The first thing I remember is the sound of wind through unfamiliar leaves, soft and almost whispering. My eyes blinked open to a sky painted with pale gold and soft lavender, the sunlight spilling through branches that weren't familiar to me, trees taller and grander than any I had ever seen. My body ached in ways I didn't expect—muscles I didn't recognize—and the cool grass beneath my fingers felt impossibly real.
I sat up slowly, trying to piece together how I ended up here. One moment I had been reading late into the night in my small apartment, exhausted but content. The next, I was lying on this soft carpet of moss in a world that wasn't mine. The realization hit me with a strange mixture of panic and awe: I wasn't dreaming.
The forest around me pulsed with life. Birds with iridescent feathers called to each other in unfamiliar patterns. Flowers glimmered faintly as if catching sunlight in ways impossible back home. It was beautiful, surreal, almost fragile, like a painting I had stepped into without permission.
I forced myself to stand, my legs trembling. The moment my feet touched the solid earth, a sound drew my attention. Footsteps. Slow, deliberate, careful—but not fearful. My heart leapt, and I ducked behind a thick tree trunk.
From between the branches, I saw them. A group of people—or perhaps, heroes. Men with worn armor and women with tired but sharp eyes. They moved like they belonged here, moving naturally, but there was a weight in their expressions. They had survived something terrible, something I hadn't witnessed, yet it hung over them like an invisible chain.
One of them—a man with dark hair falling over his eyes—paused mid-step, his gaze scanning the forest. My stomach twisted. I felt as if he had sensed me before he even saw me. The way his eyes narrowed, the way he stood frozen for a heartbeat, made my heart race.
I ducked lower, holding my breath, trying to convince myself to be invisible. And yet, even as I did, a strange part of me, a reckless curiosity, refused to let me run. I needed to see them, to understand where I had landed.
The man finally moved again, but not without glancing in my direction once more. His expression was unreadable—neither welcoming nor hostile, just… measured. Calculating.
I knew I needed to get closer. But with every cautious step I took, the weight of my presence made me hyper-aware of how wrong it felt to be here. My hands itched to reach for something, anything familiar. I pressed my palms to my chest, trying to remember the feel of my apartment, the scent of my tea, the warmth of my small, ordinary life.
And yet, there was something intoxicating about this place. The way the light broke through the leaves, the subtle hum of life around me—it whispered that maybe, just maybe, I could belong here.
I stepped forward carefully, trying to make my presence known without alarming them. The group had stopped again, now forming a loose circle as if waiting for someone—or something. My heart thudded painfully in my chest.
Then, a soft voice broke the silence.
"Who's there?"
Not harsh. Not commanding. But curious, wary. My stomach dropped. I had to answer.
"I… I don't know," I whispered, my voice trembling. It felt absurdly small, swallowed by the vastness of the forest. "I didn't mean to intrude."
There was a pause. Then the man with dark hair stepped closer. He was tall, imposing, yet his movements were calm, precise. "You shouldn't be here," he said quietly, but there was no anger in his tone—only observation.
"I… I don't know how I got here," I admitted, my voice stronger this time. "I'm not supposed to be here, I think. I just… woke up."
He studied me for a long moment. His eyes were dark, almost stormy, yet I could sense a glimmer of curiosity. Finally, he nodded slightly, almost imperceptibly. "Follow me," he said.
I froze. Follow him? Into the unknown? Every rational thought screamed at me to run, to hide, to vanish into the forest. But something about the calm certainty in his voice, the quiet authority, made me do what I had never done before: trust.
I stepped forward, and he didn't turn back. Not once. I followed silently, keeping my distance, noting the subtle glances of the others. They watched me, but not with hostility—more like… consideration. As if they were evaluating whether I belonged here, whether I was part of their world, even if I didn't know it myself.
The path led us to a clearing. The air was cooler here, shaded by massive, ancient trees. And there, at the center, was a small camp. Fires burned low, casting flickering shadows across worn faces and battle-scarred armor. The heroes' eyes softened as they approached their own, and I felt a pang of longing. They had a connection I couldn't yet touch.
"Sit," the man said, gesturing to a log by the fire. "You're safe here, for now."
I obeyed, my legs trembling. The warmth of the fire was a comfort, a strange reassurance that I had crossed into a world that wasn't mine—and yet, for some reason, wanted me.
Another figure approached—a young woman, armor dented but bearing a gentle smile. "You're new," she said simply. "I'm glad you're… alive."
Alive. That word hung in the air. Alive, yes, but in what sense? I hadn't even existed here yesterday, yet somehow, the moment I had arrived, the world shifted. They noticed me. And not as a threat, not as a stranger, but as someone whose presence mattered.
The man with dark hair—he had not yet introduced himself—sat across from me, his expression unreadable. I could feel his eyes on me constantly, weighing, judging, not in anger, but in a quiet, relentless curiosity.
And then it hit me: I wasn't here by accident. Somehow, my life had intertwined with theirs. Somehow, I had become part of this world.
I didn't know why, or how, but I felt the pull—the undeniable gravity of being noticed, of being waited for, of being… needed.
I wanted to speak, to ask questions, to demand answers. But the words wouldn't come. Instead, I let the silence stretch, letting the weight of the moment settle around me. This world had rules I didn't know, histories I hadn't lived, and people who had survived things I couldn't imagine. And yet, in the midst of all that, they had let me stay.
For the first time since I woke up here, I felt something I hadn't expected: a tentative sense of belonging.
Not as a hero. Not as a chosen one. Just… as me.
And somehow, that was enough.