Dave wiped sweat from his forehead and adjusted his backpack. The straps were digging into his shoulders. He was breathing harder than he wanted Matt to notice.
"You good?" Matt asked, looking back. He was a few steps ahead on the trail, standing straight, barely winded.
"Yeah," Dave said. "Just need food soon."
"We'll stop up ahead. That clearing looks decent."
They had talked about this trip for years. Just a weekend in the mountains—no phones, no jobs, no other people. It had taken forever to line everything up, but they'd finally done it. Now they were here, and it was colder than expected.
By the time they found the clearing, the sky had turned a dull gray. Wind picked up while they set up the tent. The trees made a steady noise, like paper being crumpled. The air smelled like rain.
They ate quickly—cold sandwiches, trail mix—and sat near the fire, not talking much. The temperature kept dropping. Thunder started behind the hills. It sounded too close for how bright the sky still looked.
Dave glanced up. "I didn't see any storms on the forecast."
Matt didn't answer. He threw more wood on the fire.
When the rain came, it came fast. They dove into the tent, pulling the zippers shut. Water hit the fabric hard. Wind pressed against the sides like hands pushing in.
Dave lay on his back, listening. He didn't feel tired, but his body was heavy. Thunder cracked, again and again, with barely any space between.
Neither of them said anything for a long time.
Then everything went quiet. Not gradually. Just stopped.
Dave opened his eyes. He didn't remember falling asleep.
The tent was still zipped, but something felt different. Dave sat up slowly. The air inside smelled off—like dirt and plants, stronger than it had last night. He looked over at Matt, who was already awake, staring at the ceiling of the tent.
"You hear that?" Matt asked.
Dave listened. "No wind. No rain."
"No birds either."
They unzipped the tent and stepped out.
The fire pit was gone.
The flat clearing where they'd set up their gear was still there—but their backpacks were missing. The trees were taller, thicker, and darker than before. Their bark looked too smooth. Their branches didn't move.
Matt turned in a slow circle. "Where's the car?"
Dave looked down the path they'd taken the day before. "We came from that direction."
They followed it. The trail looked about the same, but it felt shorter. After only a few minutes, the slope leveled out and the path ended.
There was no gravel lot. No road. Just trees. Tall, wide ones with roots like broken bones sticking out of the dirt. Strange sounds echoed from somewhere deeper in—high-pitched and short, like a whistle, but not quite.
Matt stared ahead. "This isn't right. This isn't the same mountain."
Dave said nothing. He stepped back from the edge of the path and looked up at the sky. It was a dull yellow-gray, clouded over but too bright for morning. The air was warm now, and sticky.
"I think we're lost," Matt said.
Dave kept his eyes on the trees. "No. This isn't where we came from."
Something moved behind the nearest tree. Not a squirrel. Not a bird.
They both froze.
It had eyes—too far apart, and too low to the ground.
The thing didn't move like anything Dave recognized. Its body was low to the ground, but not crawling. Its legs—at least six of them—bent at angles that didn't look stable, like a folding chair coming apart mid-collapse. It crept around the tree, slow and deliberate.
Matt took a step back. "What the hell is that?"
The creature's skin was dull gray and looked wet, like it had just come out of water. Two long slits opened and closed along its sides, pulsing in rhythm. Its eyes blinked out of sync, and when its mouth opened, it didn't make a sound. No teeth. Just rows of bristly, hair-like filaments moving like seaweed in a current.
Dave grabbed Matt's arm. "Go back. Now."
They moved without turning their backs, stepping carefully down the path. The creature didn't chase them, but it didn't leave either. It stood in place, watching.
Back at the campsite—or what was supposed to be the campsite—everything was still off. The tent was torn now, sliced clean through like a blade had passed over it. The ground was softer than it had been, almost spongy under their boots. When Dave kicked the dirt, it peeled up in clumps like wet moss.
"We have no food," Matt said. "No gear. No phone signal."
"We follow the trail again," Dave said. "Not down. Across. Maybe this whole area is... wrong."
Matt didn't argue. They picked a new direction—one where the trees weren't as thick—and kept walking. They didn't talk. The forest didn't either. No birds, no wind. Just their own breathing, and now and then, something moving just out of view.
Eventually, they came to a small clearing.
In the center was a pool of water—dark green, almost black. Around it stood three tall creatures, motionless. Their limbs were long and thin, their skin a pale, dry yellow. Their heads were narrow, with no visible mouths or eyes, but they were facing the two of them—waiting, maybe.
Dave raised his hand slowly. "We should go around."
The creatures didn't move. But the moment they stepped into the clearing, a low sound started. Not from the creatures—but from the ground itself. A hum, deep and constant.
The water in the pool began to ripple outward.
They backed away from the clearing, staying low. The pale figures didn't move, but the humming grew louder the closer they were to the water. Neither of them wanted to find out what it meant.
They turned and went the other direction, weaving through trees and ducking under low-hanging branches. The forest floor dipped into a shallow ravine where the air grew cooler and damper. Long vines hung from the branches above, some twitching without wind.
After nearly an hour of walking, both of them were soaked with sweat and covered in scratches. Dave's shirt clung to him, and his legs burned from the effort.
"We need to stop soon," he said, panting. "Just a minute."
Matt didn't respond. He'd gone still, staring ahead. "Look."
There, across a sunless stretch of moss-covered ground, something massive was leaning against a tree.
At first it looked like a dead animal, half-decayed. Then it moved.
It stood.
Its skin was black but shined like oil, and its body was long, thick, and segmented. It had no visible face—just a wide split down the middle of what might have been its head. That split opened slowly, revealing rows of flat, wet teeth. It made no noise, but its body gave off a smell like burned meat and rust.
Dave couldn't speak.
Matt whispered, "We're not fighting that."
"Should we run?"
Matt didn't look away. "I just have to be faster than you."
The thing twitched, then jolted forward like it had been launched. It moved faster than either of them expected—faster than something that size should be able to.
They ran.
Branches whipped at their faces. Dave stumbled twice, catching himself on trees. He could hear Matt ahead of him, crashing through the undergrowth. The thing behind them didn't roar, didn't scream—it just tore through the forest like a machine.
Then something hit Dave hard in the back.
He went down.
His breath shot out of him as the thing landed on top of him, its weight crushing him into the dirt. He couldn't see its face. He didn't know if it had one. A low, sick sound came from its throat—something between breathing and chewing.
Instinct took over. Dave shoved a hand into his jacket pocket. He pulled out the only thing in there—a half-melted chocolate bar. Without thinking, he jammed it upward, right into the creature's open mouth.
There was a pause.
Then it spasmed violently. The jaws snapped shut, then opened again. A thick wheezing noise came out, followed by a wet, hacking cough. The creature flailed once, then dropped, its full weight slamming down on Dave like a boulder.
Matt ran back, panting, eyes wide. "Are you—are you okay?"
Dave wheezed. "Get. It. Off."
Together, they shoved the thing aside. It rolled limply onto the ground, twitching a few times before going still. Its teeth were stained with melted chocolate.
Matt stared at it. "You fed it candy?"
"I panicked," Dave said. "It worked, didn't it?"
Matt didn't argue. He just nodded once, then looked around.
"Let's keep moving before anything bigger smells this."
The forest thinned just as the sky began to darken again. Matt and Dave pushed through the last line of twisted trees and stopped.
Buildings.
A town—not large, maybe a dozen stone structures with sloped roofs and narrow chimneys. The streets weren't paved, just packed dirt, but there were people. Dozens of them, moving about quietly. Dressed in layered fabrics, coats with too many buttons, boots that looked handmade.
They looked human. That was the first relief.
The second was the smell of something cooking.
Dave exhaled hard. "Civilization. Finally."
They walked into town slowly, unsure of how to approach anyone. The townspeople glanced at them, but no one said anything. A few whispered. One woman crossed the street to avoid them.
Matt raised a hand. "Hey—sorry to bother you," he said to an older man stacking crates near a doorway. "We're... sort of lost. We ran into these things in the woods. Huge—gray skin, too many legs, and this other one, big as a car with no face—"
The man froze, then turned to look at him. Not with fear. With suspicion. As if Matt had said something offensive.
A few people nearby had stopped walking. They were staring too.
"We're not making it up," Dave added. "They attacked us."
Still silence.
Then came the rattle of wooden wheels. A farmer passed by, leading a wagon pulled by a creature with six legs, a long, split snout, and blank white eyes. It grunted low as it passed, flicking its tail like a whip.
Matt and Dave watched it go.
Dave spoke first. "We're not on Earth."
Matt didn't answer. He was still watching the wagon disappear down the street.
Dave's stomach growled loudly.
Matt glanced at him. "You good?"
"No. I'm starving."
Matt turned to the nearest person, a tall man with sharp features and a thick coat. "Excuse me. Is there anywhere we could get something to eat? We don't have... uh... any money."
The man frowned, looked them over, then pointed to a crooked building near the end of the road. The roof sagged to one side, and something moved behind the green windows.
"Try your luck in there," the man said. "They buy anything."
"Anything?" Dave asked.
The man just walked away.
The building looked abandoned from the outside. One window was cracked. The wood around the door was dark with age or weather. But when Matt pushed it open, a bell gave a sharp, chiming note—too sharp, like glass snapping.
Inside, the air was warm and filled with the smell of something burnt and sweet. Shelves lined the walls, packed with things they didn't recognize—jars of thick, glowing liquid, knives with handles made of bone, folded fabrics that shimmered slightly even in shadow.
Behind the counter stood a thin man with wild gray hair and a red scarf wound too tightly around his neck. His eyes were yellow—not contact-lens yellow, but natural, like a predator's. He was polishing a glass sphere the size of a cantaloupe when he noticed them.
He dropped it.
The sphere hit the counter and rolled, wobbling.
"You—!" the man gasped. "You're not from here, are you?"
Dave blinked. "What gave it away?"
The man clapped his hands together with excitement. "Marvelous! Absolutely marvelous. Look at those clothes! Fabric weave I've never seen. Stitching too even to be hand-done. Thread color—unnatural!"
Matt raised an eyebrow. "You... want to buy our clothes?"
"Only if you're willing," the man said quickly, grinning. "No pressure, no pressure. But for garments like these? I'd give you a full trade, and a meal on the house!"
Dave was already unzipping his jacket. "Done."
They stripped down behind a hanging curtain, leaving only their underlayers. As they emptied their pockets, the man came closer and his eyes widened again.
"What are these?" he whispered, picking up a car key. "What's this symbol?" He poked at Matt's phone, which was long dead. "No gem charge, but the craftsmanship—exquisite! What's this? Gum? A... receipt?"
Dave pulled out a tangle of earbuds and a plastic flashlight. "Junk, mostly."
"To you," the man said, eyes shining. "But to collectors? Rarities. Artifacts from another place. Another realm! I'll take the lot. Full bundle price."
Matt looked at him. "What's that worth?"
"Enough for clothes. Enough for food. Maybe even a roof tonight. Sound fair?"
They nodded.
The man snapped his fingers and vanished into the back. When he returned, he was carrying folded sets of clothes in rich, earthy tones—layers of stitched fabric, padded vests, tall boots, and wide belts with hooks and loops for attaching small tools or pouches.
"Wear these. You'll blend better. Slightly."
Matt raised a sleeve, examining the tight weave and smooth texture. "These look custom."
"They are now," the man said. "You'll draw less attention. Until you speak, anyway."
Dave tugged on the vest, already feeling warmer. "You said something about food?"
The shopkeeper nodded toward the door. "Out back. My assistant will prepare something. Don't worry—nothing with too many legs."
Out behind the shop, under a crooked awning of bone-colored wood, a long table had been set with two bowls of steaming stew and a flat loaf of dark bread. A thin young woman with pale eyes nodded once at them, then disappeared back through the side door.
Dave didn't ask what was in the stew. He just started eating.
Matt sat across from him, slower, more cautious, but hunger won out quickly. The meat was soft and faintly sweet, the broth thick with unfamiliar herbs. The bread was tough but filling.
Inside, the shopkeeper leaned through the doorway, sipping something from a curved mug. "So," he said casually. "You two have names?"
"Matt," Matt said, pointing to himself. "That's Dave."
"Charmed," the man said. "I'm Silas. Collector of rarities. Sometimes shopkeeper. Always curious."
Matt wiped his mouth. "Silas, do you know any way... we could get back? To our world?"
Silas tilted his head, mug halfway to his lips. He didn't drink. Instead, he scratched his chin, thinking.
"Now that," he said slowly, "is a question."
Matt waited, trying not to get impatient. Dave just kept eating.
Silas finally nodded. "There were stories. From long ago. Back in the First and Second Eras, the great kingdoms would summon people—like you. From other worlds. They called them heroes. Brought them here through portals or rites. Always in times of war. To fight some demon lord or ancient evil, I suppose."
Matt frowned. "You're saying we were summoned?"
"No," Silas said. "That's the strange part. No one does that anymore. Haven't for... oh, thousands of years. No reason. No war big enough. No monsters strong enough. These days, people like you? They show up once in a century—if that."
Dave looked up from his bowl. "So what happened to the others?"
Silas shrugged. "Some tried to get home. Some gave up and lived out their lives here. A few vanished into the deeper places—places this world keeps to itself."
Matt leaned forward. "But there is a way back?"
"Possibly," Silas said. "If anyone still knows how, it'd be an archmage. Not the hedge witches or potion-flingers around here. I mean the real ones. Kingdom-tier magic."
"Where would we find one?"
Silas sighed, then pointed east, toward the horizon. "Kingdom of Elandor. Months away on foot. Longer through the wilds. But if you're serious... that's your best chance."
Matt nodded slowly. "Then that's where we go."
Dave muttered, "Can we finish eating first?"