The transition from forest to village was so gradual I didn’t notice it at first. One moment, the trees pressed close around us, holding the last echoes of the portal’s strange energy. The next, roots gave way to smooth stone etched with faint spirals that pulsed softly under my feet. Lanterns glowed ahead, warm and amber, like someone had bottled candlelight and hung it from branches.
I slowed my pace. The houses revealed themselves gradually, shaped from wood and pale stone, their windows glowing with amber light. Not huts. Not ruins. Real homes, lived-in and humming faintly with something I didn’t have a name for. The place felt alive.
Cewyn walked beside me with the kind of calm that made me want to borrow some. Rowan moved ahead, posture steady, like gravity had signed a contract to never betray him. The lamps shed light over his shoulders, shadows tracing the clean line of his stubbled jaw. He looked far too good for someone whose primary personality trait so far was “silent and competent”. Meanwhile, I was damp, dishevelled, and carrying the emotional stability of a raccoon in a thunderstorm.
Two figures approached from the largest house in the clearing. Its roof curved like the arch of a leaf, warm lights glowing behind tall windows. They didn’t stride like leaders or demand attention. They simply existed with a kind of grounded presence that made everything around them settle.
The man was tall and solid, with weathered skin and grey streaks catching the low light. His clothes were forest tones, practical and worn from use rather than age. His gaze swept over us, sharp but calm.
Beside him walked a woman with russet hair that caught the lantern glow like a fox’s pelt. Her movements were light, almost too fluid for someone merely walking. Her layered clothing shifted with her steps, loose enough that she looked ready to move in any direction without warning.
Cewyn dipped her head. “Elder Orryn. Elder Aevyra.”
Rowan straightened respectfully next to me. I did none of that. At this point, I was trying not to wobble because if I bent in any direction, I wasn’t sure I’d get back up.
Gesturing slightly to her left, Cewyn continued. “This is Amara.”
I gave a small, hesitant wave. Orryn acknowledged me with a steady nod; Aevyra with a soft, reassuring smile that loosened my shoulders.
“You crossed through a portal”, the man, Orryn, said. His tone wasn’t accusing, just factual.
“Yes, sir,” I answered. “I didn’t mean to. I thought it was a normal door. Which is a mistake I won’t repeat.”
Aevyra studied me with an expression that felt uncomfortably perceptive. “You’re frightened.”
“Correct,” I said. “Very much so.”
“You’re not in danger here,” she said. And for some reason I believed her.
The two elders shared a look. A quick, silent agreement.
Orryn nodded once. “You can stay in the main house for now. Until we understand what happened.”
Relief hit so fast my knees considered giving up. “Thank you, sir.”
Rowan gestured for me to follow. The house waited at the end of the walkway, its door carved with spirals that glowed faintly as he touched them. Warmth rolled out when it opened, comforting.
“Your room is up the steps,” he said. “Second on the left. Bathroom across the hall.”
Bathroom. Civilisation. I could have cried.
The stairs glowed softly under my feet as I climbed, each carving lighting up like it recognised me. Not in a creepy way. More like a polite nod from the floor. Still unsettling.
The hallway smelt faintly of lavender and something clean. My fingers brushed along the wall as I passed. It hummed back. The entire house felt alive, tuned to a frequency just below hearing.
The bathroom door had a droplet-shaped carving that shimmered when I approached. I touched it, and the door unlocked with a soft chime.
Inside was a perfectly normal bathroom. Or it tried to be. Sink. Towels. A toilet that looked familiar enough to inspire cautious optimism. I pressed the rune near it.
The toilet flushed.
And sparkled.
A swirl of shimmering light spiralled down the drain like magical confetti.
I jumped back. “Why does it do that?”
The rune blinked in what I could only interpret as ‘pride’. I stared at it for a long moment, then sighed. “Fine. Sparkle. Be magical. I am too tired to fight this.”
I used it anyway. My dignity had not taken enough hits for one day.
When I was done, I automatically reached for toilet paper and found… nothing. There was none. Not a single roll. Not even the polite suggestion of one. Just… absence. Empty, echoing absence.
“Oh no”, I hissed to the room. “Absolutely not. Not today.”
Actually, no. Scratch that.
This was a full, abso‑sparkling‑lutely not kind of moment. The kind of moment where any normal person would unleash language that could peel paint. But I, apparently, had to settle for yelling internally at imaginary unicorns.
“By the glitter‑soaked backside of a stump‑horned unicorn,” I hissed, “not today. Not now. Not ever.”
Stress came tumbling in like an old acquaintance. Somewhere in the universe, a naughty toilet-paper-stealing gnome cackled.
I stared at where the empty holder should have been, like it had personally betrayed seventeen generations of my ancestors.
“Really. Amazing. Perfect. May the mischievous goblins who designed this bathroom step on every enchanted Lego ever created.”
The bathroom hummed back, unimpressed. For a terrifying half second, I thought maybe this world had some superior eco‑friendly system I hadn’t been briefed on. Something communal. Or… no. I refused to finish that thought. My imagination was already on thin ice.
A bubble of panic rose in my chest. Not dramatic. Just the hey, what’s the return policy on magical dimensions? kind of panic.
As I debated whether it would be rude to yell for help, a soft gust of warm air brushed behind me. I froze. Then came a gentle whoosh of water. Precise. Decisive. Thorough.
I made a noise I will never emotionally recover from.
“Oh,” I choked out. “Okay. Cool. Automatic assistance. Wonderful. Love that for me.”
The air puffed once more smugly.
I covered my face with both hands.
“We are never discussing this,” I told the bathroom. “Ever.”
The rune blinked like it disagreed.
By the time I finished drying off, my dignity was on life support, staring at the ceiling and whispering “why”.
When I stepped into the hallway again, Rowan was passing by. He paused, eyes flicking toward my face.
“You look startled,” he noted.
I attempted to answer like a normal person, but my mouth betrayed me instantly. “Your toilet sparkles,” I blurted out.
He nodded once. Neutral. Professional. Almost reassuring.
I should have stopped there. I did not stop there.
“And apparently the house has very invasive opinions about… cleanliness.”
A beat of silence. Rowan did not smile. But his eyes absolutely did the magical equivalent of one.
“It assists where needed,” he said.
“Yes. I noticed,” I muttered, lowering my voice to a mortified whisper. I marched away before my embarrassment could grow legs and chase me down the hall.
My room was the second door on the left, just like he said. The door opened with a gentle huff. Inside, soft moonlit runes traced the wooden beams overhead. The bed looked like a cloud someone had flattened and then decided it should be even softer. Thick quilts were layered neatly on top.
A small washroom corner was tucked into the right wall, a single rune above the shower handle. I reached out and turned it carefully.
Warm water burst to life, glowing faintly before turning clear. A brief shimmer ran through it, and then it settled into ordinary water.
I stepped under it and let everything wash away. The fear. The embarrassment. The confusion. The forest mud. The little pieces of thread and moss caught in my coils. The weight of not knowing anything about this place.
By the time I wrapped myself in a towel soft enough to threaten tears, I was ready to call it a day. I crawled into the bed. The mattress inhaled under me, adjusting as though the house itself sighed in relief that I had finally stopped moving.
Outside, the night waited calm and unhurried.
As for me, I felt almost safe.