David was an ordinary man. A security officer who worked long, thankless shifts and never complained. Hardworking, reliable, always on time. That evening, as the sun dipped below the skyline, he drove home in his beat-up sedan, radio playing low, mind already drifting to a cold beer and bed.
Then the road simply… ended.
A violent shimmer tore open the air in front of him—like heat rising off asphalt, but impossibly tall and bright. Before he could slam the brakes, the car lurched forward, sucked into the glowing rift. Metal groaned. The world flipped inside out. Colors bled into streaks of violet and gold.
David's stomach flipped with the vehicle. He gripped the wheel uselessly as the portal spat them out the other side.
The car crashed down onto soft earth, tires sinking into mossy ground. The engine coughed once and died.
Silence.
David sat frozen, breathing hard, hands still locked on the steering wheel. Slowly he lifted his head.
The sky was wrong.
Huge winged creatures—half bird, half serpent—glided lazily across a bruised purple horizon. Far below, medieval-style stone walls and towering spires rose from rolling green hills. Smoke curled from distant chimneys. Flags snapped in the wind atop castle battlements.
He blinked. Blinked again.
"This isn't real," he muttered to himself.
He fumbled for his phone. No bars. No signal. Not even the emergency triangle. He let out a long, shaky breath and dragged a hand down his face.
"Okay. Okay. Think."
He pushed the door open and stepped out. The air smelled of pine, wildflowers, and something faintly metallic—like ozone after a storm. His legs felt unsteady. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, and lit one with trembling fingers. The first drag burned his throat.
That was when he heard it.
Hooves. Fast. Heavy. Coming straight toward him.
David spun around just as a massive warhorse burst from the tree line, armored rider low in the saddle. The knight was fully plated—dark steel etched with faint silver runes, a crimson cloak snapping behind like blood on the wind. A longsword was already drawn, point leveled directly at David's chest.
David's cigarette fell from his lips.
The horse skidded to a halt ten feet away, snorting steam. The rider straightened in the saddle, visor raised.
David's mouth went dry.
Beneath the helm was a young woman—sharp cheekbones, piercing green eyes, long blonde hair braided tightly and spilling over one shoulder. Beautiful in a way that felt dangerous. Her expression was cold, assessing, the kind of look that had already decided whether you were worth killing.
She spoke first, voice clear and commanding, carrying a faint accent he couldn't place.
"State your name and purpose, stranger. You trespass on the lands of House Veyra. Speak quickly—or my blade will speak for you."
David raised both hands slowly, palms out. The cigarette ember glowed forgotten on the grass.
"I—look, I don't know how I got here," he said, voice rough. "There was this… light. This hole in the road. My car just—got pulled in. I swear I'm not here to cause trouble. I don't even know where 'here' is."
The woman's eyes narrowed. She nudged her horse forward a step. The sword never wavered.
"You expect me to believe you appeared from thin air in an iron carriage that reeks of smoke and oil?" she said. "No mage's mark. No aura of summoning. Yet here you stand."
She tilted her head slightly, studying the car, then him again.
"Remove your outer garment. Slowly. Show me your hands. If you carry any weapon or talisman, you die where you stand."
David swallowed. He unzipped his jacket, let it fall to the ground. Then raised his empty hands higher.
"I'm just a guy," he said quietly. "Security guard. I work nights. That's it. I don't even know what a talisman is."
For a long moment she said nothing. The wind tugged at her cloak.
Finally she lowered the sword—just an inch.
"On your knees," she ordered.
David hesitated.
"Now," she snapped, voice like a whip.
He dropped to one knee, then the other, keeping his hands visible.
She swung down from the saddle in one fluid motion, boots thudding against the earth. She approached, sword still ready, stopping just out of arm's reach.
"David," she read from the name tag still clipped to his shirt. "No family crest. No guild mark. No noble blood I can sense." She studied him like a puzzle she didn't trust. "You are either the worst spy I have ever encountered… or something far stranger."
She sheathed her sword with a metallic rasp—but kept her hand on the hilt.
"Stand," she said. "You will come with me. The High Warden will decide your fate."
David rose slowly, heart hammering.
"And if I say no?"
Her lips curved—just the ghost of a smile, cold and sharp.
"Then you will discover exactly how fast a blade can find your throat."
She turned toward her horse, then glanced back over her shoulder.
"Move, David of… wherever you came from. The realm does not wait for lost men."
David looked at his dead car, at the impossible sky, at the armored woman who could probably kill him before he blinked.
He took a step forward.
And another.
The adventure had already begun—whether he wanted it or not.