I woke to warmth.
Soft light filtered through slatted windows above me, casting long golden lines across the stone floor. Somewhere outside, wind stirred the leaves, and the distant sound of a bell low and metallic rang three slow chimes.
For a moment, I thought I was still in Seoul. Then I remembered the trees. The moons. The cloaked strangers.
And I was wide awake.
The room was simple. Stone walls, a carved wooden table near the corner, and a stack of dried herbs hanging near the door. My jacket had been folded neatly beside the bed. The disc was still in my hand.
The door creaked open. A man stepped in, older, wrapped in a robe the color of dusk. His hair was grey at the edges, but his eyes were sharp.
"You are awake," he said slowly.
His accent was careful, deliberate. Foreign but understandable. Like he had studied my language. Or something close to it.
"Where… where am I?" I asked.
"You are in Aurenholt," he replied. "In the Kingdom of Elyndra. Under the moons of the Second Lunar Era, year thirteen twenty-seven. The fifth day of Emberwane."
I blinked. "Ember… what?"
He stepped closer and placed a warm mug in my hands something herbal, smoky.
"Our calendar follows the lunar cycle. The year is divided into eight months, each named after a seasonal essence. Emberwane is the second-to-last when the light fades and the earth cools before winter. The time of quiet preparation."
Eight months. Two moons. A different world.
He must've seen the confusion in my face.
"You crossed the Veil," he said softly, sitting beside me. "Not by accident."
"I didn't mean to," I whispered. "I touched something. A disc. In a museum."
"That disc," he said, nodding to it. "It is older than any of us. Older than this kingdom. Few from your world are chosen. Fewer survive the crossing."
I stared at the drink in my hands, unsure if I could even trust it. But I drank. Bitter and earthy, but it steadied my nerves.
Outside the window, I caught glimpses of the village-spiraling tree structures, glowing lanterns suspended midair, and people dressed in robes, leather, and cloaks. A world from a dream or a game. Only it wasn't either.
"How do I get back?" I asked.
The man paused.
"There is no path back," he said quietly. "Not until the prophecy completes."
My heart dropped. "Prophesy?"
He rose and turned to the shelf. From it, he pulled a thin leather-bound book covered in age and dust. He flipped through it carefully, stopping at a worn page covered in symbols. He pointed to one, an image of a man holding a disc beneath twin moons.
"The Veiled One. A soul from beyond who walks without magic, yet shifts the fate of kings."
I laughed bitterly. "That's not me. I work in a museum."
He looked at me for a long time, then said simply, "You do now."
—
The village outside stirred to life with the soft murmur of footsteps and distant chatter. I stepped to the window, still clutching the leather-bound book. The trees here were massive wide trunks that twisted skyward like the ribs of some ancient beast. Houses were built into the branches, connected by narrow wooden bridges that swung slightly in the breeze.
Lanterns hovered above the streets, glowing with a pale blue light, as if lit by captured stars.
Aurenholt wasn't a city, it was a tapestry woven from nature and craft, where magic breathed quietly beneath every stone and leaf.
I turned back to the man, whose name I still didn't know.
"Tell me about this prophesy," I said.
He sighed. "The prophesy is sacred, written centuries ago in the tongue of the Ancients. It speaks of a time when the Crown Prince will face darkness beyond mortal knowledge, and only one from beyond the Veil, one without magic can stand beside him."
I swallowed. "So I'm supposed to help a prince? How do I even survive here? I don't have powers. Nothing."
The man gave a slow nod. "Magic is woven into every part of Elyndra. From the water that flows in its rivers to the stones beneath your feet. But you, Veiled One, are an anomaly. Immune to magic's touch. Some say that's your strength. Others fear it."
As we spoke, a group of villagers passed by outside-women in flowing skirts, men in embroidered tunics. One held a bundle of herbs, another carried a bow strung with silver thread. A child darted between them, chasing a flickering flame that danced just out of reach.
I realized magic wasn't just spells or fireballs. It was life itself here.
"Why me?" I asked, voice low.
The man's eyes softened. "Because fate weaves strange patterns. You were chosen before you even touched the disc."
"How do I get back?"
He was silent
"Sir?"
"There is not way back."