Clara woke with an uneasy feeling that something in her life made no sense.

  Her eyes snapped open.

  The world around her was wrong.

  The air alone told her that much. It tasted sweet, honeyed, sharp with pine, threaded through with something unfamiliar that made her lungs feel a little too clear. She inhaled again despite herself. The fog in her head cleared slowly as she took in her surroundings.

  She was lying on the ground in a bed of moss.

  Not the scratchy, damp kind she knew from hiking trails, but something pleasantly soft, a mossy layer of velvet over cool earth. It cradled her back and shoulders. When she shifted, the moss gave slightly beneath her, resilient and alive.

  Clara pushed herself up onto her elbows, rolling her shoulders and blinking as her vision adjusted.

  She fumbled at her purse, fingers stiff, until her hand closed around it.. Her phone.

  She pulled it out. The screen was dark.

  She pressed the power button, hoping there was still some charge left.

  Nothing.

  But that didn't make any sense. She'd charged it before the party. She could still picture it on the table, glowing softly as music played.

  A hollow unease settled in her chest as she slipped it back into her purse.

  How had she gotten here? This was not the forest behind Rose's house.

  The trees alone made that obvious. Their trunks were enormous, wider than cars, rising straight and unbroken until they vanished into a canopy so high it resembled less a ceiling and more a sky of leaves. Sunlight filtered down in fractured beams, but the colors were wrong. There was some of the usual green, but there were hints of blue, violet, even faint gold, as though the light itself had been altered before it reached the forest floor.

  Clara's eyes fell onto the trees. They looked like they were moving with the wind.

  Except there was no wind.

  It wasn't a lot of movement. Just a subtle sway, all moving together, even though the air was nearly still.

  She swallowed.

  The undergrowth was no less unsettling. Mushrooms covered the forest floor in spirals too perfect to be natural. They glowed with a soft bioluminescence that pulsed slowly, a sleeping heartbeat, the light shifting between pale blue and soft green in a rhythm that seemed nearly alive. Some were small, no larger than her thumb, clustered together like tiny glowing buttons. Others were massive, their caps as wide as dinner plates, their stems thick and sturdy enough to sit on.

  Flowers bloomed in colors she didn't have names for. Some had too many petals, arranged in patterns that seemed to shift when she tried to count them. Others had with shapes that bordered on geometric, their forms too perfect, too symmetrical.

  "What the actual hell?" she whispered.

  Sitting up made her head spin. She pressed her fingers to her temples, breathing through the dizziness. Everything felt foggy, like trying to remember a dream that was already fading. Her sense of time felt unreliable.

  The last thing she remembered clearly was the party.

  Music. Laughter. Cheap wine and festive lights strung across the backyard. Her fairy costume, ridiculous and fun in equal measure, had made her feel lighter than she had in weeks. For once, she'd felt free from the weight of expectations, from the constant pressure to have everything figured out. Then Jeff had arrived. With Susan. Of course with Susan. And just like that, the illusion shattered. Another reminder that while everyone else seemed to move forward with their lives, with their relationships and their certainty, she was still stuck, still searching, still pretending she knew where she was going.

  She’d needed air. Space.

  She remembered stepping onto the forest path behind the house, the one she'd walked dozens of times before.

  And then nothing.

  No memory of falling. No pain. Just a blank space between one moment and then waking up here, in this strange, beautiful forest.

  A butterfly drifted past at eye level, nearly the size of her hand. Its wings left trails of faint, shimmering light that lingered for a moment before fading.

  Clara pushed herself to her feet. The moss was soft and slightly damp beneath her palms. She brushed her hands against her thighs and froze.

  She was still wearing the fairy costume.

  The iridescent wings caught the light when she moved, scattering faint rainbows across the forest floor. The green platform heels were somehow still on her feet, absurd and intact. If this were a dream, her subconscious had a cruel sense of humor.

  A sound cut through her thoughts.

  Footsteps.

  Light. Too light to belong to anyone human.

  Clara spun toward the noise.

  The forest seemed to lean in closer around her, branches shifting softly overhead. Deeper among the trees, something moved graceful and unhurried.

  She was alone in a strange forest, and something was coming toward her.

  Then he stepped into view.

  "What do we have here," a voice drawled lightly, "some sort of fairy?"

  He stood a few paces away, perfectly still, the picture of someone who'd been waiting there all along.

  He was tall and lean, dressed with effortless elegance, and he had pointed ears.

  "Oh shit." The words slipped out in a whisper. If he heard her, he gave no sign of it.

  She took an involuntary step back, scanning the forest around them. Trees in every direction. Endless. Watching. Breathing. There was no path. No landmarks. No sign of anything familiar. No way to run even if her legs would cooperate. What did he want? What would he do to her?

  She forced herself to look at him again.

  He was smiling, not unkindly. Amusement flickered in his eyes, but beneath it was something colder. Sharper. He had the stillness of a predator at rest, all grace and coiled intent.

  Her gaze traveled down from his face. His clothes belonged to another era entirely: a green doublet vest embroidered with silver thread that caught the light, short flowing trousers made from fabric so fine it had the appearance of woven spider silk. Swirling tattoos marked his arms, patterns that pulsed faintly, as if ink and energy were one and the same.

  But it was his eyes that held her.

  They were the color of spring leaves, with depths that suggested centuries rather than years. Curious and intelligent.

  Like a scientist examining a fascinating anomaly.

  "Where am I?" Clara asked. Her voice sounded smaller than she wanted it to. She swallowed, trying to find some semblance of control. "How long have I been here? I need to get back."

  The man's smile widened a fraction.

  "You are in my forest, little fairy," he said.

  His voice was melodic, wrapped in an accent she couldn't place. It flowed around her, silky smooth, and for reasons she couldn't explain, every instinct she had told her this moment mattered far more than she understood.

  "And are you some sort of elf?" She focused on his ears, which looked completely real. Not prosthetics or body mods, but actual pointed ears that twitched slightly when a bird sang somewhere in the trees above. That was impossible. Wasn't it?

  "No, not an elf." His lips curled just a little more into a smile, something almost playful in his expression now, possibly because he was enjoying her confusion. "You're not from around here, are you, little fairy?"

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  As if to prove her point, Clara straightened to her full height.

  "Hey, I'm not so little."

  Her green platform heels brought her to a solid five foot ten, enough that she now stood only a touch shorter than the strange not-elf before her. But there was something about him that made her feel small. It was beyond size or that he was a strange man, alone with her in a forest. It was the way he carried himself, the quiet gravity of his presence. The very air around him seemed to respond to his presence. Nearby flowers inclined subtly in his direction, and the branches overhead shifted, eager to grant him a little more light. The very forest around her was alive in a quasi-conscious sort of way, and he was its master.

  He tilted his head, studying her with renewed interest. "No, I suppose you're not. But you are lost, are you not? And far from home, I would wager."

  Clara frowned. "How do you know that?"

  "Your clothes," he gestured vaguely at her costume, "they have the look of another world about them. Stitched by machines, perhaps? And you smell different. No magic on you at all. A true anomaly, in this place."

  "So what are you then, if not an elf?" Clara pressed, needing some kind of anchor in this sea of impossibility.

  He looked her up and down, considering how to respond. For a moment, his expression grew serious, and Clara had the distinct impression she was being weighed, measured, and assessed. It was unnerving.

  "I am one of the fae folk," he said finally, "and you are in our territory."

  "Fae?" Clara's eyes widened.

  She scanned the forest again, and this time with a more critical eye, looking for the signs she'd read about in countless stories. The mushroom spirals she'd noticed earlier formed perfect circles in places. The air carried scents of honey and wildflowers, and also something sweeter, something that made her want to breathe deeper even as a warning bell rang in the back of her mind. In the distance, she thought she heard music, faint and melodic, like chimes carried on a breeze that didn't quite reach her skin. Her head started to spin again, and she put a hand out to steady herself against the nearest tree.

  Warmth radiated from the bark beneath her palm, and she snatched her hand back in surprise. Trees weren't supposed to be warm.

  She stared at her hand, then back at the tree. The bark almost had a faint pulse to it. When she looked closer, she could see patterns in the wood that hadn't been there a moment before, spirals and curves that appeared to shift and flow. The moss at the base of the tree had grown thicker, forming a soft cushion that closely resembled a seat. The forest itself, offering her a place to rest and stay a while.

  "Yes, and I take it you are very lost," he said with a smirk that was both knowing and slightly mocking. "It's alright, you are in no danger from me."

  Clara's mind raced, searching for any logical explanation. A prank? Too elaborate. Too much to drink? Not likely. She pinched herself, hard. The pain was real. She wasn't dreaming.

  "Okay, this is a lot to process," she said, mostly to herself. "Let's say, for argument's sake, that I believe you're really fae. What happens now? Am I going to be stuck here? Turned into a tree? Forced to dance until I die?"

  The man, the fae, actually laughed, a sound like wind chimes. "Such dramatic stories you humans tell about us. Has anyone ever explained to you the difference between stories and reality?"

  "Okay, Mr. Fae, aren't you going to offer me some kind of magical food or a trade to trap me with then?" Clara's knowledge of fae lore came flooding back. Countless hours reading fantasy novels, playing tabletop RPGs, diving into mythology. She knew the stories: don't eat their food, don't accept gifts without knowing the price, don't give them your name, don't thank them.

  His smile faltered, and for the first time, genuine surprise flickered across his face. The amusement faded, replaced by a more thoughtful, almost calculating expression.

  "I see you are well informed of our kind," he said slowly, choosing his words with great care. "That is unexpected. And makes this more interesting than I had anticipated." He paused, studying her face. "Still, you needn’t fear. I will not bind you with any bargains like that."

  “What do you mean?” Clara asked with a slight quiver in her voice. There was something important here, something just out of reach.

  He stepped closer, and Clara had to fight the instinct to step back. The air around him seemed to hum with energy, and she could feel it against her skin like static electricity. "Ordinarily, even answering your questions would come at a cost. My kind lives within an economy of exchange. It is in our nature. Every favor alters the balance. Every word has value. However," he tilted his head, and his gaze pierced through her, seeing something she couldn't, "you are unentangled."

  Clara swallowed. “Unentangled?”

  “You have never been touched by magic,” he said. He was more than impressed. He was fascinated. “You do not have the faintest trace of magic coursing through you. No lingering enchantments. No oaths, no bargains, no debts. Nothing woven into you at all. You exist outside the usual patterns.”

  He began to circle her slowly, and Clara felt like a specimen under glass. “That is why I answer freely. Not because I must, but because there is no balance yet to disturb. No ledger to amend.”

  He stopped in front of her, a faint smile touching his lips. “You are blank. Untouched. And that,” he added softly, “is quite rare.”

  Traces of magic coursing through her? The thought made her head spin once more. But even as she tried to dismiss it, Clara's analytical side was beginning to accept the truth. The impossible forest, the way he moved, the way the world itself responded to his presence. This was too much to deny. It was real.

  But that realization brought no comfort. This couldn't be real. It shouldn't be real. The panic returned in waves, crashing over her every time she thought she'd found her footing. How could she possibly handle this? How could anyone handle being ripped from their entire life and dropped into a world of magic?

  A whimper escaped her mouth. She wanted to go home. She wanted to see her friends, to call Rose and tell her about the weird dream she'd had. She wanted to wake up in her own bed, in her own apartment, with her cat Mittens purring at her feet. The thought of never seeing any of them again made her feel physically ill.

  She took a slow breath, and this time she noticed things she'd missed in her first scan of her surroundings. The way the light seemed to gather around certain flowers, creating pools of soft illumination that shifted as the day progressed. The faint music that wasn't quite music, more like the forest breathing, a harmony of rustling leaves and distant bird calls that wove together into something almost melodic.

  Her racing pulse began to slow, just slightly. The fear was still there, a tight knot in her chest, but beneath it there was something else stirring. The part of her that had always loved fantasy stories and games, that had spent hours imagining how magic might feel, was beginning to wake up.

  She needed answers, but she was also desperately afraid of what those answers might mean.

  "And I suppose you do?" She said, deciding to play along and see where this goes. If this was real, she needed to understand. If it was a prank, well, she'd give as good as she got.

  His smile returned, wider this time, with a near predatory edge. "Oh, little fairy. You have no idea."

  And then the world changed.

  Green sparks erupted from his fingers. Tendrils of living emerald light danced and swirled around him. The air itself came alive, shimmering with visible currents of energy. The flowers around them began to glow, their petals lifting toward him. The tree behind him leaned forward, branches reaching out to be closer to him.

  And then he rose off the ground, floating a few inches above the moss, his feet suspended in air. His eyes appeared even deeper than before, pools of green that swirled with inner light. His tattoos, those strange tattoos, began to pulse with the same emerald glow, creating patterns that moved and shifted across his skin.

  Clara could feel the world spinning before her. It wasn't just dizziness. Reality itself was shifting, warping around this display of supernatural power. The ground rushed up to meet her and she fell back, landing hard on the moss, staring up at the magical creature before her with wide, terrified eyes.

  Her body wanted to move, to run, to get as far away from this impossibility as she could. But her legs wouldn't obey. They felt like lead, heavy and unresponsive. She tried to push herself backward, away from him, but her arms were shaking too badly. Her bladder clenched with sudden urgency, and she felt a hot flush of panic that she might actually wet herself right there on the moss. All she could do was stare, frozen in fear.

  What if she had hit her head? What if this was all a hallucination? Maybe she'd fallen on that forest path back home and this was some kind of traumatic brain injury manifesting as vivid delusions. But even as she thought it, she knew it wasn't true. This was too real. Too detailed. Too impossible to be anything but actual magic.

  This wasn't a prank. This wasn't a dream. This was real, and she had no idea what that meant for her.

  The green light faded slowly, and he settled back onto the ground with the grace of a dancer. The forest around them seemed to sigh, settling back into its normal, though still surreal magical, state.

  "I'm sorry, that must have been quite shocking for you." He actually sounded apologetic, though there was still amusement in his eyes. "You come from a land that is barren of magic, don't you? A place where such things are only stories?"

  "Umm, yes. Yeah, I have never seen anything like that before." Clara stammered, holding her head with her hands. Her heart was racing, her palms sweaty. She'd just witnessed a display that had irrevocably changed her understanding of what was possible in the universe. "Is everyone here like you? Can everyone do that?"

  "Oh no, not everyone," he said with a chuckle. "Most mortals have only minuscule magical abilities, if any at all. My kind are different. We are of magic itself, not merely its users."

  With silver and golden rings clinking together, he extended a hand to her. Clara hesitated for a moment before taking it. His skin was warmer than expected, and the contact sent a faint tingle through her fingertips. As he helped her to her feet, his touch was gentle, almost delicate.

  "You may call me Trazathine," he said, and as he spoke his name, Clara felt something click into place, like a lock turning. His name settled into her mind with weight and importance. "Welcome to Valcera."

  "Valcera," she repeated, testing the word on her tongue. The name tasted foreign, ancient.

  "Yes. And I think your arrival here was no accident." Trazathine's expression grew serious, and that same sense of being weighed and measured returned. "The fact that you are here, in my forest, with no magic staining your soul. There is purpose in this, I think. Though what that purpose might be, I cannot yet say."

  Clara's head spun with questions, with fears, with a wild excitement she was trying to suppress. She was in another world. A world of magic. And apparently, she was here for a reason. Though whether that reason was good or bad, she couldn't begin to guess.

  "What happens now?" she asked, her voice small in the vast, magical forest around them.

  Trazathine smiled, and this time it reached his eyes. "Now, little fairy, we discover what brought you here. And more importantly, we discover who you will become."

  The words hung in the air between them. A promise, or perhaps a warning. Clara wasn't sure which scared her more.

  She was in another world. A world of magic. There was no going back, no way to undo what had happened. Even if she found a way home, if such a thing existed, she would never be the same person she'd been yesterday. For a moment, all she could do was stand there, processing the enormity of how her life had changed.

  Her friends would be worried. Rose would have noticed she'd left the party. Would anyone be looking for her? Would she ever see them again?

  The thought made her throat tighten, but she forced herself to take a deep breath.

  She wanted her phone to light up. She wanted this to be all a dream.

  There was no use panicking. Not right now. She was here in this forest, far away from home, and she needed to survive. Whatever this was, panic would not get her through it.