The stone didn’t answer. Its glow pulsed once, twice, then faded into nothing. The warmth lingered, though, spreading through my chest like a slow, steady heartbeat. I blinked, and the world shifted.

  The rain was gone. The bridge, the pain, the blood—all of it vanished. I was lying on soft grass, the kind that felt like it had never been touched by frost or drought. Above me, the sky stretched wide and clear, painted in shades of gold and pink as the sun rose. The air smelled like flowers—not the faint, distant scent of a garden, but something richer, deeper, as if the earth itself was exhaling.

  I sat up slowly, my hands sinking into the grass. My head didn’t throb. My ankle didn’t ache. I touched my temple where the cut had been, but the skin was smooth, unbroken. Even the bruises on my knuckles were gone.

  “What the hell…” My voice sounded small, swallowed by the stillness around me.

  The garden stretched in every direction, a sea of colors so vibrant they almost hurt to look at. Flowers bloomed in shapes and shades I couldn’t name—petals that shimmered like glass, stems that twisted into spirals, leaves that glowed faintly in the sunlight. A breeze stirred the air, carrying the faint hum of bees and the rustle of leaves. It felt alive, this place, in a way nothing in my world ever had.

  I looked down at the ground where the stone had been. It was crumbling now, breaking apart into tiny, glowing particles that floated upward like fireflies. I reached out, half-expecting them to burn, but they were cool against my skin. One by one, they drifted toward me, dissolving into my palm, my arm, my chest. A strange warmth spread through me, not uncomfortable but… familiar, like something I’d forgotten.

  “Okay, no. This isn’t real.” I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut. “I’m hallucinating. Exhaustion. Head injury. Something. This isn’t happening.”

  But when I opened my eyes, the garden was still there. The flowers swayed gently, their colors shifting in the light. The air felt too crisp, too clean, too to be a dream. I pinched my arm, hard, and winced. Definitely not dreaming.

  “Huh?” For a moment, the space in front of me seemed to… glitch. Like a broken screen, the air shimmered and distorted, as if reality itself had stuttered. It was gone as quickly as it came, leaving me staring at empty air.

  I stood, my legs steady beneath me, and took a step forward. The grass whispered under my feet, soft and cool. A butterfly—or something like a butterfly, its wings shimmering with colors I couldn’t name—floated past, brushing my cheek before disappearing into the flowers.

  “Where am I?” My voice echoed faintly, swallowed by the vastness of the garden. No one answered. No one was here. Just me, the flowers, and the hum of the wind.

  I crouched down, running my fingers over the petals of a nearby bloom. They felt like silk, but warmer, almost alive. The flower tilted toward me, as if curious, and I jerked my hand back.

  “Nope. Nope, nope, nope.” I stumbled backward, my heart racing. “This is too weird. Way too weird.”

  I turned, looking for some kind of exit, some way out of this impossible place. But there was no path, no gate, no sign of where I’d come from. Just endless flowers and sunlight.

  My legs gave out, and I sank back onto the grass. The ground was soft, welcoming, like it was trying to comfort me. I lay back, staring up at the sky. The sun was warm on my face, the breeze gentle against my skin. It should’ve been peaceful, but my mind was spinning.

  “Okay, Zane. Think. You were on the bridge. You were hurt. You touched the stone, and now… this.” I ran a hand through my hair, trying to make sense of it. “Either I’m dead, or I’ve completely lost it.”

  A faint sound broke the silence—a soft chime, like glass tapping against glass. I sat up, scanning the garden. The flowers swayed, but there was no sign of where the sound had come from.

  “Great. Now I’m hearing things too.” I flopped back down, closing my eyes. “Just… give me a minute. Just one minute to figure this out.”

  But the garden didn’t give me a minute. The chime came again, louder this time, followed by a voice—soft, melodic, and impossibly close.

  “You’re not dead, Zane. And you’re not losing your mind.”

  My eyes snapped open. Standing over me was a figure, silhouetted against the sun. I couldn’t make out their face, but their presence was… calming, somehow.

  “Who—” I started, but the figure raised a hand, cutting me off.

  “Rest. You’ve been through enough for one day.”

  And just like that, the exhaustion hit me. My eyelids grew heavy, my body sinking into the grass. The last thing I saw before everything went dark was the figure kneeling beside me, their hand brushing against my forehead.

  The flames roared in my ears, their heat licking at my skin. The girl’s grip on my arm tightened, her small fingers trembling as she pulled me forward. The village burned around us, the air thick with smoke and screams. I tried to run, but my legs were heavy, like I was wading through quicksand. The soldiers emerged from the fire, their swords gleaming—

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  I jolted awake, gasping for air. My heart pounded, the dream still clinging to me like a second skin. But this wasn’t the bridge. This wasn’t the garden.

  I was lying on a straw mattress, the rough fabric scratching against my skin. The room was small and dim, the walls made of uneven stone plastered with dried mud. A single window, covered by a frayed cloth, let in thin shafts of sunlight. The air smelled of earth, smoke, and something herbal—like dried lavender or thyme hanging from the rafters.

  I sat up slowly, my head spinning. The last thing I remembered was the garden, the glowing stone, the figure kneeling beside me. Had she brought me here?

  The door creaked open, and I tensed, my eyes snapping toward the sound. A woman stepped inside, her movements calm and deliberate. She was older, her face lined with years of hard work, her hair streaked with gray and tied back in a loose braid. Her dress was simple, patched in places, and her hands were calloused, like she’d spent a lifetime laboring.

  “You’re awake.” Her voice was low, steady, and carried an accent I couldn’t place. “Good. The children were worried.”

  I blinked, my mind still foggy. “The… children?” Don't fucking tell me I now have a family in this world.

  She nodded, stepping further into the room. A wooden bucket hung from her arm, sloshing with water. “They found you in the meadow. You were lying there, unconscious. You didn't seem like you were from around here so they came running to me, and I brought you here.”

  The meadow. So it was real. But how did I get here? And where was the woman I’d seen—the one who’d spoken to me before I passed out?

  I hesitated, then decided to play it safe. “I… I don’t remember much. Everything’s a blur.”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly, studying me. “You don’t remember how you got to the meadow?”

  I shook my head, forcing a look of confusion. “No. I don’t even know where I am.”

  She didn’t respond right away, her gaze lingering on me as if trying to piece together a puzzle. Finally, she set the bucket down by the hearth, where a small fire crackled, and gestured for me to follow. “You should eat. You’ve been asleep for hours.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but my stomach growled loudly, betraying me. She smirked, a faint glimmer of amusement in her eyes, and motioned toward the table.

  I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my feet hitting the packed dirt floor. My body felt… fine. No aches, no bruises, no lingering pain from the fight or the fall. Even the exhaustion that had been my constant companion was gone, replaced by a strange, restless energy.

  I followed her into the main room of the house, which doubled as a kitchen. A rough-hewn table stood in the center, surrounded by mismatched stools. A pot hung over the fire, bubbling with a stew that smelled of root vegetables and herbs. She ladled a portion into a wooden bowl and set it in front of me.

  I hesitated, then picked up the spoon. The first bite was warm, hearty, and unlike anything I’d ever tasted. It was simple but filling, the kind of food meant to sustain, not impress.

  “This is… good,” I said, my voice softer than I intended.

  She nodded, leaning against the hearth. “It’s nothing special. Just what we have.”

  But it was. Everything about this place was. The way the sunlight filtered through the cracks in the walls, the way the firelight danced on the rough surfaces. Even the way she spoke—her words flowed smoothly, her accent melodic, and yet… I understood her perfectly.

  Wait.

  I froze, the spoon halfway to my mouth. She hadn’t been speaking English. I was sure of it. And yet, I’d understood every word, as easily as if she’d been speaking my language.

  I set the spoon down, my mind racing. “Where… where am I?”

  She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she walked to the door and pushed it open, revealing a view of the village outside. The houses were small and clustered together, their thatched roofs sagging with age. Chickens pecked at the dirt path, and children ran past, their laughter echoing in the crisp morning air. Beyond the village, fields stretched out, dotted with workers bent over their crops.

  “You’re in Willowbrook,” she said finally. “A small village in the kingdom of Eryndor. You’re safe here. That’s all that matters for now.”

  Eryndor. The name meant nothing to me. I’d never heard of it. Not in any geography lesson, not in any history book. My chest tightened as the realization hit me—this wasn’t Earth. This wasn’t even close.

  I pushed the bowl away, my appetite gone. “Eryndor… I’ve never heard of it.”

  She raised an eyebrow, her expression unreadable. “You’ve never heard of Eryndor? Where are you from, then?”

  I hesitated, scrambling for an answer. “I… I don’t remember. Like I said, everything’s a blur.”

  She studied me for a moment, her gaze sharp and probing. Then she shrugged, as if deciding it wasn’t worth pressing. “Well, you’re here now. That’s what matters.”

  I wanted to argue, to demand more, but the weight of her words settled over me, heavy and final. I leaned back in the chair, my mind spinning with questions I couldn’t answer.

  Who was the woman in the meadow? How did she know my name?

  I forced a weak smile, trying to play the part of the confused amnesiac. “Willowbrook… it’s a nice village. Quiet.”

  She nodded, her expression softening slightly. “It’s home. Not much happens here... for most of the time at least, but that’s how we like it.”

  I glanced out the door again, watching the villagers go about their day. A man led a donkey pulling a cart piled with hay, while a group of children chased each other around a well, their laughter ringing through the air. It all looked so… normal. Except it wasn’t. Not even close.

  “The meadow where you found me,” I said carefully, “is it far from here?”

  “Not far. A short walk to the east.” She tilted her head, studying me again. “Why? Do you remember something?”

  I shook my head quickly. “No, just… curious.”

  She didn’t look convinced but didn’t press further. Instead, she picked up the wooden bowl and moved to the hearth, where the fire crackled softly. “You should rest. Whatever brought you here, it’s clear you’ve been through something.”

  The weight of everything—the meadow, the stone, the woman who’d known my name, this strange village—pressed down on me. I leaned back in the chair, my fingers tapping restlessly against the table.

  “Thank you,” I said finally, my voice quiet. “For helping me.”

  She nodded, her back still turned. “You’re welcome. But don’t get too comfortable. Strange things have a way of finding their way to Willowbrook sometimes.”

  Her words sent a chill down my spine. Strange things. Like me.

  I stood, my legs steady but my thoughts anything but. “I think I’ll take a walk. Clear my head.”

  She glanced over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. “Don’t wander too far. The forest isn’t kind to strangers.”

  I nodded, stepping outside. The sunlight felt warm on my skin, but the air still carried that strange, buzzing energy. As I walked, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. The flowers swayed gently, their colors shifting in the light, and for a moment, I thought I saw a shadow move between the trees.

  Strange things, indeed.