The leaves above whispered against a canopy of golden light. A breeze scattered flecks of pollen through the air, like stardust drifting on invisible tides. The world smelled... green. Real. Too real.
He awoke with his cheek pressed into moss. Not a floor. Not a bed. Earth.
Where the hell am I?
He sat up sharply. Trees arched above him, impossibly tall, with bark that shimmered faintly under the sun. Birds sang unfamiliar tunes. Everything about this place felt dreamlike—yet the weight of his body, the soreness in his joints, and the lingering headache told him otherwise.
Then a voice rang out.
"Stand. Slowly."
A figure approached—armor dull silver, etched with symbols unfamiliar to him. A sword was unsheathed, leveled toward his throat.
The young man raised his hands instinctively. "Whoa, hey—easy. I don't even know where I am."
"You speak our tongue," the guard said coldly. "That makes this easier. State your kingdom and purpose."
Kingdom? Purpose? His brow furrowed.
"I told you, I don't know where this is. I just... woke up here."
The trees parted with a gentle rustle as a new figure stepped into view. Grace draped in poise, her robes flowing like liquid moonlight, her eyes assessing—calculated but not unkind.
The guard instantly lowered his head. "Princess Elyra of The Crowned Isles of Eiravell ."
She nodded once, then approached.
"You came through the Philosopher's Path," she said softly.
He stared at her blankly. "The... what path?"
She tilted her head. "You truly don't know."
"I truly don't know anything. Except I was supposed to be at work right now. Not kidnapped by cosplay guards in some elven forest."
The guard's eyes flared. "Mind your tongue, outsider."
Princess Elyra raised a hand. "Wait."
Another guard rushed into the clearing, sword drawn. "Your Highness, I sensed interference in the Path. He must be—"
"He came through it," the first guard cut in. "He has no idea where he is."
"Or he's acting."
Elyra glanced back at him, quiet a moment. Then: "What is your name?"
"I..." He hesitated. "That's the first time someone's asked me that."
The guards looked at each other.
"I'm not joking," he said, now growing impatient. "Listen, I don't care who you are or what games you're playing. I need to get back."
Princess Elyra's eyes narrowed. "You show little regard for royalty."
"I show little regard for being kidnapped, tied up, and accused of being a spy in a dream forest."
Before she could answer, a voice from behind her murmured, "He's terrified."
A soft-faced woman stepped forward—a maid, by the looks of it. Hair pinned simply, eyes full of caution and empathy.
"Lady Maevis," Elyra acknowledged. "Speak freely."
"He doesn't lie. He stumbles through every word as if even our language feels foreign on his tongue." Maevis turned to Elyra. "If he truly passed through the Philosopher's Path, he belongs to the Kingdom."
"Only those born of it may be called citizens," one guard protested.
"And yet the Path accepted him," Maevis replied.
Elyra studied the stranger again. "He has no seal. No guild mark. No record. No allegiance."
He shrugged helplessly. "Welcome to the club."
The guards moved again, swords hovering. "You insult the throne with your sarcasm. We should bind him and bring him before the Scales."
Elyra sighed. "Do it."
His eyes widened. "Wait, what—?"
"I won't kill you," she said, turning her back. "But I won't trust you either."
Maevis stepped forward. "My Princess, allow me to suggest—"
"You may," Elyra said, without turning.
"If he is not a spy, and his confusion is genuine, then treating him as one will only push him into becoming what we fear. Let us not teach him to hate us from the start."
A long silence followed.
Elyra turned slowly.
"The Scales will not understand lenience."
"They will," Maevis said, gently, "if you command it."
Elyra faced him again, her face unreadable. "Very well. He will be taken in—alive. I'll question him myself after the Council is done."
The guards secured his arms. One of them pressed a sword lightly to his back.
"Great," he muttered. "Kidnapped and babysat by armed thugs. Love this dream."
"Still convinced this is a dream?" Maevis asked softly.
"I'm still convinced I'll wake up in time for my shift."
Elyra's carriage rolled through the glades—elegant and crested with the royal seal. Inside, she sat across from him, Maevis beside her. The main guard remained at his side, silent, watchful, the sword never leaving his chest.
He shifted uncomfortably. "You're really committed to this act."
Maevis raised a brow. "What act?"
"This... fantasy kingdom thing. I don't know who you paid to build all this, but you're wasting your time. I'm not playing."
The guard struck him in the shoulder with the flat of his blade. "You'll speak when spoken to."
He winced. "Ow—what the hell?"
"You'll address the princess properly."
"I don't even know her name!"
Elyra sighed, rubbing her temples. "Princess Elyra of The Crowned Isles of Eiravell. And you are still a mystery."
He slumped back, eyes flicking to the trees rushing by.
"This isn't a dream. This is insane."
They arrived before sunset. Towering walls wrapped the city in white stone. People paused as the carriage entered the gates, whispers already spreading like fire.
He was taken below ground, interrogated by stone-faced knights, asked about nations, wars, guilds—names he didn't recognize, places he couldn't imagine.
He failed every question.
After three days, Elyra summoned him.
He stood alone in her chamber as she paced.
"You're not lying," she said.
"No."
"You're not from any known kingdom. You don't even understand the Relics."
"No."
"Do you know what this means?"
"I don't belong here."
She studied him again.
"Not necessarily. You arrived through a Philosopher's Path. That relic was meant to summon seekers of wisdom."
"Well, I just wanted coffee," he muttered.
She almost smiled.
"So you wish to return home."
"I don't belong here," he said. "I have a life. A job. Rent."
Elyraa crossed her arms. "There are many Kingdoms. Each holds ancient knowledge. Some forgotten even by their own bloodlines. Perhaps one of them holds your truth."
He blinked. "You're saying... someone here might know how to send me back?"
"Possibly."
He stared at the marble floor. A chance. A real one.
"I want to try," he said. "I want to find that truth."
Elyra's face turned serious. "You wouldn't survive outside Eiravell's walls. Not as you are."
"So train me. Or guide me. Or—I don't know—let me become one of those... guild people."
She hesitated. "Only those with royal endorsement or born through the Philosopher's Path can join."
"I came through the Path."
"But without proof."
Silence.
Then she stepped closer.
"There is a way," she whispered. "But it would mean forging my mother's seal."
Maevis gasped. "Princess—!"
Even the guard stepped forward. "You cannot be serious."
"I am," she said. "The council need not know until it's too late."
"And what do you want in return?" he asked quietly.
She held out her hand.
"Help me change the story of this world. And I'll help you find the way out of it."
He stared at her fingers.
"This is insane. This is dangerous. This is my only shot."
He took her hand.
"Deal."