My feet sank into the familiar grass of the cottage my parents had rented when I was a kid.

  I must've been eight, maybe nine. The sky stretched endlessly above me—that deep, bruised blue that comes just before sunset—casting long shadows that seemed to reach across the entire yard like grasping fingers. There I stood on the edge of the woods with my little brother Danny, who was just six back then. Small for his age, with wild curly hair that never stayed put and a fresh scrape decorating his knee from playing too rough earlier.

  Danny was scared. Hell, I could practically feel it radiating off him—the way he held his breath, those wide eyes locked on the darkening treeline like it might swallow him whole. Our ball had sailed into the woods during our game. The forbidden part. The section where our parents' voices always got that sharp edge: Don't you dare go exploring in there at night; there are bears. You know, the thing a kid doesn’t understand.

  But there it sat, a defiant red dot visible through several rows of trees, mocking us.

  I wasn't any less terrified than Danny. My heart hammered against my ribs, and that familiar tightness crawled up my throat—the kind that made swallowing feel impossible. The woods seemed to grow with each passing minute, swelling as the sun disappeared. And the quiet. Every snapping twig felt like the opening note of some horror movie soundtrack. We'd heard all the stories every summer we came here—bears, wild animals, things that went bump in the gathering darkness.

  "I-I don't think we should go in there..." Danny's voice trembled, pulling me back to reality.

  I hesitated. My palms were slick with sweat, and every survival instinct I possessed screamed at me to turn around. To tell Danny it was just a stupid ball. We could get another one. Dad would retrieve it in the morning when the woods didn't look like the mouth of some sleeping beast.

  But then I looked at him—those wide eyes, brimming with absolute faith that his big brother always had the answers. That I wasn't afraid of anything.

  The truth was, I was absolutely terrified. But something flickered inside me, quiet but insistent—a reminder that being brave wasn't about the absence of fear. It was about doing what needed doing, anyway. It was about being bold when everything inside you wanted to run.

  Taking a shaky breath, I forced what I hoped looked like a confident smile. "I'll go get it. You stay right here, okay?"

  Danny nodded, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

  I turned toward the trees, legs trembling as I took that first step into the shadows. The moment I crossed the treeline, the world shifted. The air grew thick and cool, pressing against my skin like a damp blanket. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig sent my pulse skyrocketing, but I kept moving. Eyes locked on that red ball, just a few feet away. The trees seemed to bend and warp around me, like stepping into some twisted cartoon where the forest itself was alive.

  Each step felt like wading through liquid fear—thick, suffocating, pressing down on my chest. But I couldn't stop. I thought about Danny's worried face, about the trust in his eyes. The ball sat right there now, half-buried in the grass and fallen leaves.

  I bent down, hands shaking as my fingers closed around the familiar rubbery surface.

  The moment I straightened up, I heard it—something moving behind me. Branches shifting. Leaves crunching.

  I froze, breath catching in my throat like a trapped bird. All those stupid campfire stories came flooding back in vivid detail—glowing eyes in the darkness, shadowy figures, bears with claws like knives. But I didn't run. Instead, I spun around to face whatever nightmare was stalking me, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes.

  A deer. Just a goddamn deer.

  It stared at me with those impossibly calm, dark eyes, blinking slowly in the gathering dusk before bounding away deeper into the woods with graceful, silent leaps.

  I let out a shaky laugh that bordered on hysteria, adrenaline still coursing through my veins like liquid lightning. But the fear—that crushing, paralyzing terror—it was gone. Replaced by something that felt suspiciously like pride.

  I walked back to the edge of the woods, holding the ball high above my head like some kind of trophy. Danny's face transformed, lighting up with pure joy and relief. For that perfect moment, I wasn't just his big brother.

  I was his hero.

  I jolted awake, adrenaline slamming through my system like espresso straight to the heart.

  "Goddamn it, am I not allowed to be drowsy?"

  When the hell had I fallen asleep? That memory... Christ, I actually remembered that. Danny talked about it constantly growing up, always saying I'd grow up to be Tony Stark. Obviously, that didn't pan out. When was the last time we'd even seen each other? Couple Christmases ago? He was always neck-deep in some project for work—ironically, much closer to that Stark Industries dream than I'd ever been.

  Someone cleared his or her throat.

  I tensed instantly, head whipping toward the sound. My body screamed in protest—every muscle aching, skull throbbing like someone was using it for drum practice. That familiar danger-sense coiled tight, ready to spring.

  "Graceful Gods, you absolutely reek of bravado," came a distinctly British voice.

  A woman entered, and I knew immediately she was Floran—but unlike any I'd seen. Much older, with bronze skin that resembled bark more than Felix's metallic sheen. Her hair was white as dried grass, pulled into a neat bun. A small yellow bird perched on her head like a living crown, while flowing brown and gold robes hung with a casual elegance that screamed, 'I own this place.'

  "Are you the Head Mistress?" I asked, aiming for cautious respect.

  She snorted—a sound that shattered every expectation I'd built. "Absolutely not, darling." Her smile cut through my defenses like a hot knife. "I brought clothes and a washing kit, since you look like you've wrestled a hurricane and lost."

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  I touched my head gingerly. Long-dried blood matted my hair. Right. That.

  "You mentioned gods..." I muttered.

  "In vain, of course. As in a curse word, if you're not familiar." She set her bundle down and settled gracefully onto a couch across from me. "If you'd prefer, I could swear more traditionally. But I do get scolded so."

  That's when it hit me—my aura was giving me absolutely nothing on this woman. After the day I'd had, the silence felt downright unsettling. The bird, though? Something about his chirping reminded me of a trucker after a dozen beers and a speeding ticket.

  The bird responded with what sounded suspiciously vulgar.

  "Watch your mouth, Stanley," she scolded, looking up at her own forehead. "What would your mother say?"

  "I'm Ben. Ben Crawford," I said, like my mouth had decided to work independently of my brain.

  "I know." She grinned, somehow making the room feel warmer. "Call me Diana, darling." Stanley chirped furiously in what could only be frustration. "And this charming fellow is Stanley."

  She began pouring tea from a set that definitely hadn't been there before. Diana caught my confused look and smiled, motioning for me to take a cup.

  "Are gods... real?" The question tumbled out before I could stop it.

  "That's your first question?" She raised an eyebrow with obvious amusement. "Do you really think you're ready for the answer?"

  "Probably not," I admitted. Stanley chirped firm agreement.

  "Let's start with something else then." Everything about this felt animated, alive compared to the intensity of everything before. "Can you do me a favor and release your spell?"

  "My what?" The words came out sharper than intended.

  "Your aura is terribly distracting, darling. Simply accept that something might happen you won't see coming. Trust the people who've been helping you." Diana's tone stayed conversational. "My grandson Felix seems to think you're a good person. No one here is going to hurt you. In fact, I'm rather invested in helping you."

  Felix was her grandson? This was Nana? The woman who could tell someone like Chas what to do?

  Holy shit.

  The world shifted as the tension in my chest simply... vanished. Goosebumps erupted across my skin like electric shocks, and suddenly I felt like I'd sprinted a marathon. My heart hammered, tremors running through my hands as I gripped the couch.

  "That's better," Diana said with satisfaction. "You might as well have been branding the gods-damned rune onto your soul. A spell should be a tool, darling, not a crutch you lean on every waking moment."

  My soul? Runes? A spell?

  What was happening to me? It was like I hadn't been myself since stepping through that portal. All the fear, the bone-deep confusion I'd been shoving down came crashing back in a tidal wave.

  Stanley chirped brightly, sounding almost... impressed?

  "I know, I know," Diana said, addressing both of us. "Here, drink some tea, Ben. I promise it will help."

  The tea was blue. Honest-to-God blue.

  But the smell was incredible—autumn leaves and pumpkin spice, dried fruits and berries swirling together. My mom used to fill our house with scents just like this during the cold months, transforming the kitchen into a witch's brewing cauldron of delicious aromas.

  I took a tentative sip. Hot, pleasantly sweet, and somehow familiar in a way that made my chest ache. Before I knew it, I'd drained the entire cup. Warmth spread through my body like liquid comfort.

  "It reminds me of fall," I mumbled.

  "Fall?" Diana tilted her head.

  "Autumn? On my world? The season before winter, when leaves drop and everything prepares for the cold."

  Diana's expression shifted to genuine curiosity. "You're definitely not Gaian then—they can't smell a damned thing. Florans have extremely keen senses. It seems your people share that trait. We're almost kindred, aren't we? Humans, you said?"

  Had I told her I was human? I nodded, formulating questions.

  "Are Florans... plants?" I blurted.

  Stanley let out an amused cackle.

  "I thought that was obvious," Diana said, then her expression grew thoughtful. "Oh. Fuck." Stanley chirped in loud frustration. "Shut up, Stanley. Your world doesn't have a world-tree, does it?"

  She poured another cup, and I accepted it greedily.

  "We're closer to seeds, really," she explained, settling back. "We fall from world-trees and take form—seeds that allow our world to interact with the people living on it. Many of us here are from the Aldertree. You can tell by our bronze skin. Felix is from the same branch, which makes him my grandson technically. Does that help?"

  "No," I said honestly.

  Diana laughed—a genuine, delighted sound that made the room less surreal. "I didn't think it would. But we have time before your meeting with Elena—the Head Mistress—so why don't we indulge some curiosity while you make yourself presentable?"

  I stood feeling substantially more stable and made my way to the clothes. Looking back on the jungle journey, I could see myself now—gaze darting like a paranoid squirrel, wound so tight I was vibrating with tension. But it had worked when that panther attacked. I'd dodged before I knew it was there.

  The clothes weren't fancy but were clean and well-made. Nice khaki pants in linen, a crisp white shirt, vest emblazoned with the Monster Hunter emblem, and leather shoes that looked like they'd actually fit.

  "My turn for a question," Diana said, sipping tea while watching me with amusement. "Your world—your people—know it's a planet? One of many?"

  I nodded. "Yes. We've even figured out how to capture images of it from space."

  "That would mean your people have named your world?"

  "Earth," I replied, curious about her reaction.

  "Earth? Like... dirt... or fertile soil?" Diana actually giggled—somehow ancient and youthful simultaneously.

  I had to think. "Yeah, I guess? Though I always thought dirt was named after the planet, not the other way around."

  "Spoken words can mean many things in a place as vast as the Multiverse." She paused thoughtfully. "Tell me, has your world ever been called Terra?"

  I blinked, nodding slowly. "Historically, yes. An old Latin word—dead language."

  "I thought as much. Earth normally means soil in this tongue."

  So she'd heard of Earth as Terra? Did that mean she knew how I could get home?

  "Well, welcome to Ark," she said matter-of-factly.

  "Ark. Like a big boat? Or an ancient relic?"

  "You learn fast." Diana's smile widened.

  "How the hell are we using words that mean the same thing?" Frustration crept in.

  "Do you really want to waste a question on statistics and mouth shapes?" Diana's eyes twinkled. Stanley chirped like I'd asked something monumentally stupid. "There are trillions of languages in the multiverse, but this one and two others are always most common. Now ask a good one."

  I grabbed the clothes, determined to change. Diana had mostly turned away, and besides, the torn rags Chas had given me hadn't left much to the imagination, anyway.

  "Everyone calls you Nana, right?"

  Diana sighed with an audible smile. "Guilty as charged."

  I quickly discarded my old clothes and was halfway into the new pants when a familiar voice cut through the air.

  "That's not a Gaian ass," Cassie announced from behind me. "Looks like yours, Felix. Bony as fuck... Gaia's tits! Nana!"

  Without thinking, I whirled around. The pants slipped from my grasp and fell straight to my ankles, leaving me standing buck naked in front of Cassie and Felix, both dressed in matching Monster Hunter outfits.

  Time froze.

  Three pairs of eyes—plus Stanley's beady bird gaze—took in the full glory of my pale, undernourished form standing there like some kind of horrified statue.

  "Oh, I agree, dear," Diana observed with clinical detachment. "That is rather a small posterior. I'm not even sure how he maintains his balance."

  Cassie grinned wickedly, giving me a thorough once-over that made me want to sink through the floor. "Maybe after a few drinks," she said, then strolled casually into the room like she hadn't just seen me in my birthday suit.

  Felix clapped a hand on my shoulder as he passed. "Couldn't find a curtain? Hey Nana, did you bring me anything?"

  Stanley let out what was unmistakably a wolf whistle.

  Even the damn bird?

  "Shut up, Stanley!" I hissed through gritted teeth, frantically yanking my pants up while my face burned with the heat of a thousand suns.

  This was probably going to be the story they told at my funeral.