glanced at a twig on the ground, snatching it with a red-hot strand of magic.

The twig hovered to the doll, and Luka smeared Nicole’s tear into the break. The twig bent and contorted, flattening like putty and filling the cracks. He then wrapped the doll’s leg in his magic, holding it in place for the sap to set.

When he was finished, Mr. Sticky rested in his hand, his leg completely smooth.