Garvin looked apprehensively at Matira while handing her over to Robin. The deadly look on the Captain’s face prevented him from arguing.

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“Did you complete the paperwork?” Xemas asked from the doorway of Robin’s office. He stood with his feet apart and hands behind his back. Even after years of knowing each other, Xemas remained formal. Robin came to accept it was merely his personality to be composed and orderly at all times.

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How did I end up here? Matira stared out the glass dome ceiling to the gray skies above. Her elbow was propped on the dark cherry desk, chin resting in her hand. The granite walls of an amphitheater surrounded her. Identical desks lined the stepped rows. It hadn’t taken long to realize this was not the training she’d hoped for - it was school. On her second day in a new realm, she was already a student sitting at a desk listening to a lecture, as if she’d never left her world. A groan threatened to escape her lips. None of the fairy tales sent their protagonists to a classroom.

She wasn’t the only one in attendance. On the opposite side of the indoor amphitheater were five others. Her gaze drifted to them. In the last few hours, she’d learned little about them.

Tissa sat in the front row. She was always asking questions or prattling on about something related to the topic. From what Matira could gather, the red-haired female was from one of those societies that was more advanced.

Behind Tissa was the oldest student. Redia was an elderly male with a buzzed head. He appeared to have come from an era similar to Matira.

In the final row sat two students with pale blond hair, Fen and Farah. Matira wasn’t sure if they were merely siblings or fraternal twins. The brother and sister rarely spoke to anyone aside from each other.

Lastly, located in the same row as Matira, was her final classmate. More than once, she was pulled from her daydreams by pricking of the hair on her neck. Every time time, she locked eyes with Garvin, the male who’d been in the infirmary when she woke.

As if sensing her stare, he turned his hazel eyes toward her. He waved before flipping his lengthy hair - left loose today -over his shoulder. Heat rose to Matira’s cheeks, and she redirected her attention to the front of the room where Robin was stationed.

To her chagrin, he was the teacher. He was covering portals this morning, but much of the information Sophia had already provided, making it difficult to focus. Leaning back in her chair, she gazed at the sky.

“…can’t we return home through portals?” questioned Tissa.

Matira refocused on Robin, waiting for his response.

“It’s not that simple,” he replied.

I wonder what the first part of her question was about.

After tapping several times on the podium, a hologram flickered to life. Two spheres connected by a line slowly rotated above Robin’s head. “Looking at the example from earlier, you’ll remember I said this was a simplistic representation of portals.” He tapped twice more on the stand, causing the links between the planets to multiply. The original line, along with its duplicates, was constantly shifting.

“You see,” Robin continued, “When a portal opens, there is no way to predict how long it’ll be active. If you don’t return home before it closes, you’re stuck. Even if a portal miraculously happens to connect those exact spaces again, it’s impossible to foresee at what point in time they’ll join. You could end up five years in the future or one thousand years in the past.”

“How is it we can travel through a portal without seeing it?” questioned Redia.

How did he not see it? They’re so bright. Did he fall in by accident?

“While we don’t understand the reason, in the realm you come from, few can see portals. Initial studies indicate children are most commonly able to identify their appearance. Whatever the cause, it doesn’t have the same effect here.”

“What triggers them?” Tissa asked.

“We aren’t certain. None of our research found anything conclusive…” The remainder of Robin’s words faded away as his instruction turned to theories she had no interest in following.

Sinking back into her chair, she stared at the sky, counting down the time until she was released from class.

Upon arrival that morning, Robin begrudgingly explained people arrived speaking a multitude of different languages from their native lands and eras. Since this would cause an issue for Orientation, each desk had built-in translation devices. No matter what language was spoken in the auditorium, the desks would translate simultaneously into the students‘ dialect.

After the lunch break, the translation devices were turned off, allowing Robin to instruct them in the common language spoken. Reguardless of how fascinating it was to see images materialize with a swipe of his hand, illustrating his words, it failed to keep her engaged. Sadly, Matira found it just as hard to remain focused in a classroom here as in her previous life.

Why can’t he be more interesting? I’m going to fail this class, she thought, slumping deeper in her chair. While there was no punishment for failure, it did mean she’d be stuck here until she was capable of passing. With him as a teacher, I’ll be here forever.

Dark clouds passed over the skylight, cloaking the amphitheater in a gloomy light, perfectly reflecting her mood. As her mind wandered, she noticed the three children she’d previously seen playing outside her window seated in the front row. Were they also Otherworlders? She watched the blond-haired girl ball up a piece of paper and throw it at the brown-headed boy. It bounced off him and hit the red-headed girl on his opposite side, who giggled. The boy looked fiercely at the blond and motioned for her to listen. If I had friends in this class, I’d be joking with them instead of paying attention.

As the dark cloud passed, banishing the gloom, Matira peeked around the room. No one else seemed distracted by the trio. In fact, even Robin was undisturbed by their antics. She returned her gaze to their seats only to discover they were gone. As casually as she could, she scanned the area, but couldn’t find them. Could I have imagined them?

Comparing them to the daydreams she used to have of the Elves, she could see similarities. I have officially lost my mind, she thought in defeat.

When class ended, Robin swiftly appeared at her side to escort her back to her quarters as he had during the lunch break, thwarting her attempts to meet her fellow Otherworlders. An imposing white-haired male dressed in the same uniform as Robin waited at the door for her classmates and led them away in the opposite direction.

She resisted the urge to ask if she could be escorted with the others. The desire to speak with people from her world was strong, although she didn’t want to risk what little goodwill Robin had for her by being difficult.

At her door, Robin left without saying a word.

“Thank you for escorting me,” Matira called after him. Good manners were too drilled into her not to show them.

As expected, he didn’t answer.

Matira belly flopped on the couch the second she was close enough. She lay there unmoving until a light knock on her door drew her attention. “Come in,” she called, her voice muffled by the cushions.

“Was today that bad?” Sophia asked with a chuckle.

“Yes,” Matira grumbled. “School is terrible in any world. I was really hoping to be done with it.”

“Two weeks isn’t long.”

“Two weeks?” Matira groaned.

“What’s so unpleasant about it?”

Sitting up, Matira said, “It’s boring listening to lectures. My mind wanders. I miss information and then perform poorly on tests. Given Captain Robin’s dislike of me, I doubt I’ll receive any leniency. He already expects me to learn a whole new language before I can be free. I have no idea how I’ll accomplish that when I can’t focus.”

“What if I practiced with you in the evenings and your days off from orientation?”

“You would do that?”

“Of course.” Sophia proceeded to rattle off words in the city’s common tongue.

“Oh, you mean right now,” Matira sighed and followed Sophia into the kitchen.

Sophia prattled away in the foreign tongue, occasionally pointing to an item as she repeated a word. Matira worked to accurately pronounce words and attribute them to the proper items. Whenever she was wrong, Sophia would patiently correct her. Matira’s heart filled with joy. Even with the stress of learning a new language, it was like having a big sister teaching her. She hadn’t felt this kind of connection to someone since she was young.

“Did you want to be a teacher?” Sophia asked as they were cleaning up after dinner.

“Not particularly,” Matira replied honestly while she washed another dish. “The thought of staying on in that capacity was devastating. All I could see was spending my entire life within those walls, trapped forever. Don’t get me wrong, I loved telling stories to the little ones.”

“But teaching wasn’t your passion,” Sophia observed.

“No,” sighed Matira, “I don’t know what I’d want to do. Art and reading are what excite me, and there wasn’t a job option for that.”

A knock on the door drew a mischievous grin from Sophia. “That must be the guest I was expecting.”

“Guest?” Matira curiously followed, at a complete loss as to who Sophia had invited.

A woman with silver hair and smile lines stood in the doorway. She reached out and hugged Sophia. “Sorry, I wasn’t able to be here sooner. You know how demanding some can be.”

Smiling, Sophia said, “I understand. Matira, let me introduce you to Miriella, the greatest seamstress in history.”

“Don’t start lying to the poor girl already.” Laughing, the elder female entered the room, rolling in a small cart with her. “This room will work,” she declared, looking around. With a swift motion, Miriella snapped open a stool. “Stand up here, girl, and we’ll get started.”

Matira did as instructed. “I don’t mean to sound rude, but what is happening?”

Holding her hand out to assist Matira up, Sophia explained, “Since Otherworlders typically arrive with only the clothes they are wearing, temporary outfits are provided. After moving into your quarters and getting settled, a seamstress or tailor is commissioned to create clothing that fits correctly.”

Words escaped Matira. At the Home, they only received new clothing when the uniforms were deemed too worn out or when there were no sizes available to fit them. Any other garments they obtained were from donations.

A flurry of ribbon flew out of the cart into Miriella’s hands as she circled Matira, taking measurements. “Are there any styles you are particular to or colors you would like me to avoid?”

“I’m not picky. I’ll be happy with whatever the common styles and colors are.”

“Everyone has preferences. You have to wear them, may as well let me know what you do and don’t like.”

Fidgeting with the pendant around her neck, Matira was unsure how to respond. The chance to voice her desires was foreign. “I don’t like itchy or stiff materials. I prefer dresses, and my favorite color is purple. Is that helpful?”

Miriella turned to Sophia, “I like this one.” Turning back to Matira, she explained, “Most people I deal with are very demanding. They have a list taller than they are of colors they want and another of colors they don’t. Their style demands are even longer.”

Matira chuckled. “I knew someone like that.”

“Were they royalty as well?”

“No,” Matira replied with an involuntary snort. “She was the Headmistress of the orphanage I lived in.”

After an assortment of questions similar to those asked by the king and Sophia about her previous life, Miriella’s focus shifted to her work as she jotted down measurements and notes. The furrow of her brows deepened as she worked until she finally asked, “Do you have family in the city?”

“No,” Matira said before adding, “At least none I’m aware of.” Since she knew nothing of her parents or their family lines, there was no way she could be certain. How funny would it be if I found a long-lost cousin living here?

“Must be the dark hair,” Miriella murmured.

Straightening, she held out a hand to Matira, helping her down. “I have what I need. Give me a few days, we’ll have a new wardrobe ready for you.”

“Thank you for doing this,” Matira began. “Please don’t feel you have to rush on my account.”

Miriella smiled at Sophia once more, “I really like her.” Turning back to Matira, she explained. “Child, I have trained a whole crew. I simply take measurements and make sure they carry out my directions. It’ll be done in no time.”

After gathering up her things, the seamstress bid Matira good evening. Sophia took her leave as well.

The first week of class sped by, although Matira’s attention failed to improve. She continued struggling to remain attentive, no matter the topic. She spent most of the time staring at the cloudy sky or doodling in the journal provided for note-taking. In her past life, she believed it was the boring setting responsible for her lack of focus. However, her wandering mind in this new world forced her to admit she was just a terrible student.

The lessons with Sophia were much more engaging. The attendant discovered the lure to motivate Matira to master the language, when she let it slip there was a library and most of the books were written in it. By Sophia’s own admission, Matira was catching on faster than expected.

All Matira needed was to get through today, and she’d have a day off. When her escort arrived for class, she was surprised -and relieved - to see the white-haired male responsible for escorting her classmates. Up close, he was notably more intimidating due to his muscular build and serious expression.

Maybe being escorted by Robin is the better option. Matira thought as his strange eyes pierced the depths of her soul. Curiosity commanded her to stare into his peculiar navy blue eyes. They were such a deep shade it made his sclera appear silver. Inhaling sharply, Matira forced herself to break eye contact.

“You’re to come with me today.” His words were precise and filled Matira with dread.

“To class?” she questioned, fighting against the surge of anxiety to keep her voice level.

“To class,” he confirmed with a slight nod. Much to her disbelief, he offered his arm. Accepting it apprehensively, she allowed him to guide them down the now familiar path.

Fiddling with her pendant through the fabric of her dress, Matira attempted a conversation, expecting him to have the same reaction as Robin. “My name is Matira. You usually escort the others, right?”

“I do. You may call me Commander Xemas.”

Encouraged by his response, she persisted. “What is it you do? I assume it’s more than bringing students to and from the lecture hall.”

“I assist Captain Robin to keep the city safe.”

While his answers were short - similar to Robin’s - and his tone was even, almost flat, Matira didn’t find his words harsh.

Neither attempted further conversation, yet Matira found the silence shared with Xemas peaceful. You truly can’t judge someone based on looks. Placing Xemas and Robin side by side, I’d guess Robin would be the more pleasant of the two.

Her classmates, minus the blond siblings, were chatting with one another as Xemas ushered her to her desk. Taking her seat, she overheard Garvin inquire about the missing duo, “Are Farah and Fen not coming?”

“No, they’re not,” Tissa replied. “Yesterday was their last scheduled day. They passed their test earlier this morning and have the day off before starting their permanent positions.”

Questions swirled in her mind. Were they socializing outside the classroom? Why am I being kept from them?

Xemas captured the room’s attention. “You’re correct, Tissa. Moving on, today’s lesson will discuss how the city remains self-sustaining and what you’ll be expected to contribute. As Tissa alluded, you will take an assessment at the end of your two-week orientation period. Passing the assessment means you’re ready to assimilate into the population. Failing let’s us know there are areas where further instruction is needed to ensure an easy transition. In addition, they are designed to allow us to analyze your skills compared to the needs of Atlanticia to determine your job assignments”

A job best suited to my skills? What skills did she have to offer? All she learned was how to stay awake during lectures. Her thoughts drifted back to an earlier conversation with Sophia. All she was qualified for in her previous life was teaching. Would they make me a teacher here?

The thought of helping littles learn was palatable, but was it what she wanted? It didn’t sound like she’d get a choice.

Matira’s mouth hung open like a fish as she stared at the figure gracing her doorway. After Sophia took her leave, Matira assumed she’d have a quiet evening.

“I happened to be in the city and thought I’d stop by,” Arthur was saying as she struggled to find words to greet the unexpected visitor.

“W-would you like to come i-in?” she stuttered.

“Of course, I was hoping to hear how my favorite fainter was adjusting.” Arthur ruffled her hair as he spoke.

Blushing, Matira straightened her hair band and stepped aside for him to enter. While she’d never had a brother, she recognized the gesture was one of a sibling. I don’t think this is the beginning of my fairy tale.

Before she could shut the door, Lancelot also bounded into her room. “Heya Boulder!” He proclaimed while, likewise, ruffling her hair.

Tidying her hair yet again, she mentally concluded, Definitely not the beginning of a fairy tale.

The two males glanced around the room and shrugged as they exchanged a look.

“Nice room,” Lancelot expressed unconvincingly.

“Mhm,” Arthur attempted to seem supportive.

Both males had grimacing smiles plastered on their faces, as if they’d smelled something terrible when they entered.

They are clearly judging my space, she thought as she was reminded of the common looks she received from Madame Hall.

“It’s what they gave me,” Matira replied slowly. Having the two Scouts disapprove of her quarters left her feeling exposed. Instead of exploring those feelings, she thought it was best to change the subject. “I haven’t seen either of you since I was in the infirmary. Does this mean you’re on leave?”

“Well, look who’s been paying attention to her lessons,” exclaimed Lancelot as he flopped onto the couch.

“Not as well as I should be,” she sheepishly admitted, taking a seat at the desk.

“While Scouts do get time off between missions, it was our duties that brought us back. We head out again in the morning,” explained Arthur, scanning the room once more.

“Off to save more damsels?” Matira asked with a gauche giggle.

“It is what we do best,” answered Lancelot with a subtle flex. He threw her a wicked grin before adding, “However, most don’t give us concussions.”

Matira’s face turned red, and she stared down at her hands. “I couldn’t have hit you that hard!”

Lancelot placed a hand on his chest, feigning offense, “Are you accusing me of lying?”

“You’re either lying or weaker than I am,” countered Matira.

Arthur let loose a hearty laugh.

Clutching his heart, Lancelot said, “You wound me.”

I could get used to having their company. Too bad they aren’t the ones teaching my lessons.

“How are you settling in?” Arthur asked. “Have you started any hobbies?”

“Things are going well.” She thought it was best to keep her complaints to herself. Giving the impression she was ungrateful for the amenities provided was the last thing she wanted to do. “Sophia brought me art supplies. It’s fun experimenting with them.”

“And how has Captain Robin treated you?”

Matira shifted in her chair. Her hand reached for her pendant while she lied, “He’s been alright.”

The Scouts stiffened their shoulders, sharing an apprehensive glance.

“What do you have to eat?” asked Lancelot, breaking the mounting tension. “I thought we’d timed our arrival for when your food was ready. Please say we succeeded.”

He hopped up and peered into the kitchen before returning with a dramatic pout.

Laughing, Matira replied, “I ate earlier. If I’d known you were stopping by, I would have made sure there was enough to share. I don’t even have any dessert to offer.”

Lancelot’s eyes brightened.

“No,” stated Arthur, yet there was no force behind it.

“This is perfect. We haven’t eaten, and Boulder clearly wants sweets. We’re heading out in the morning. You already know you want to say yes.”

Settling a withering stare on Lancelot, Arthur looked to be searching for a reason to say no, that would be capable of convincing himself as well.

Sensing the win, Lancelot grabbed Matira’s hand. “Would you accompany me to a tavern for dinner and dessert?”

Matira hesitated. “Am I allowed to? Captain Robin seemed pretty intent on me not leaving my quarters unless I had an official escort.”

Waving a hand between himself and Arthur, Lancelot said, “What do you think we are?”

Chewing on her bottom lip, Matira considered the offer. Robin could be mad, but Lancelot does have a point. They are technically officials. This could be my chance to see other parts of the city.

Her mind was made up. “I’m in.”

Lancelot turned to Arthur triumphantly. “She’s in! That’s two votes to one, looks like we’re going.”

“Fine,” Arthur conceded. “Unless Robin asks, don’t feel like you have to tell him about this outing either.”

She nodded eagerly. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

Her heart raced as she followed them out the door into the dark hallway. The crisp evening air greeted her. A breeze rustled through the open corridor, carrying the smells of apples and rain as it tousled her garments. It seemed excited for her adventure as well.

Softly, the trio made their way through the halls. Matira resisted the urge to skip. It was nice to be wanted. Certain she’d be lost if she attempted to navigate the passageways by herself, that didn’t stop her from trying to memorize the path.

Turning a corner, they entered a tunnel. The lights were dimmed low, and Matira felt as though the stone walls were closing in around her. As doubt about her decision grew, they exited onto an open landing overlooking buildings with terracotta roofs and sandstone streets. Glowing windows illuminated the night. A gust of wind blew by, carrying with it sounds of joy and music.

Inhaling the night air, a laugh bubbled to Matira’s lips. This was the closest she had come to freedom since that night in the forest.

“This way,” Lancelot directed. Matira’s heart beat faster as they drew closer. “There are several taverns. Tonight, the nearest will suit us.”

“How big is the city if it can hold multiple taverns?” Matira asked.

“It’s not so much the size determining the number,” began Arthur. “There are strict curfews. If you haven’t learned about them, I’m sure you will soon.”

Matira pursed her lips as she nodded her head. She vaguely remembered Robin mentioning something about bells and curfews.

Pointing to the street ahead, Arthur continued, “Once the bells chime, everything closes. Everyone must vacate businesses and streets immediately. This ensures people have dedicated time in the evenings with family and aren’t kept working late hours.”

“It also makes things easier for the City Guard,” interjected Lancelot.

Arthur gave him a stern look. “There are two exemptions to the rule: taverns and libraries. Since libraries don’t encourage socializing, and having a single tavern open would be overwhelming for the staff, each quadrant has its own space.”

“So the only option for fun is getting drunk?” Matira asked uncertainly, causing a burst of laughter to erupt from Lancelot.

“For some people it is,” Arthur replied, rolling his eyes, “For the majority of the population, it’s where they go to visit with friends, and socialize in general.”

“Here we are,” announced Lancelot.

Indeed, they were. They hadn’t been on the street more than a minute when the wooden sign prominently displaying a tankard overflowing with frothy beer came into view.

“The taverns are this close to the palace?”

“There isn’t a tavern within the palace walls, so having one nearby is a benefit. Plus, Atlanticia has a compact area to work with, and many things are nearer to the palace than in a more traditional city.”

I wonder what he means by “compact area”? Her thoughts were swiftly diverted as they arrived before their destination.

The windows were brightly lit, making the clientèle inside easily visible. Outside, several patrons mingled. A couple sipped their beverages as they conversed. Another was smoking. Further, on the side of the building, one person was expelling the contents of their stomach as someone else held back their hair.

Lancelot opened the door with a mock bow. “Welcome to Methe’s Tankard. A wonderful den for drunks and bastards.”

Matira’s senses were overwhelmed as she entered the establishment. On her left was a low stage where a lively band provided the music. The band consisted of three males, two playing string instruments and one performing on drums.

The male in the center was strumming the violin expertly. His tight, corkscrew curls gently bounced in time with his movements. Matira was mesmerized by his lavender eyes. They stood out in stark contrast to his umber skin. As his gaze fell on the doorway, Matira thought a scowl crossed his face. He was smiling again the next instant, leaving her to believe she’d been mistaken.

In the open area before the stage, people danced. The loud music barely drowned out sounds of laughter and singing. Around the edges of the dance floor were tables filled with patrons conversing and eating.

Off to her right was a crowded bar full of people leaning over or pushing to the front to make drink orders. Multiple bartenders moved to and fro to accommodate their patrons. It was like watching a skillfully executed dance as they pulled a tap here and took an order there. They were obviously used to working as a team, never once bumping into each other as if they always knew where the others would be.

Her observation of the room was interrupted when someone bumped into her, beer splashing out of their tankard onto her boots.

“Fen?” She asked, recognizing one half of the blond sibling pair.

“Surrrrry ‘bout that,” he slurred and continued to push through the crowd.

Turning to her escorts, she raised an eyebrow and asked, “I thought you said it was rare for people to be drunk?”

“Some of the newcomers don’t know how to handle their alcohol after arriving,” Arthur said with a shrug.

“You’re forgetting some Otherworlders want to drink away their sorrows the first time they are able to,” Lancelot said.

“Nothing wrong with drinking to forget.” There was a visible shift in Arthur’s mood. The sunny smile radiating from his lips had been replaced, as though a dark cloud had settled above him.

Is there something Arthur wishes to forget?

“Don’t worry,” said Lancelot, cutting off her thoughts. “If it happens more than two nights in a row, the barkeeps inform the medical staff to evaluate the culprit for underlying concerns.”

Taking Matira by the wrist, he pulled her to an empty table at the back of the room near a set of stairs. “They have the best food of any tavern in Atlanticia,” he declared, sitting on her left and motioning to someone behind the bar.

“What do you want to eat?” He asked as a barmaid arrived. Her brightly colored dress was partially covered with an apron. Studying her face, Matira was amazed to see Farah.

“Hello,” Farah said sweetly as she recognized Matira at the same moment. “You’re Matira, right? It’s nice to see you come out for a change.”

“Thank you,” Matira replied.

“Please don’t think I’m being rude, but it’s pretty busy,” Farah motioned to the filled room, “so I cannot stay and talk. What can I get for you?”

“Oh, I, um…” she looked between Lancelot and Arthur, a silent plea for help.

“Boulder was hoping for something sweet,” Lancelot supplied.

Farah thought brieflt and said, “I know just the thing.” Once she took the Scouts‘ orders, she retreated to the kitchen with a promise to have drinks out momentarily. True to her word, a tankard sat in front of Matira before she could complete another scan of the room.

The mug was filled with a bright pink liquid. Lancelot looked at her skeptically as she raised the drink to her lips. “Have you ever drank alcohol? Some worlds have requirements or rules against it.”

The beverage was sweet and fruity, without the slightest trace of alcohol. No alcohol means I can have as many of these wonderfully delicious beverages as I’d like. Matira grinned deviously. “A couple times. On nights of the full moon, teens from my home would sneak out and meet with others.”

Lancelot leaned in, “Do we have a rule breaker sitting with us?”

“Like you have room to talk,” scoffed Arthur, taking a long sip from his tankard.

“Says the king of rule breakers,” retorted Lancelot. Turning his sights back on Matira, he said, “How much trouble did you get into, Boulder?”

“My rule-breaking was pretty plain. Sneaking out was the worst thing I’ve done. What I did get in trouble for the most was being easily distracted during lectures because I was daydreaming. The Headmistress would say, ‘Imagination is a waste of one’s thinking power. Critical thinking is a better use of one’s time,’” Matira performed in her impression of Madame Hall, eliciting laughs from Arthur and Lancelot.

“You may have assumed too much of her,” Arthur said, taking another drink.

Resting his chin on his fist, Lancelot said, “I still think there’s more to you. Tell me more about these moonlit rendezvous.”

Swirling the cup around, Matira watched the liquid spin as she explained, “They were a rite of passage for the older teens. We’d meet up with teens from the Baldeer Academy, an all-boys home.” She added, sipping her tankard to hide her blush. “Once in a blue moon, one of the guys would snag a bottle of alcohol from their Headmaster’s office. We’d each have a sip or two. We never drank more than that, so the bottle could be returned without the Headmaster being the wiser.”

“And you doubted her.” Lancelot gave Arthur a disapproving tsk. “Were there any gentlemen in these woods that caught your attention?”

The heat in her cheeks deepened. “There was one. We were going to run away together.”

“What happened?” asked Arthur, leaning in with genuine interest.

Memories flashed of that night. Packing up her things, nearly making it outside the four walls of her cage. Knowing Alec was waiting for her by their tree. A pain ached in her heart. “Madame Hall caught me, and informed their Headmaster of the teen escapades in the woods. They canceled all future gatherings between the Homes. She punished us for sneaking out and I became an outcast for ruining their bit of freedom. When they started slipingout again, I was no longer invited.” She took a lengthier drink from her mug.

Without asking her to elaborate further, Lancelot raised his glass. “To a fun night with friends!”

Arthur and Matira mimicked the gesture. She was grateful for the topic shift.

All three drank in unison.

Setting her tankard down, Matira noticed Lancelot eyeing his friend cautiously.

Arthur firmly placed his empty mug on the table. “Catch up, you two,” he commanded.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Lancelot said as he finished his.

Not wanting to be left out and knowing there was no harm in enjoying a fruity drink, Matira did the same.

Lancelot motioned for another round. It arrived along with two plates of steaming hot food and one plate containing a tall piece of chocolate cake oozing with warm fudge. Matira’s eyes widened, and her mouth watered as the desert was placed before her. She hoped it was as good as it looked. To her relief, Lancelot hadn’t lied. The food was delicious! She finished her dessert at the same time her companions completed their meals. Round three of drinks was delivered as the plates were cleared away.

Pushing his chair back, Lancelot offered a hand to Matira. “Can I have this dance?”

With a smile, she eagerly accepted his hand. She had always wondered what it would be like to move like this. Even during the secret rendezvous in the woods, there was rarely dancing since no one wanted to risk the sound.

She stumbled slightly as Lancelot pulled her to her feet, and she steadied herself against him. As Lancelot led her to the dance floor, she paused and glanced back at Arthur. “Are you not coming?”

He took a long drink from his tankard, leaving Lancelot to reply for him. “He doesn’t like dancing. If he’s at a tavern, it’s to sulk into his mead.”

Arthur gave Lancelot a humorless look.

“I’m not babysitting you tonight,” stated Lancelot.

Without further discussion, he navigated them in front of the stage. She leaned her head back with laughter as they maneuvered past other couples sharing the space. Matira danced until the song ended, and she realized her partner was missing.

Failing to locate him in the immediate area, she determined the table would be the logical place to regroup.

The floor tilted for a moment as she turned towards the stairs. She must have slipped because she found herself in the arms of a jovial female.

“Up you go.” She intentified the voice at the same time its owner recognized her. “Well, fancy meeting you here, child.”

“Miriella?” Matira asked. “I didn’t think you were the tavern type.”

Laughing, Miriella replied, “We’re all the tavern type at least one night a week. Have to do something to keep ourselves sane dealing with them.” She gestured with her thumb behind her, indicating the palace.

“Speaking of them,” Miriella continued, “I finally realized why you look so familiar. I’m old, so my long memory takes a while to sort through, but I never forget a face. You look just like…”

Someone called the seamstress‘ name from the opposite side of the room. The older gentleman lifted a mug while keeping a second tankard held close.

“Looks like my love returned with my drink. Can’t keep him waiting,” she said, forgetting she was in the middle of a sentence.

Matira followed, but when she blinked, new faces surrounded her. Where was I going again? Oh, table, that’s right.

She moved once more toward the seat where she had started the evening. Arthur was still seated with a tankard to his lips. Three empty mugs before him.

“I told you he likes to sulk,” Lancelot said, coming alongside her, pressing another tankard of the pink drink into her hand. “Best to leave him be. They’re playing our song.”

He guided her back to the dance floor with a flirtatious grin. She was almost certain this wasn’t a melody she recognized, but who was she to argue?

She stumbled once as he twirled her, his muscular arms steadied her. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she replied with a dismissive laugh. “I’m not used to moving like this.”

Holding her closer, Lancelot murmured into her ear, “Tell me honestly, Boulder, how are you being treated?”

“No worse than where I came from,” she said earnestly. “I’m confident Captain Robin hates me. My attendant, Sophia, is kind, so it balances out.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Lancelot said, “Don’t be afraid to tell me if anything changes, or if anyone treats you poorly.”

Time slipped by, and she found herself dancing alone, again, with a full tankard in hand. Is this the same one or a new one? She briefly wondered before deciding it didn’t matter.

“Finally choose to leave the classroom?”

Standing in front of her with an amused look was a face she recognized from classes. “I was wondering if all you did was study.” He teased and held out his hand, “I’d like to formally introduce myself. My name is Garvin.”

“Matira. You were in the medical ward with me, weren’t you?” she replied, placing her hand in his. It was tough and calloused, speaking to a life of hard work prior to his arrival.

A smile brightened his face, like the sun breaking over the horizon at dawn. “You remembered. I’m flattered.”

His warm lips brushed her knuckles, sending a jolt through Matira, before releasing her hand.

He was taller than Lancelot and Arthur by several inches, with broad, muscular shoulders. His green eyes, flecked with amber, traveled over her, taking in her appearance as well now that they were in closer proximity.

The close scrutiny sent shivers down her spine. She was lost in his gaze until he said, “I see you’ve lost your escort.”

Following the direction he indicated, she spotted Lancelot on the far side of the room. His lean form was pressing against a pretty female he’d backed against a wall. Her fingers wound through his shaggy, coffee colored hair.

Matira quickly averted her gaze. The swift action cause the world to spin momentarily.

“Mind if I take his spot?” asked Garvin, lowering his already deep voice as he stepped closer.

Her heart quickened. “I’d be happy if you did.”

A strong arm slipped around her waist, pulling her close as Garvin easily slipped into the position vacated by Lancelot, moving in time to the fast-paced melody.

“I’ve never experienced a scene like this before,” he confessed. When Matira looked at him doubtfully, he admitted, “We had gatherings, and I’ve danced, but alcohol was off limits.”

“You never covertly took a sip,” Matira asked skeptically.

“Never,” he promised. “Did you?”

“Once or twice,” she laughed.

Looking past her, Garvin said, “Seems you lost your final escort of the evening as well.”

Spinning her toward the table, she found Arthur in the same spot she’d last seen him, leaning back in the chair, appearing to be asleep. The collection of empty tankards had doubled around him.

Worry nagged at the back of her mind. She couldn’t remember why she should feel anxious about the situation.

Before she could ponder it further, lips brushed against her ear as Garvin said, “I’m happy to offer my services to ensure you have a fun night.”

Her breath caught. He wasn’t the first guy to pay her this sort of attention, yet these feelings were new. In all the time she’d spent with Alec, it hadn’t left her feeling so exposed. Unsure how to respond, Matira finished off the final sip in her tankard. Wasn’t it full a second ago?

As if reading her thoughts, Farah delivered another mug into her hand with a smile. Matira raised her glass to Garvin, who in turn hoisted his own.

“How many of those have you had?” he questioned, arching an eyebrow.

“No idea. But it’s alright, they’re just juice,” she replied, lifting the cup to her lips.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Garvin muttered.

She was too enthralled with the song to care about what he meant.

They drank and danced. The world spun by Matira as she reveled in the foggy bliss overtaking her.

Garvin abruptly stopped moving, even while the music continued to play. Her protests were interrupted as she remembered why she should be worried her escorts had forgotten her.

“May I cut in?” growled the last voice she wanted to hear.

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Relief flooded Robin as the door shut behind him. What sort of fresh terror had his brother unleashed on Atlanticia? Between her unnatural silver eyes that seemed to possess knowledge of the past, present, and future, and those creepy drawings she’d made, there could be no denying something was wrong with her. What form of torment was she waiting to unleash on the city?

He scoffed and rolled his eyes as he thought about her excuse for not answering the door. Either she thinks this would be a believable lie, or she is planning to play crazy if I confront her on anything.

His city closely followed the rules established by the Founders. The people who lived here had too much respect for the laws to break them. Well, sometimes there is someone who wants to push the limits. Typically, my useless brother.

Kids running around the forestry after curfew should be impossible. Nevertheless, as Captain of the City Guard, Robin had a duty to follow up on reports. No matter how improbable.

He swiftly made his way through the corridor and down the stairs leading outside into the pine forestry. The large iron gates were still securely closed. During the day, guards were posted at the entrance to every outdoor space. The measure was not meant to prevent people from entering, but was a relic of ancient times. Arthur had once tried to argue guards no longer needed to perform meaningless tasks. Robin eventually won the debate to keep them on duty after a child climbed a garden tree and fell. The stationed guards were able to respond and assist the child right away. The unfortunate event had proved the need for them to remain at their posts.

That idiot is way too trusting. Just because we don’t have a record of Tuatha Dé Danann attacking us in memorable history doesn’t mean they won’t try if we let our guard down.

Once the curfew bells chimed, the guards were dismissed. Robin had fought for continuous security for outdoor spaces, but he was overruled by the King.

The city had multiple forestries, each housing a different type of wood useful for crafting or building. They were run by a group of silviculturists who carefully maintained the trees to ensure the sustainability of lumber on the island.

He moved around the perimeter without finding any children or signs they’d been playing here after curfew. The shadows lengthened, creating several perfect hiding places within Robin’s sight. It brought back memories of the times he and Arthur used to play here. That was before their mother…

No, this is not the time or place for reminiscing.

To guarantee he covered all possibilities since she could have been telling the truth, he located her living room window and stood underneath it. As I thought, not a single sign anyone has been here recently.

With one final pass, he retreated to the entrance. Glancing back, he could see Matira’s rooms. All the windows were frosted over, and two of three were dark. As he stared, her bedroom window cleared, revealing her gazing wistfully at the sky. Robin held his breath until she turned away and crawled into her bed. It was unlikely she would have spotted him if she was readying for bed.

Good, he thought to himself, I’ll see how long she spins this lie before I reveal to her I know the truth.

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.

“Miss, wake up!” A foreign voice pulled Matira back from certain death by the jaws of the beast.

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After another day of being prodded by the medical staff, Matira received permission to leave. They supplied her with a simple, sunny yellow dress and a private area to change out of the clean nightgown they’d provided. The dress was a little loose in the chest and waist, but otherwise fit perfectly. Unsure how they knew her size, she was grateful not to need to request a different one. It was the first time she had worn clothing without a high collar. It left her feeling exposed. She was happy to discover it had deep pockets.

Stepping out from behind the privacy curtain, she nearly ran into Robin. “I hope this doesn’t become a thing,” she muttered, as the memory of colliding with Lancelot surfaced.

“This will become ‘a thing’ as you so eloquently put it,” sneered Robin, folding his arms across his chest and straightening his back. “It would do well for you to get accustomed to my presence.”

Matira’s eyes widened as she realized Robin had misunderstood her. “No, I-”

“Save your breath,” Robin interrupted.

Snapping her mouth shut, Matira hung her head. She had traded the elderly Headmistress she knew for a younger version with forest green eyes. I guess a new world doesn’t guarantee a new life.

After stopping by the desk to inquire if there were any post-care instructions for Matira, Robin led the way out of the medical ward.

The cinnamon haired male wordlessly led her through shiny white marble hallways adorned with thick blue and gold-trimmed rugs. Pillars broke the flat expanse of walls at regular intervals. Sconces attached to them glowed warmly through frosted glass. Elaborate woven tapestries lined the walls. They depicted figures in golden armor, or a white palace situated in concentric circles of land and water. Although this new space was beautiful, it was too soon to consider it home, not when the possibility of waking up or traveling through another portal remained.

The dress swished smoothly around her. The fabric was much softer against her skin than the nicest clothes provided at the Home. She still wore the shoes she slipped on in that final moment before stepping through the portal. They clashed with the dress, but she was happy to have a piece of her prior life. That reminds me…

“I’m sorry for nearly running into you after I changed. I wasn’t expecting you to be that close.” Matira tilted her head. “Why were you that close? Were you listening to me change?”

Robin turned red. His footsteps faltered. “Do you believe I’d do something so uncouth?”

“I don’t know what’s considered acceptable or not in your society.” Matira wrapped her arms around her body, suddenly self-conscious.

Stealing a glance at her escort, he was taller than she initially thought. Her head only reached his shoulder. He moved with purpose as if he were ready to be rid of her. She was only imagining that, right? He didn’t know her.

Just because the Headmistress didn’t like you, and you were never liked by any family, doesn’t mean everyone dislikes you. Matira scolded herself. You had plenty of friends among the younger orphans.

With her negative thoughts banished, she attempted to break the silence. “You’re in charge of the guards?”

“Yes,” he replied, continuing to stare ahead.

“I guess I shouldn’t call you by your name as your friend did. Do I refer to you as General, or Sergeant, or Admiral, or…” She was rambling. His stony mannerisms made her uncomfortable, and when she was uncomfortable, she never could figure out how to stop talking. Mercifully, Robin put an end to her misery.

“Call me Captain. And never refer to Arthur as my friend.”

The way he spat out “never” told Matira volumes. There was bad blood between them, at least on the Captain’s side. Arthur had been unaffected by Robin’s presence. Thinking of Arthur, she asked, “Is there a title I should be calling your not-friend?” She didn’t want to risk saying Arthur’s name, especially if it was disrespectful.

“He’s also a Captain.”

He would not be accused of talking too much.

Passing a particularly colorful tapestry, Matira made another attempt at a conversation. “What is that depicting?”

“I will not be fooled by your attempts at friendliness. I’ll only tell you what you need to know when you need to know it.”

Taking the hint, Matira stopped trying to talk. They continued on with only the sounds of their footsteps filling the halls.

As they neared their destination, Matira had her first glimpse of what lay outside the building as the hallway opened over a well-manicured grove of trees. The silence they had walked in was cold and uncomfortable. All that changed as she took in the sight before her, peace budding in her chest. Occasionally, a bird darted between branches while white fluffy clouds hung so low in the bright sky, Matira considered reaching out to try touching them. She was so fixated on the natural beauty she missed when Robin stopped moving and walked directly into him.

He stiffened and clenched his jaw.

“Sorry,” Matira meekly apologized.

Ignoring her, the captain opened the door and motioned for her to enter. “This is where you’ll be staying.”

When King Aremis informed her she’d be given a room, she imagined something small. That was not the case. This room was nearly the same size as the one she had shared at the Home, and it was solely for her.

The space was sparsely furnished. A cream-colored fainting couch was centered in the room, facing the wall to her right, where a large, empty bookshelf was built into the wall. Matira envisioned the mountain of books she could fill it with. At the end of the couch, opposite the door, was a polished end table with a lit oil lamp sitting atop.

The far wall was a floor-to-ceiling window with panes framed in walnut wood. A soft blue light filtered through the clouds, while hints of treetops were faintly visible through opaque glass. Centered in the window wall was a wooden desk with tall green potted plants on either side. The only feature on the left wall was a door. Matira assumed it must be a closet or bathroom.

Robin remained standing at the open door with his arms folded, closely observing every move she made. Ready for his unsettling presence to depart, she turned to thank him. “I appreciate you showing me to my room.”

“You’re not to leave this room.”

Matira took a step back. “Ever?”

Instead of answering, he glanced at her with disdain before shutting the door behind him.

For the first time since walking through the portal, she had some semblance of a living space. The room grew smaller once she was alone. Matira flopped onto the couch in an ungraceful motion. It was softer than it looked, softer than the bed she slept in her whole life. She imagined it would be similar to laying on clouds. The fabric’s texture resembled velvet, yet looked like leather. Letting out a deep sigh, she embraced the silence she had been dreading. No longer able to distract herself, she was forced to face the reality of her situation.

“Matira.”

Opening her eyes, she found the room was pitch black. At some point, the lamp must have burnt out. The smell of roses saturated the air.

When did I fall asleep?

Her eyes were so heavy, they once again closed. Why had she opened them in the first place?

“Matira,” a whispered voice drew her attention anew.

I wasn’t imagining that.

Glowing from outside the window intensified, allowing her to make out shapes in the room. She rose and moved towards the door. The feminine voice called again, but from behind her. There was no one in the room with her.

Are they outside?

As she neared the window, the voice reached her ears once more.

Who would be calling me from out there?

The glass wall was no longer opaque. Dark skies and an equally dark forest spread out as far as she could see. Matira extended a hand to touch the glass and was instantly reminded of touching the portal.

This is it, this is where I wake up. Stepping forward, the wall melted away.

She didn’t wake or return to the Home. Nor was she among the dark trees. She stood in the middle of a street. Stone buildings void of light and life rose around her. She was in an abandoned city. Of all the outcomes she anticipated, this wasn’t one of them.

“Matira,” the hushed voice called out. This time, the voice’s owner was several streets away, walking into one of the forgotten buildings. She was dressed in all white, with white skin. A gust of wind rustled her white hair and dress, yet the breeze did not reach Matira.

Something tugged at her mind, begging her to remember.

That voice… recognition washed over Matira. That’s the voice that woke me up the night the portal appeared! I need to talk to her.

She ran towards the female, but did not get farther than the first step before the scene changed.

The abandoned city was gone, replaced with a quaint village of clay-walled homes and thatched roofs lining a dirty road. The scent of frankincense would have been welcomed if not for the fact it was masking the smell of smoke from the inferno engulfing the village. Flames sputtered to life next to her, causing her to jump sideways as the heat threatened to singe her leg.

Smoke billowed thick in the air, burning Matira’s eyes and making her cough. Screams echoed from nearly every direction. People ran in terror, their eyes wide in desperate fear. Some struggled to rescue others from burning buildings. Figures lay prone in the street, some moaning from their injuries while others remained motionless. No matter which way Matira looked, chaos reigned.

A new blood-curdling scream rang out from behind Matira. She whipped her head around to find the origin. The source was a female who did not appear to be much older than Matira. Her arms were held up in defense over her bloody body and scorched clothing as a vicious creature three times her size swung a sword down. It’s a Troll, like the ones in my daydreams.

That’s when Matira understood this was not merely an accidental fire. It was intentional. This was an attack. Squeezing her eyes shut, Matira turned away. Futilely willing this nightmare to end. She couldn’t fathom the level of violence her mind was conjuring. Never in her life had she wished to find herself face to face with the Headmistress as she did right now.

When her eyes opened again, her surroundings were still burning. Black billowing smoke was filling the air, obscuring the carnage. The spectral lady stood in the midst of it all. Her unblinking stare locked on Matira. As people continued to run for their lives, pursued by the foul creatures intent on their destruction, no one paid attention to the lady standing amidst it all. She remained motionless as people passed within inches of her.

“What is this? Who are you? Why did you bring me here?” Matira cried out, desperate for answers. Desperate to leave this place. Her hands and limbs trembled uncontrollably. Smoke continued to gag her. Tears poured out of her eyes, a reaction to the smoke and brutality. Her hands clung desperately to the pendant around her neck as hoarse cries bubbled up from her chest.

“Matira?”

“Yes! Yes, I am Matira! Please, tell me what you want. How can I leave?”

The lady in white smiled, oblivious to the encircling savagery. “Matira.” There was a fondness in her calm voice out of place with their current environment. Matira blinked, and the face was wiped of emotion. “Find me. Find the truth.”

“What?”

The female’s voice surrounded her, drowning out the screams, the collapsing homes, and the roars of the Trolls. “There is no time. It has begun.”

A colossal wolf burst through the ghost, charging straight at Matira. The specter vanished in a wisp of smoke. The unearthly beast’s mouth hung open, exposing dual rows of razor-sharp teeth, glistening with gore and drool. Its breath suffocated Matira with the smell of rotting flesh and musty earth. Crimson blood dripped off its black coat, leaving a trail of its carnage behind. Fiery red eyes locked onto her, hungry for its next victim. Lunging at Matira, it opened its deathly jaws - easily capable of removing her head from her body with one bite - and roared, sending spit droplets flying into her face. The scent of decay filled her nostrils. Her screams were drowned out by its deafening sound.

This is how it ends.

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The halls were quiet as Lancelot waited for Arthur. He was awed at how rapidly the medical staff had relocated the other patients as far from Matira as possible. The official story said she carried a contagious illness.

Sharp footsteps echoed from further down the hallway, the familiar gait alerting him to the King’s approach. Bowing low, Lancelot watched the King’s feet pass, followed closely by his bodyguards. A fourth set stopped outside the infirmary doors. “Hello, Prince Robin,” greeted Lancelot, straightening.

Robin barely acknowledged him, which wasn’t surprising.

“You know, they don’t have diseases, and rarely bite,” Lancelot said, gesturing to the bed Robin was glaring at through the doorway. The Captain of the City Guard had clearly not warmed to the newcomer yet.

“You cannot possibly know that.”

The disdain in Robin’s voice had a way of cutting through to Lancelot’s last nerve. “Actually, I do.” Pushing off the wall, Lancelot abandoned the conversation as Arthur emerged.

“This is the longest you both have gone without creating a scene. Let’s not start one now.” Arthur gestured for Lancelot to follow, but sadly, it was in the opposite direction from any taverns.

“Do you think the King is going to let her stay? That was way too easy,” said Lancelot in a low tone.

Arthur shrugged.

Much to Lancelot’s annoyance, Robin followed. “Why did you bring it here?”

“I already explained that.”

“What is the real reason? Our laws state their kind is not allowed within city walls.”

“As you’ve already stated,” Arthur said without bothering to slow his pace. “But, as your perfect King explained, those with Atlantean blood are required to be brought here.”

“She is clearly more outsider than Otherworlder,” retorted Robin.

“You’re saying we shouldn’t learn why a portal opened so close to Atlanticia?” questioned Arthur flatly.

“Or how?” added Lancelot.

“There’s more to it,” continued Robin, “there always is with you two. Rarely is it for the good of this city.”

When neither responded, Robin said, “Does Lancelot want her for himself? He has been through every last single - and most married - females in Atlanticia.”

“Do you honestly believe I cannot get repeats?” taunted Lancelot.

“In that case, is it Arthur who wants her? We all know how much he prefers those savage monsters to his own kind. He would try to find a pretty wife among the outsiders.”

“So you do consider her attractive,” Arthur stated matter-of-factly.

Robin’s face turned crimson. “That is not what I said.”

“Did he not call her ‘pretty’ just now?” Arthur asked, turning to Lancelot.

“He did. I heard it as well,” confirmed Lancelot.

“Is that the real reason you want her gone? Because you’re the one in danger of falling for an outsider?” asked Arthur.

After multiple failed attempts at a comeback, Robin stormed off.

“Ready for an ale now?” Lancelot already knew the answer.

“Fuck yes.”

Outside the city, the burden of politics lifted from Lancelot’s shoulders. He carried himself differently within Atlanticia’s walls. Most Scouts did. He couldn’t deny there was a common desire for freedom among those who joined their ranks. Leaving your home and risking your life to find Humans from another world took a certain personality type.

They traveled several hours before Lancelot felt comfortable enough to ask, “Who do you think will kill the other first? Robin or Boulder?”

Arthur let out a curt laugh. “Robin would make sure he kills her.”

“I don’t know,” Lancelot said, tilting his head. “I think Boulder might get fed up with him and his attitude. She may come across all sweet and docile, but there’s a fiery streak in her, I can tell.”

“Can you now?” asked Arthur, arcing an eyebrow. “Is this some sort of knowledge you’ve gained from all your womanizing?”

“Just because they’re quiet and timid in public doesn’t mean they aren’t the same in bed.”

“You’re hopeless.”

Lancelot snorted. “Would you rather I marry and have a slew of kids and leave them with my wife for weeks. Letting them worry the whole time I’m away if I’ll return? No, thank you.”

“Hopeless,” chuckled Arthur.

They walked on a little further before Lancelot asked the question he was most curious about. “Do you honestly think the King will allow her to stay, unharmed?”

Arthur sighed. “I’m confident he’s going to permit her to remain. Keeping her safe is another matter. That look on his face… He has a plan.”

That wasn’t the reassurance Lancelot was hoping for. “Are you regretting bringing her to Atlanticia?”

“No,” Arthur replied after a heavy pause. “She has a better chance of remaining safe there than anywhere else.”

Lancelot considered Arthur’s words. He did have a point. In the millennium since Atlanticia was founded, its walls had never once been breached by outsiders. Whether that was due to their Human might or the Tuatha Dé Danann having little care for Atlanticia was debatable. Still, he didn’t share Arthur’s confidence it would be the safest place for Matira. Even the king’s son didn’t know all the secrets it held. Shaking his head, Lancelot banished the thoughts as the pressure built behind his eyes. The first signs of a politics-induced headache. At least I got to enjoy a nice ale first.

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Images flashed: a strange blue glow, a cold forest, and two unfamiliar males. As events of the previous night flooded back, Matira struggled to keep her breathing steady. Her lungs fought, insisting she wasn’t getting enough air laying here. Her body refused to comply. Fear of what awaited her when she opened her eyes kept her fixed to the bed. Without reaching for it, she could feel the comforting weight of her pendant pressed to her chest. At least I didn’t lose that. Now for the real question. Where am I?

Refraining from opening her eyes, she extended her other senses, taking stock of her surroundings. It was warm. No evidence of the cold wind or snow that previously plagued her. That’s a promising start.

She was laying on something soft and comfortable. A bed! Another good sign.

Sounds of people quietly moving about reached her ears. Three for three!

Smells of herbs wafted around her. This is new and not as reassuring.

The warmth and familiar noises encouraged her. The dream must have finally concluded. All that was left was to see where she had ended up. Was she in the Home’s herbalist’s office or had she wandered off in her sleep for the first time in years?

Only one way to find out. Let’s get this over. She opened her eyes. It was brighter than expected for morning. Her stomach sank. Afternoon already? She’s going to be mad at me for oversleeping.

At first, her eyesight was blurry. After rubbing them, her sight returned to normal. One glance with clearer vision prompted her to instantly shut them again. She was not in her room, nor in the herbalist’s office. Two options remained: either she had ended up on another property - a similar sleepwalking incident had happened before. Or, she was still dreaming.

The latter alternative worried her. No scenarios came to mind where being unable to wake up was a positive thing. Maybe the stress of having to accept the permanent position in the Home had induced a mental break. Were the woods and the strangers that rescued her real or false memories?

As she attempted to make sense of her situation, a harsh voice drew her attention. “Keeping your eyes closed will not change reality.”

Matira was surprised this stranger seemed to understand why she’d shut her eyes so quickly. Gradually, she opened them again to study the face looking down at her. Unlike the males she encountered in the woods, he was clean-shaven. He ran a hand through his short, cinnamon brown hair as his deep, forest-green eyes studied her. Matira had the impression he was trying to find something to do with his hand other than to ball it into a fist to match the hand hanging at his side. The intense scrutiny he was inspecting her with made her want to sink further into the bed.

“Did getting caught put a hindrance in your plans, or was that your intention?” An accusatory tone laced his question. He was immaculately dressed. Not so much as a wrinkle was found on his white shirt. He wore a silken vest, embroidered with elaborate stitch-work designed with shades of blues and yellows. If she could see his feet, she imagined his boots would be equally spotless.

Have I done something wrong? Aloud, she said, “I don’t even know where I am, or who you are. Should I?”

Her gaze shifted toward the larger surroundings. A simple white table beside her held vials of various colors, sizes, and shapes. Additional beds lined the walls of the circular room, covered in clean white or cream color sheets with accents of blues or yellows. There were no windows. Glowing fixtures provided light to the room. There was one doorway visible.

The few other patients had accommodations opposite Matira. One in particular captured Matira’s eye with dark hair pulled up in a half bun, while the remainder fell below his shoulders. He was scratching the stubble on his face as he spoke to a nurse taking notes. His hazel eyes locked with Matira’s and gave her a small smirk. Instantly, she averted her gaze, embarrassed at getting caught.

The heart of the room contained a circular desk. Several people were posted around it performing various tasks, from paperwork to mixing colorful liquids. They were dressed in long, buttoned white coats with high collars. A couple wore hats similar to a poofy cloud.

This is a medical facility, she concluded. The chances of this being a mental breakdown were increasing.

“Done memorizing the room?” Matira renewed her attention on the male to her left. His arms were folded as he continued to stare at her with narrowed eyes.

Before she could respond, a vaguely familiar voice said, “I see the patient is awake.”

Arthur approached them. He had cleaned up, although still hadn’t shaved. Neither were his clothes as crisp and neat as the male currently sitting beside her. “Are you explaining what happened?”

“No, he isn’t,” Matira interjected, tapping her fingers on the bed and hoping she didn’t sound as anxious for the truth as she felt.

“You must work on your bedside manner, Robin.” Arthur scolded. “One glimpse tells me this poor female is scared. She needs reassuring words.”

Robin glared at Arthur, his jaw flexing before stating, “Stay with her. I’ll inform him she is awake.”

Matira watched him leave. I wonder if he’s getting a doctor?

Arthur turned his attention to Matira. “How are you feeling?”

“My throat is a little scratchy, and my body aches like I was in a fight. Otherwise, I think I’m alright?” Even though she was attempting to keep her voice even, she heard the upward inflection at the end of the statement and knew she was not succeeding.

Arthur smirked. He heard it too. Retrieving a clear pitcher from the table next to her bed, he filled a cup and handed it to her. “I’m sorry if Robin said, or did, anything out of line. He takes his position seriously, for better or worse.”

Matira took a sip. It was surprisingly cool and refreshing with a hint of mint. Swirling the water in the glass, she asked, “Can you tell me where I am?”

“You’re in the infirmary,” Arthur replied. He pulled over a chair and sat along the right side of her bed.

“How far is this from the Hawthorn Children’s Home?” Matira asked, uncertain if she wanted to know the answer. Either way, Madame Hall was certain to be furious. Matira flinched thinking about what sort of punishment would be inflicted on her this time.

Arthur leaned back and thoughtfully focused on the ceiling. “I guess that determines how you define ‘far’.”

Matira sighed and looked down at her hands, fidgeting with the sheets. Too bad that dream wasn’t worth a hospital stay and Madame Hall’s wrath. Will she change her mind about letting me remain as a teacher?

“What’s going to happen to me?” She voiced the question out loud.

Arthur shifted. “Robin went to retrieve the person with the answer.”

“I’m sorry for making you, or Mister Lancelot, carry me back here. I don’t usually faint. I’m not sure what happened.”

“Don’t mention it,” Arthur said with a dismissive wave. “You were suffering from being out in the cold for so long.” It wasn’t lost on Matira he avoided looking at her during his explanation. “It’s fairly common for people to fall unconscious after such an experience.”

“But I felt fine,” she insisted.

“Adrenaline. It brings the best of us down. You’ve slept for two days.”

Matira struggled to reconcile the information. Two days? She was prevented from asking follow-up questions when Robin reappeared in the doorway, followed closely by an older gentleman.

Every feature of the elder conveyed he was proud. From his keen blue eyes, to the neatly combed brown hair streaked with gray, his appearance did not possess humility. Age was showing in the wrinkles forming at the creases of his eyes and mouth. His wide nose and sharp-cut chin were the predominant features on his face. A thick, yet simple, gold crown sat upon his head, inlaid with several blue and green gems. Smiling warmly at Matira, he made his way over.

The newcomer was flanked closely by two figures. Their matching red robes trimmed with gold reminded Matira of a sunset during the peak of summer. On their outer arms, they wore red and gold metal shields adorned with a Pegasus. If needed, they would be quickly able to form a solid barrier around their charge. Golden helmets with a tall red plume obscured their faces. Black and gold sword sheaths hung at their waists, from which an orange-handled hilt was visible.

Where did I end up that someone with bodyguards is coming to greet me? Combing through her memories, Matira could not come up with an answer. No one in her town would fit such a description. Just how far did I wander?

When the small entourage reached her bed, Arthur made the introductions. “My lord, this is Matira.” Turning to Matira, he continued, “Matira, this is King Aremis of Atlanticia.”

Matira’s brain struggled to comprehend the sentence she was presented with. There was no denying the crown she could blatantly see. Even so, she never would have believed she’d come face to face with a king. The country wasn’t a name she recognized, and she doubted it was due to her lack of geographical knowledge. Her reality had undoubtedly changed, or she was in a coma. Either possibility was equally likely.

“Hello.” Matira greeted meekly, feeling small and underdressed for the occasion. Stories taught her the proper etiquette when meeting royalty was to curtsy, but she couldn’t trust her legs to hold her if she tried to stand. Beyond that, she had no idea what to do.

As if sensing her anxiety, the King smiled warmly. “No need to be nervous.” His deep voice was reassuring. With a single wave of his hand, the others vacated the immediate area. The two guards moved as far as the doorway, where they stood with their backs to Matira and the King.

The King took a seat on the now vacant chair. “What do you know of portals? Does your society have any stories or myths about them?”

Matira shook her head.

“Perfect! I’ve been blessed with knowledgeable citizens. The opportunity for me to explain a subject is rare. Portals connect this world to the Human world. Different cultures have varying names for this realm, but the most common are the Dream Realm or Dreamworld.”

“I’m in another world?” Matira pinched her arm. Sure enough, it hurt. “How? Why?”

“The ‘how’ is a bit too detailed to explain while you’re recovering. As for why, that varies by person and culture. Some see it as a horrible accident, others say it’s destiny.” Shifting topics, the King asked eagerly, “What sort of place did you come from? It fascinates me to learn more about other worlds.”

It didn’t seem appropriate to point out someone else would have to fill in the gaps of how she arrived here. Pushing that aside, Matira proceeded to tell the King a condensed version of her life in the Home. The King listened patiently to all she told him, asking questions occasionally. Her story was easier to condense than she realized. There was not a lot to her life prior to waking up here.

“…one night, I saw this strange... thing... I grabbed my jacket and boots and set out to explore. I ended up in a snowy field and got stuck when I couldn’t find the way back. I wandered through the woods and found a spot to sleep until I heard voices. I passed out and woke up here.”

“A home for orphans, what a wonderful innovation. I need to mention it to my city planner. Regardless of my best efforts, we sadly have children without parents. It must be hard to grow up without them. Was there anyone who could provide stories of yours? Or were you blessed to have memories of them?”

“No. I wish I did.” Matira said, unable to keep her voice from catching. “I was too young to remember them, and no matter who I asked, no one knew who they were. It left me curious about them and what caused them to leave me.”

King Aremis placed his warm hand reassuringly atop hers. Her hand felt so small under his. “Even so,” the King said, “you learned bravery and courage since you simply walked through a portal without hesitation.”

“I’m neither brave nor courageous. I admit, it was pretty foolish. Curiosity is my downfall. I thought it was nothing more than a dream.” In fact, I still haven’t decided whether this is still some terrible dream, or worse.

The King rose. “Rest now. When they determine you’re able to leave, I will have someone escort you to your living quarters.”

“When will I be allowed to go back to the Home?” Matira asked hesitantly. She couldn’t decide if she was excited or afraid to return.

Pity filled King Aremis’ eyes as he looked down at her. “My child, there is no way to return. This is your home now.”

With a final nod, the King took his leave. In a well-practiced and disciplined motion, King Aremis’ bodyguards silently fell in step behind him.

A lump formed in Matira’s throat as her mind replayed memories of the Home she would never again see. She pinched herself repeatedly, hoping to wake up. She clenched her eyes shut and willed the room to revert to the Home with no success. This was real. All her dreams of escaping the mundane now seemed silly. Who would tell the girls stories? Curling up on her side, she held her knees to her chest as her tears fell.

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“I cannot believe you let her run into me like that,” Lancelot muttered. He was being repetitive, still upset his friend had been little assistance. No injuries were sustained, aside from the damage to his pride. Nevertheless, he did not like getting abused by Otherworlders.

Arthur laughed, as he had the last several times Lancelot brought it up. “I’m carrying her. What more would you like me to do?”

“You could’ve grabbed her and knocked her out before she rammed into me.” It was a ridiculous expectation, Lancelot knew it, but there was no way he’d admit that.

“I didn’t expect her to move so fast. We haven’t had a runner in a while,” replied Arthur. “At least this one ran towards us.”

No lies were found in Arthur’s words. The few runners they came across were terrified and sprinted away from the pair.

“How’d we pass her?” Lancelot asked, holding a branch aside for Arthur. He considered releasing it as payback, but refrained.

“That’s a good question,” Arthur replied as his brow furrowed. “I’ve never seen a device malfunction before. It clearly indicated she was ahead of us.”

“How do you think she managed to move through this dense area without getting so much of a nick on her face or hands?”

Arthur shrugged as he stepped over a fallen log. “The medics may report bruising we can’t see.”

It called to mind another oddity with this Otherworlder. “Are you as bothered as I am she appeared so close to the city? When was the last time a portal opened within sight of the airstream?”

“As far as I understand, one hasn’t materialized this close in known history. It shouldn’t have occurred. It’s even more strange it happened as soon as you and I were leaving, guaranteeing it would be us who encountered her.”

“While I’m all for a quick mission, how do we know this isn’t a setup to infiltrate the city? It’s too coincidental, especially with her lineage.” Lancelot glanced at the metal device encasing his forearm as he spoke, perfected by the ancestors to detect passages between the worlds and the locations of humans who fell through them. All Scouts were required to wear one.

The middle of the orichalcum band was a screen displaying dots for people or ovals for portals. Currently, the only dots were attributed to the three of them: one green and two with different shades of blue. The royal blue dot he recognized as Arthur. The other blue was mixed with purple and belonged to the female slumped over Arthur’s shoulder.

The colors were coded to specific lineages. Knowing which shades to avoid prevented accidental run-ins with Tuatha Dé Danann. Lancelot displayed green because he was descended from ordinary Humans. Since becoming a Scout, the only color they encountered coming through portals was green. It wasn’t the blue that concerned him. Glancing over at the unconscious Matira, he was unsure if they were making the correct decision.

“All we can say for certain is she came through a portal. We have evidence of it. That makes her an Otherworlder.”

Lancelot pointed to his arms. “But, the purple-“

“Mixed with blue,” interrupted Arthur. “We’re sworn to bring Humans to safety, regardless of any questionable lineage. The fact she appeared so close is enough for a diligent inspection. If she was sent with malicious intent, we need to know. The King will have final say. I’m guessing a city move will be part of the decision.”

Disdain coated Arthur’s voice when he mentioned the King. Lancelot eyed Arthur. Chances were high he’d be dealing with an exceptionally moody Arthur for the next week. A predictable outcome anytime Arthur shared space with the King for longer than a couple minutes once a year.

Placing his hands behind his head, Lancelot said, “At least this means I get an extra night at the taverns.”

Arthur looked at him with a straight face and sighed heavily. “That would be what you’re focused on.”

“You know you’re always welcome.” Lancelot flashed a carefree grin.

“You know I don’t enjoy a night out like you do.”

Convincing Arthur to join him was rare. It required a need to piss off his father and a generous dose of melancholy. Based on how poorly the upcoming interaction with the king was guaranteed to go, Lancelot was confident he’d have a tag-along tonight.

“Who do you think she confused us with?”

“No idea. But you know people who can see portals tend to have active imaginations,” said Arthur. “Perhaps she falls into that group instead of those who unwittingly stumble into one.”

They approached the field where Matira’s footsteps had first been located - her entrance point - and continued past. Lancelot asked. “Do you have a tight grip on Boulder? I’d hate for her to fall.” Although he tried, he couldn’t keep the irritation from seeping into his voice as he added the last part.

“Boulder? I’m sure she’d appreciate your concern, maybe not the nickname,” laughed Arthur, adjusting his hold.

They moved in sync towards a dip, unnoticeable from a distance, hidden from sight thanks to the topography surrounding it. Boulders nestled in the deceptively deep recess. It was lucky she’d ran away from the city, or things would have turned out much worse for her. This way, at least she’d be given a chance to live.

In unison, the Scouts walked forward to where the ground fell away. Instead of tumbling into the pit, they were launched skyward, igher and higher until the field was fully obscured by clouds. Lancelot loved this part. No matter how many times he experienced the airstream, it felt like the first time.

“Wooooo!” he shouted as he flipped and spun while being propelled upward. When he sensed the city drawing near, he shifted onto his back and watched it approach.

A thick, artificial cloud cover was constantly maintained to conceal it from the Tuatha Dé Danann Occasionally, a thin patch would expose the long, triangular foundation of brown clay. Lancelot imagined a colossal hand had pulled the city out of the ground and thrown it in the sky. As they passed alongside the base, the hanging land mass cast a shadow over them.

Moments later, a whooshing sound alerted the Scouts to the expected approach of the city’s patrol unit. The mist swirled as two Riders emerged. Even in the shade of Atlanticia, their metal plate armor shone. The Riders each sat upon a horse with impressive wingspans.

Under the careful eye of the Riders, Lancelot and Arthur raised their devices. They responded to those worn by the Riders, verifying the identity of the Scouts, allowing them access to the city unharmed.

Satisfied, the Riders vanished back into the white clouds. Lancelot turned to Arthur and yelled, “You know they’re going straight to him to make a report.”

Even though he wasn’t certain Arthur heard his words, Lancelot knew the meaning had been understood by the eye roll he received in response.

The airstream shot the Scouts and their quarry beyond the tip of the land mass, offering a minimal view of the landing platform and gates, but little else, thanks to the sea of water vapors. Ejected from the airstream, the Scouts floated down until their feet abruptly connected with the glistening stonework. Glancing at Arthur, Lancelot noted Matira remained unconscious but secure in his friend’s arms.

Double gates of polished orichalcum protected the entrance from outsiders. A tall humanoid figure, clad in armor adorned each side. They faced one another, clasping their forearms in friendship. Gems glistened softly in what little light the clouds allowed to peek through. Lancelot often wondered why their ancestors crafted such a grand gate if they never intended for anyone to see it. Their typical method of entering was a small door off to the side, which led to the secret tunnels running beneath the city’s surface, allowing them to transport new arrivals without garnering unwanted attention from the citizens.

“Will you open the door already?” grumbled Arthur. His mood deteriorating.

Resisting the urge to point out this headache was of his own making, Lancelot wordlessly held the door for Arthur.

Taking one last look at the gates, Lancelot murmured, “Atlanticia, I’m home.”

After following hidden paths, the Scouts arrived at the infirmary were Arthur laid the unconscious Matira on a bed furthest from other patients. The medical staff swiftly took over her care. Lancelot winked at the attractive nurse as the Scouts retreated to a quiet corner.

“Which one do you think will get here first?” asked Lancelot.

Shrugging, Arthur replied, “I’m guessing the King. He has the shortest distance.”

Three other patients occupied the room, including the last Otherworlder they dropped off the previous day. The large male noticed their arrival and waved. Lancelot returned the gesture. “How are you feeling, Garvin?”

“Much better,” replied the male as he brushed his long hair to the side.

I wish I was allowed to grow my hair out like that. I bet the ladies find it hard to resist.

“Another newcomer?” asked the King as he entered, preventing any further conversation between Lancelot and the newcomer.

Greeting the staff with a smile, the King took a moment to thank each worker present for their service. With a bow, the area cleared, allowing him to observe Matira. King Aremis’ tone was jovial, but the unmistakable clenching of his jaw as he observed her unconscious form told a different story.

His ice blue eyes locked on Arthur. He approached with a determined gait and squared shoulders. His long robe billowed as he neared. That pleasant smile Lancelot knew all too well was merely a mask. Beneath it, a storm brewed.

He demanded in a low voice, “Explain yourself. Why would you bring her into this city?”

A vein throbbed on the side of the King’s hawkish face. Lancelot thought six more gray hairs had been added to the king’s thick locks since he arrived in the room. If he tried, Lancelot could name most of the events that contributed to the king’s graying mane. Arthur had that kind of effect.

The air shimmered around them. The two Thesarians - bodyguards to the king - altered the air, adding additional protection from eavesdropping. Something about the red-robed and masked guards made Lancelot uncomfortable anytime they were near.

Arthur held up his arm and pointed to the dot on his device representing Matira. “For you to have the final say on her fate.”

Another male entered the room. Ignoring everyone else, he stormed toward the group gathered in the corner.

Lancelot instantly recognized the proud, well-dressed Robin and struggled not to audibly groan. The shit storm is about to begin.

Robin’s role as Captain of the City Guard required his input on new arrivals. Still, Lancelot had hoped to be gone before he arrived.

Robin’s face darkened as his eyes landed on Arthur. He asked angrily, “What did you bring here?”

Just as I thought. He’ll be Boulder’s greatest obstacle.

Arthur folded his arms over his chest. “Your Riders should have informed you of the device readings.”

On top of his position over the City Guard, Robin was also Captain of the Riders.

“They did. But I don’t need a device to know her dot is clearly purple.” If not for the additional precautions taken by the Thesarian duo, the whole room would be aware of Robin’s feelings.

Lancelot bit his tongue. He had no issue spouting sarcastic retorts to Robin. Doing so in front of the King had never ended well.

Mirroring Arthur’s stance, King Aremis waited to see what the Captain of the Scouts would say next. Even though their personalities were vastly different, it was hard to forget they were father and son when they stood together.

“You can’t trust your eyes. She came through a portal a stone’s throw from the entrance. And her dot is equally blue.”

“Lies,” retorted Robin.

The King’s brow furrowed, but he refrained from speaking, allowing Arthur to continue.

“If you doubt it, you can still find her origin point and footprints within sight of the airstream.”

Robin turned, undoubtedly intent on confirming this for himself.

The King waved his hand, and his two bodyguards blocked Robin’s path. “Go on,” he motioned towards Arthur.

“She moved away from the city. We found her before she went too far. She speaks an identifiable Otherworlder language. Her name is Matira.”

The King’s face grew unreadable as Arthur spoke. When the information was conveyed, the King wordlessly considered Arthur’s words, weighing his choices.

“The law clearly states Tuatha Dé Danann are not allowed,” argued Robin through gritted teeth.

Ever the hothead, Robin’s response did not come as a surprise. He was responsible for the safety of everyone living in Atlanticia. In fact, this city was created to protect Humans from the threat those outside its walls posed.

After the silence stretched on, Arthur said, “There were too many peculiarities. We thought it best to bring her here and allow you to make the final decision, my King.”

Lancelot could detect the distaste in Arthur’s words, no matter how hard he tried to mask it. Arthur hated deferring to the King’s whims as he viewed them as cold-hearted and wrong.

A softening in the King’s face caused Robin to speak. “You are not seriously considering allowing her to stay, Father. We have no guarantees she is not working for the Tuatha Dé Danann. Can we risk our citizens’ lives?”

“No, we cannot,” began the King, causing Robin to relax his jaw prematurely.

“However,” the King continued, “another law established by the Founders requires anyone who shines blue to receive the honor of a residence within the palace. Which is what we’ll do.”

The Scouts glanced at one another. This was easier than expected.

“The artist ward has an empty wing. Providing her with one of those apartments will not cause too many questions. Once she completes Orientation, we can place her in a position with minimal contact with others.”

Robin opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off.

“As Captain of the City Guard, she’ll be your responsibility. Keep her from learning anything the Tuatha Dé Danann could use against us, without raising her suspicions, on the off chance she is a spy. This is what your King commands.”

Although he didn’t object further, Robin’s tightened jaw and clenched fists expressed his disapproval. Bowing his head, he said, “Understood.”

Lancelot and Arthur also bowed their heads. The Thesarians released the barrier as the King returned to Matira’s side. The medical staff were finishing the examination. The elderly doctor with the hunched back and thick glasses stood ready to offer a report.

“How much longer will she remain asleep?” the King asked.

Shifting his gaze to the clipboard, he murmured under his breath as his pencil furiously scribbled. “We are estimating two days, six hours, and three minutes.”

The mathematical skills possessed by the doctors to perform complex calculations so effortlessly never ceased to impress Lancelot. Leaning to Arthur, he muttered, “You actually drugged her? I thought she simply passed out from the shock.”

“After she ran into you like that, I thought it might be best. I put the serum on her skin when I grabbed her wrist.”

Turning to Robin, the King declared, “You have two days to make preparations.”

Always the “good” son, Robin was quick to fall in line with his father’s wishes. Lancelot doubted Robin would ever grow a spine against King Aremis. He held his father on too high a pedestal to risk disappointing him. It was in stark contrast to Arthur, who found joy in defying his father’s wishes.

Families were complicated.

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Stepping through the oval-shaped doorway, the sensation of cold on her fingertips encased her entire form as it touched the strange surface and pushed her way into the unfamiliar landscape.

One step.

One step into the unknown.

One step toward her dreams.

One step was all it took to cross over.

That one single step stretched on for an eternity.

Matira’s body extended and pulled, suspended between the room and the new world. Time slowed. Frozen, she stared at the snowy scenery.

Was this a mistake? My dreams have never paused before. What if this is real?

Time rushed back all at once as her foot found solid ground on the other side. She stumbled slightly, but remained on her feet. Her eyes itched. How long since she last blinked? Goosebumps covered her, and her ears tingled.

As soon as the sensations began, they were over. Matira laughed. “What a dream! I’ve never experienced one so vivid.”

A gust of wind whipped around her, circling her and tousling her hair. Matira shivered as the bitter cold coursed through her core.

Did the portal leave me feeling icy? No, snow was on the ground.

Rubbing her eyes against the blinding light bouncing off the white landscape, she took in her surroundings. Standing in an open field surrounded by rolling hills covered in trees, excitement filled Matira. Although this dream world was not all that different from a typical sunny winter day, it was still her dreams made real.

When she first looked through the portal, the white drifts had appeared deep enough to cover her feet and blanketed the entire area. Now that she was on the other side, less powder coated the ground than she expected. Patches of grass poked through the remaining couple inches.

Running through the field, she was happy to find that aside from the differences in accumulation, the scenery was identical to what she viewed through the portal, only on a grander scale. Surprisingly, the frozen air smelled of familiar pine needles and evergreens. The surrounding trees were taller than those around the Home. Their leaves were a much darker green than usual this time of year. Although it could be an effect of the leaves against white trunks.

“A jacket was a smart choice.” Her voice sounded muted in the open winter land as she pulled her coat tighter. “At least I won’t wake before I’m ready due to regret.”

I wonder how my room appears from this angle? Turning back to where she expected to see the portal, she was met with panic. Instead of a way home, there was nothing.

Frantically, she spun, searching in all directions, hoping to find the way back elsewhere, but the portal was gone. Still unable to pinpoint it, she retraced her footsteps. They clearly showed where she entered, but then ceased with no trace of the doorway. Contemplating the situation she found herself in, only one possible conclusion remained that Matira wanted to consider. “I’m still in a dream.”

This simple statement brought relief. A dream made sense. A dream explained this strange scenario perfectly. As reassurance she was dreaming washed over her, she reasoned, “I’d better explore while I can. Dawn must be close, and that damn clock will wake me up.”

And then I will only have two days remaining.

Shaking her head, she banished the thoughts. “No, tonight I’m going to enjoy this gift.” With that, she ignored the dread threatening to ruin her fun and gleefully trudged to the tree line in front of her to wander her dream world.

Silence was loud around her, broken only by the sound of crunching snow under her feet as she crossed the field. The distance to the trees was much farther than she first believed. Dense foliage prevented snow from accumulating. “At least it should be drier.”

Once more surprised by the dream’s realism. Her feet grew numb and prickly from the cold. She was grateful for grabbing shoes.

She paused to take one final gaze over the flat land to where she’d started, barely able to make out the position. Now, nothing more than a speck in the broad swath of land marked only by her footprints.

Across the vast space were no signs of life. On a whim, she called out. “Hello?”

No response, no sound, not even birds were chirping.

The sun dipped lower in the sky on the opposite side of the field. “I wonder if going in the direction of the sun is a better choice?”

The wind whipped around her, pushing her towards the trees.

“You’re right,” she said with a sigh. “The forest will be much more interesting.”

Journeying deeper into the tree line provided a chance to closely observe the foliage. The trunks were indeed an ivory color with a silver sheen. The leaves were likewise darker up close. Some were more black than green.

The ground here also crunched, though differently from the grassy ground. It was a soft crunch of dead leaves and bramble. Matira found it surprisingly easy to navigate the thick underbrush. Trails materialized as she traveled through barren and evergreen bushes and trees.

Her stomach growled as she passed a bush full of plum-red berries. “Resist,” she muttered, “No need to turn this into a dream where I have food poisoning… again.”

A gust of air encompassed her and the shrub. Every time she tried to move beyond the berries, the wind pushed her back. Finally, Matira relented. “They do appear delectable.”

Plucking one, she popped it into her mouth. The mildly sweet flavor reminded her of a blueberry mixed with an apple. They were filling too. Eating a couple more satisfied her stomach.

Patting her belly, she attempted to press onward. This time, she didn’t receive any resistance. After a while, her leg muscles burned even though her skin was numb. Leaning against a tree, Matira grumbled in annoyance. “What an exciting dream this is turning out to be.”

Her initial enthusiasm was quickly wearing off as the world proved no more thrilling than the Home.

There had still been no signs of anything living here, aside from herself. The only sounds reaching her ears were the crunching under her feet. She focused attention to her right and called out a little louder than before. “Hellooo?”

Still no reply.

Dread crept into her thoughts. Was this a continuation of nightmares she’d been experiencing with a twist? Would she remain trapped in this dream, unable to wake up? “I hope I don’t have to go all the way back to the beginning to end this.”

A laugh escaped her lips as she remembered her last thought prior to entering the portal. “Even in my dreams, I’m caged.”

With a quiet sigh, she continued further into the woods. Light faded as twilight descended on the sleeping forest, still void of life. Cold settled deeper in her body. Her footwear hadn’t dried from the snow and was crystallizing into ice. Her coat, which she was eternally grateful she’d grabbed, was no match for the bitter temperatures of this land. She would not survive these elements for long.

Other whispers overheard in her younger days sprang to mind. “Those older girls also told me dying in a dream meant you die in real life. If I don’t locate a shelter soon, I may learn if they were right.”

Twilight gave way to night. Darkness pervaded the woods as she traveled on - what she thought - was a straight line. Even after her eyes adjusted to the fading light, she could hardly distinguish more than a few paces ahead.

She persisted in calling out, and silence remained the only response. Weariness settled in her limbs alongside the chill. Her eyes grew heavy.

“Where am I supposed to find refuge from this weather?” Wandering a short distance further, she came across a thicket. Roots raised several feet out of the ground, creating an earthen sanctuary amidst the lonely woods.

“Ask, and you shall receive, I guess,” she said, making her way inside the impromptu shelter. To her relief, the roots blocked out the wind entirely, forming a recess several degrees warmer. Brushing aside a layer of leaves revealed a flat rock covered in lichen comparable in size to her bed. She expected it to be cold, but was happy to discover it emitted warmth. She readily curled up on it. Laying her head on a natural pillow of thick moss, she found the nook cozy. As she settled, trees closed in around her, providing a greater comfort and protection from the elements.

Back to reality, Matira thought as she drifted off to sleep.

A twig snapped, rousing Matira. As her senses slowly returned, realization dawned that this wasn’t her room at the Home. She was still in the root shelter. A pressure weighed on her chest. Before she could consider the implications further, muffled sounds outside the hideaway commanded her attention. Holding her breath, she remained unmoving and listened in the direction the noise came from. The wind whipped about, distorting the reverberations and making it difficult to discern if the snapping twig was the result of life or the wind knocking it down.

Her heart fluttered when a voice quietly called out, “Avete?” There was no mistaking the deep, husky vocals. Sitting, Matira tried to move toward the owner, but the trees completely closed in on her.

How did I manage to squeeze in here last night? Power of dreams, I guess.

A second male interrupted her thoughts, calling out softly, “Hello?”

The idea of spending another night alone in this forest terrified her. Matira muttered to the trees, “Will you please get out of my way? I want them to find me!” As if responding to her request, the roots blocking her path were no longer an obstacle, she abruptly stumbled out.

Once outside, frozen wind cut deep into her bones as it pushed her back toward the natural shelter. Shivering, she strained to pinpoint additional sounds. When the noise again reached her, it was further. Desperately. Matira called out, “Hello! I’m over here!” Stupid as it may be, she was not about to risk this chance of rescue.

The rustling paused. After a momentary hesitation, it moved closer. Could this lead to the end of the dream?

Matira was running when she collided with an immovable surface. Falling backward, a pair of strong arms caught her from behind and steadied her.

“Careful,” cautioned the owner of the husky voice. She swore a hint of laughter underlined the word.

“Now you tell her.” The words were full of sarcasm and laced with irritation. They belonged to the male straightening before her while brushing off his long brown cloak.

A wasted effort, as the thick layer of grime accumulated at the bottom remained.

“Are you part boulder?” he asked, narrowing his vibrant, light turquoise eyes at her. His pale face - which hadn’t seen a razor in several days - was locked in a scowl as he pushed his chin-length, coffee brown hair out of his face. “You sure hit like one.”

“I’m sorry!” Matira apologized earnestly.

The voice at her back laughed. “Pay no mind to Lancelot. I don’t think he knows how to breathe without complaining.”

Matira gazed up at the face holding her. She couldn’t help but stare into his bright blue eyes. Strands of messy, golden blond hair hung over them, giving the appearance of the sun on a cloudless day.

“I’m Arthur.”

A giggle escaped Matira’s lips. “Now I know I’m dreaming if I’m meeting the famous king and his faithful friend.”

“You definitely have us mistaken with someone else,” stated Lancelot.

The strangers wore identical burgundy-dyed leather breastplates with golden leaves etched into them. Matching sword pommels with an orb resembling water, thanks to a skillful trick of the glass, hung from their belts.

Matira noted Arthur stood a couple inches taller as Lancelot moved closer, fixing his red, wool knit scarf. Her eyes drifted to the ears of each male, hoping to see points, indicating they were Elves. Instead, they were disappointingly Human. Could this be reality after all? Although it has been a while, it wouldn’t be the first time I ended up in the woods after sleepwalking.

That seemed the most likely explanation. Madame Hall is going to be so mad.

“What is your name?” Arthur asked.

“Matira,” she replied, becoming intensely aware Arthur still held a firm grip on her arm from where he’d kept her from falling after running into Lancelot. Matira opened her mouth to inform him she was capable of standing on her own, yet nothing came out. The world abruptly went sideways, and darkness engulfed her.

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Drops of rain raced down the window as Matira stared beyond their silent competition to the lawn below, cloaked in the gloomy blue and green twilight. Her attention focused on a raven-haired Elf with a dainty tiara, locked in fierce combat with a group of slobbering Trolls. Their battle played out like a lethal dance.

The Elfette walked out to meet the trolls with squared shoulders and her sword already drawn and hanging loosely at her side. Although she portrayed an air of confidence, she chewed on her lower lip. After years of envisioning the life of this Elven female, Matira knew fear was the dominant emotion flowing in her veins. Eight trolls stood in her way. The odds were against her, but that didn’t prevent the elf from engaging in combat.

Skillfully, she dodged the first swipes aimed at her by the trolls. As she ducked sideways and lifted the monstrous blade in retaliation, it provided an opening for an arrow to lodge itself deep in her thigh. The elf’s face contorted in a scream of pain that failed to reach Matira’s ears. Matira watched the bloody fight shift in and out of favor for the Elf before a flash of lightning caused the combatants to retreat into her imagination once more.

Their rapid disappearance forced her gaze to adjust to a pair of gray eyes reflecting back at her in the glass pane. Matira tried in vain to return to her daydream. The rare moment of solitude would soon be interrupted when the seven girls she shared a room with returned. The reflection continued to stare back, drawing her eyes to the prominent ears poking out undesirably from the bob cut - intentionally left longer in the back - imposed upon her.

Madame Hall, Headmistress of the Hawthorn Children’s Home, insisted it was unintentional, although Matira failed to believe it. Every teacher knew about the constant teasing she received when she was younger. As she grew into one of the older girls, the taunting subsided until she only heard an occasional curious whisper. It hadn’t done anything to ease her ear shame. She constantly found herself in trouble with the Headmistress and was certain the haircut was another tactic to humiliate her.

Disgusted by her image and irritated with her current train of thought, Matira turned away from the glass. She did not get far, as her feet tangled in the blanket, and she fell from the window seat with a thump. Although they shared the same color hair, Matira was nowhere near as graceful as the Elf from her imagination. Straightening, she walked to her bed and flopped down. Springs creaked as they adjusted to her weight.

Matira gazed across the room where all her memories centered. The deep blue-colored walls surrounding the sparsely decorated space were broken by dark, paneled wainscotting. The primary source of lighting was the bay window on her left, where she had been previously daydreaming. A stone fireplace adorned the wall on her right. Metal bunk beds lined both sides of the room. Several other identical spaces occupied the upper two stories, housing an ever-changing group of faces.

She was the longest, and currently the oldest, resident of the Hawthorn Children’s Home. Madame Hall had discovered a basket holding the infant Matira on the doorstep. Unconsciously, Matira’s fingers ran over the silver, leaf-shaped pendant attached to a delicate chain around her neck. The only possession her parents gifted her when they’d left her at the Home with a piece of paper pinned to the front of her gown with a single word: Matira.

It was a typical origin story. The orphaned main character is raised by others, and sometimes in harsh environments. It was a contributing factor to her love of fairytales. Madame Hall did not allow many magical stories to grace the shelves of the Home’s library. A book was only approved if it came with a moral or prose that could be used for study. Those few books were Matira’s favorites. She’d read them enough times to recite them word for word on her own. They filled her with hope of escaping to a new world or of a dashing prince coming to rescue her, cherish her, and offer her a happily ever after. She wanted to believe her story would turn out the same.

Over the years, as prospective foster homes or adoptive parents fell through for one reason or another, her dream of a happy home and loving family diminished. Getting lost in a great book or dreaming of far-off places and strange cities became her coping mechanism as she desired to escape the mundane life. Madame Hall was practical and did not approve of imagination or daydreaming, which landed Matira in her poor graces daily.

Few bright spots illuminated her memories, which were otherwise full of gray and loss. The pendant shifted through her fingers as her thoughts floated toward Alec, the prince she was certain she’d been waiting for until it all went wrong. “A perfectly enjoyable afternoon ruined by reality,” grumbled Matira, abruptly wishing the other girls were back thanks to the direction her mind had taken. The noise would be a welcome distraction.

As if granting her wish, the wooden halls outside the room flooded with voices.

“Matira,” an excited little voice called, rousing her instantly. It belonged to six-year-old Sue, bounding up to Matira’s bed. Seeing the rosy cheeks and mountain of brown curls always put a smile on Matira’s face. The child was always happy. Matira could not think of a time she saw Sue sad. Even after the loss of her parents, Sue maintained a positive outlook for one so small. Nothing could diminish her light.

“You missed the giraffes! They were so huge!” Sue proceeded to rattle off an assortment of animals observed during the field trip.

A warmth spread through her chest as Matira listened to several other younger girls who came over to add their own comments.

“I got to ride an elephant,” Velma exclaimed, pushing the others out of the way to claim Matira’s attention.

“Now, now,” Matira gently scolded, “Everyone can have a chance to tell their favorite parts.”

As time passed, she’d evolved into an older sister figure. Sue, in particular, was attached to Matira. As the bundles of energy disguised as little girls babbled on, Matira’s mind wandered to the future.

Within three months, she would turn eighteen and age out of the Home. Matira’s lack of employment prospects and housing when her time at the Home ended were unavoidable obstacles. Not to mention, she would be penniless. She rarely saw outside these walls. The Headmistress always found a reason for Matira to remain behind, preventing any hope of making connections or securing a job. That did not dampen her dreams of the potential dwelling she could make for Sue. The stories she read taught her that where there’s a will, there’s a way. Stories always had a happy ending.

I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. It will all work out if I stay hopeful. At least that’s what she kept telling herself.

A sharp clap interrupted the little one’s jubilant chatter. “Children,” a stern voice rang out, causing the room to instantly fall silent and at attention. An old woman stood in the threshold wearing a plain, navy blue dress reaching the floor. A tight bun held her gray hair securely in place. She was taller than the other teachers - only Matira was close to her in height. She was so slender many considered her frail, which was a mistake. What the elder matron lacked in size, she made up for in presence. The doorway seemed to shrink around her small frame as she filled the opening. “Clean up and report to the dining hall for supper in fifteen minutes.”

At once, the girls fell into a neat order, lined up by size, and headed directly to the bathrooms as instructed. When Matira passed, the Headmistress said, “I see you accomplished the tasks I assigned.”

Matira nodded. She could feel the “but” coming and braced herself.

“You failed to polish the silver properly, leaving multiple spots. After this amount of time, I expected you would have learned to keep your head grounded. That airy head of yours is why prospective families have consistently declined to follow through. It would do well for you to learn to stay rooted in reality instead of your frivolous daydreams during the short time left.”

Matira’s head lowered. The daily lecture from Madame Hall served as a countdown for the days she had remaining and an unwelcome reminder of the couples she failed to impress. Out of the potential foster and adoptive parents, only a handful made it to the signing stage. Out of those, none appeared on the day they should have brought Matira home. Madame Hall was happy to relay the shortcomings preventing Matira from leaving.

“We finally ended your nighttime excursions. If you could only stay in reality during the day, families would be more amenable to take you.”

The matron’s words held double meaning. Ever since she could walk, Matira had memories of waking up in random rooms of the Home. When her sleepwalking guided her outside one snowy evening, Madame Hall started loosely tying one of Matira’s feet to the bedpost until she grew out of it. The second referred to the secret rendezvous the teen girls would have in the woods with their peers from the Baldeer Academy during full moons.

Grasping her pendant, images of the character in her stories circled her mind. She wished to be strong like them. They would not allow the Headmistress to make them feel so small. When she was younger, Matira tried to stand up for herself, but those attempts only left her in more trouble until she gave up.

Be hopeful. A moment of darkness is always required before the happily ever after. It’ll all work out.

Taking a deep breath, she mentally repeated her mantra over and over.

The Headmistress narrowed her eyes and pinched her lips, undoubtedly sensing Matira’s attention fading. “Tomorrow, you will re-polish all the silver, and you will do it correctly.”

Matira nodded once more and moved towards the washroom where the other girls had now disappeared.

With greater strength and speed than her stature suggested, the matron grabbed her arm, stopping her. “Do not think I am unaware you have been poisoning the other girls with your stories. I would have happily placed you on your own ages ago, but that would have raised too many questions with our patrons. Not to mention how unfair it would be to the other girls who would still have to share a room. If you do not care for your future, at least care for theirs.”

Releasing her, the Headmistress walked down the hall, her heels sharply clinking on the polished floors.

Matira’s feet moved automatically. Her head drooped.

If only I were as strong as the heroines in my stories. I could finally take a stand against her, not solely for myself, but for all the girls here.

After dinner, children spent time performing evening chores and studies. Bedtime came around, and as usual, girls gathered for storytime. It was a nighttime tradition the young ones loved, especially when Matira performed voices for each character. Littles would climb into her bed while older girls would remain in their own beds to listen. Several feigned sleeping or pretended to be uninterested. However, they would give themselves away by a gasp or a question. The tale would continue until someone warned of Madame Hall’s approaching footsteps during her nightly rounds. An alert would send them dashing back into their bunks and act asleep before the door opened.

Madame Hall’s earlier words echoed in her ears. Storytime was the only form of rebellion the Headmistress had not broken her of. She could call it “poison”, but Matira believed stories were as important to growing minds as food and sleep.

When everyone was settled in comfortably and ready to listen, Matira asked. “Who recalls where we ended last night?”

“The princess was hiding,” supplied Vela, a young girl on Matira’s left.

“You’re right,” agreed Matira. Although her daydreams were soundless, that did not stop her from creating dialogue and acting out voices. With a flourish of her hands, she recounted her earlier daydream.

“Our raven-haired princess, Leka, had just hidden the group from the evil Trolls who’d been attacking the tattered refugees escaping into the forest. The beautiful princess looked at her people, cold and hungry, and knew they needed shelter. They could not remain in their hiding place for much longer. The trolls would find them shortly if they didn’t move.

“Slowly, the group made their way out in a single file, with Leka leading. Things progressed smoothly until they spotted a patrol in their path, stopping the refugees in their tracks.

“If I confront them, it will give you enough of a distraction to get the refugees to safety.’ Leka said.

“‘I’m coming with you,’ declared Frank.

“‘No, you will need to lead the refugees away.’

“Prince Frank had no choice but to agree.

“Leka gave him a confident smile, ‘I’ll be right behind you!’ Drawing her sword with a self-assured swagger, she approached the gathered Trolls.

‘Looking for me?”

Roaring, the trolls charged. She parried and dodged multiple strikes while keeping the trolls focused on her and their backs to her fleeing people. She landed several vicious blows on the Trolls. To anyone watching, the fight was a beautiful dance…”

“She’s coming!” One of the girls closest to the door hissed. The littles leaped out of Matira’s bunk and swiftly raced to each of their own, flying under covers in a well-practiced routine. No sign remained of the after-hours storytelling when the door creaked open, and the Headmistress peered in, her candlelight bathing the room in flickering shadows. Slowly, her hawkish eyes scanned every bed before she was satisfied and shut the door.

The story would have to continue tomorrow night, which was a good thing since Matira hadn’t seen the fight’s ending yet. One by one, the breathing patterns of her bunkmates changed. In the still darkness, Matira’s mind returned to Madame Hall’s earlier words. Time was running out at the Home for her. The thought gave her a thrill of excitement. The walls of this place had become a cage. They kept her trapped, requiring her to follow the will of the Headmistress. She wanted to be free to dream, to have adventures like the ones she read about.

The scent of blooming roses wafted through the cracked window, mixing with the aroma of cedar wood, filling her nostrils as she drifted off into welcomed dreams filled with the scenes of the battle and a looming unease she could not shake.

Change was coming.

The mantle clock chimed six times, stirring the room to life. Rolling onto her side, Matira rubbed her eyes to remove the sleep. Outside the window, the clear sky was a beautiful pink as the early morning light shone in. Around the room, the older girls set about getting the younger ones up and ready.

Before the sun rose further, girls marched in line to the dining hall for breakfast. Tuesday, Matira mentally calculated. Bland grits and eggs. The same dish served each Tuesday. She couldn’t recall a single break in the pattern. Three rows of long, crowded tables lined the room. Without looking, she followed a well-trodden path to the chair she sat in for every meal, every day, once she no longer needed a high chair.

From either side, Sue and Vela scrunched their faces as they lifted their forks. “Careful,” Matira warned softly, “The last time you two complained about breakfast, Madame Hall placed you on dish duty for a week.”

The girls quickly schooled their expressions.

“Why does it have to be so gross? Momma used to make better food,” whined Vela.

Sue leaned over Matira to look at Vela, “Just imagine we’re at a palace and they put a fancy meal in front of us.”

Try as she might, Matira could not keep a smile from her face.

The large grandfather clock at the front of the room rang out with seven steady chimes. As one unit, the gathered girls stood, returned their dishes to the kitchen, and marched to their respective classes.

Classrooms were located on the first floor. Matira and her four fellow students congregated in the smallest room. Although in different grades, they were close enough in age that it was simple for the tutor to work with them. The round teacher with rosy cheeks and faded brown hair was already seated at her desk, waiting for them to arrive. “Good morning, girls,” Miss Terran said in a sing-song voice far too cheery for this environment. “Please get out your books.”

Not for the first time, Matira wondered how the sweet lady ended up here. Her disposition a stark contrast to the other adults employed, primarily the Headmistress. She was the first teacher to overlook Matira’s daydreaming. On several occasions, she even helped cover for Matira’s lack of focus when Madame Hall stopped by to observe.

The morning dragged by. Matira always finished her schoolwork - boring worksheets that failed to hold her attention - in a couple hours, even when trying to make it last longer. At a young age, she learned finishing her work early did not allow her to leave the drab and dreary schoolroom. It only meant she was stuck there with nothing to do until the designated study time ended. Her imagination could not provide a refuge either, as the Headmistress instructed tutors to maintain a close eye on Matira. Anytime they believed her thoughts drifted, they were to smack her knuckles with a ruler, increasing the punishment with each offense.

Matira shifted tetchily in her seat. The mandatory dresses were intentionally stiff, over-starched, and tight to keep the girls awake and focused. Today, the high collar was unusually constraining. Matira resisted the urge to undue the top two buttons. Miss Terran may be lenient, but even she had limits.

The endless monotony of the school day was broken only by lunch, which was always too fleeting. When classes ended, it was time for chores. The older girls were responsible for laundry and helping prepare dinner. As was common most days, Matira was the last one working, this time due to re-polishing the silverware. She yearned for it to be Sunday, the only day they had a break from lessons and tasks. It was her day to wander the surrounding woods, free to dream however she wished.

Sadly, it was only Tuesday and, already receiving two punishments so far, the week promised to be long. Time moved slower when consecutive discipline caused her to watch the clock more frequently. Often, Matira imagined her life as a record stuck on an endless loop.

At dinner, Sue was absent from her normal seat. A glance around the dining hall did not reveal Sue either. Thinking back, the little girl was not present during chores. Girls could be exempt from performing duties and meals if they were sick. The sense of unease Matira from the previous night returned. There was one other reason girls would go missing.

A family visited Sue last week…

Matira shook her head and banished the idea.

A shrill whistle from the Headmistress promptly ended chatter in the dining room. Children knew better than to continue talking after hearing that sound. Once satisfied she held their attention, Madame Hall announced, “Sue was adopted today. You all will do well to take lessons from her. She was well-behaved and well-mannered when meeting potential families. Learning those attributes will make you a desirable adoptee. That is all.” She turned sharply on her heels and strode out of the room.

The dinner hall remained hushed. The sudden news and lack of a goodbye sat heavily on all - it happened each time. Conflicting feelings coursed through the room. On one hand, an adoption was a time to rejoice for the person who left. On the other, a time of sadness because they were gone and you could only hope they were happy, which meant they wouldn’t come back. Those who had been there the longest experienced jealousy they were not chosen.

Another emotion was fear. The last thing any of them wanted was for adopted faces to return. During her time in the Home, Matira had witnessed several girls move back - they were never the same.

All these feelings were especially true for Matira, including jealousy. Selfish resentment settled over Matira as she struggled to imagine a new future outside the Home. The dream life she had carefully crafted was cracking and reality was seeping in. Her head spun as her thoughts raced. She pushed away the plate of dry fish and greens, no longer hungry. Her eyes stung as she fought to hold back tears. As the oldest, it was up to her to demonstrate strength to the little ones. To say she was going to miss the bundle of curls was an understatement.

At her side, Vela began rambling. “I bet she is going to a huge castle. She always wanted to live in one. Do you think she will eat all the fancy foods she desires? How many servants do you think will play with her?”

Thank you, Vela, for the distraction, Matira thought. At least this hasn’t broken your spirit.

After dinner, the Headmistress recited the same Scripture passages she deemed necessary after an adoption. Carefully chosen to exemplify the joy and sorrow of someone departing. Matira’s thoughts were too clouded to hear the familiar words. Three months. That was all the time remaining before she’d find herself on the streets with no purpose or potential.

The complicated emotions continued through bedtime, leaving no one wanting a story. Instead, they went straight to their beds.

Matira was relieved no one wanted to listen to her tales. She’d failed to envision the next portion of the narrative, and more importantly, she was in no mood to share. It would take several days for life to return to normal. It always did when orphans left, as chores were reassigned and the girls came to accept the empty place.

After the muffled sounds of crying dotted around the dormitory subsided, Matira let her own tears fall. When sleep finally claimed her, she dreamed of Sue laughing with her new family in a house with the scent of frankincense. The happy visions were sporadically interrupted by less pleasant sensations of falling from a tremendous height while staring up at a floating city cloaked in indigo.

Hawthorn Children’s Home returned to its normal routine by the second week after Sue’s departure, but Matira struggled to adjust as her impending expulsion date loomed. Without the dream of life with Sue to look forward to, one question kept racing through her mind. Tonight is the night. There is no more waiting. I’ll leave tonight and meet Alec. Somehow, we will have the life we’ve dreamed of.

A ruler slammed down on the desk before her. When she was younger, the sound used to make her jump. As a common occurrence, it had long since failed to startle her. Her eyes refocused on Miss Terran’s normally rosy face, now red. “Who is the twentieth president?” The teacher’s tone was several octaves higher.

Matira lowered her eyes and fidgeted with her pendant. This is bad. How many times was she asking to be this upset?

“I don’t remember,” she replied, her voice barely louder than a whisper. She always felt terrible about disappointing the kindest teacher in the Home.

Taking a deep breath, Miss Terran closed her eyes and turned to one of the girls in the front row. “Clara, please answer the question.”

Clara took a moment to glare at Matira before returning her attention to Miss Terran. The response didn’t reach Matira, already lost once more in her thoughts. Mercifully, Miss Terran did not call on her again.

At night, Matira struggled to relax. After hours of tossing and turning, sleep eventually took her, yet she found no rest. Excitement welled. Tonight was the night she would escape this reality and make her own.

Moonlight covered the room as Matira climbed out of the window of her room. She and Alec agreed to meet on the next new moon, and it was finally time. Her feet landed on the soft grass with a thud. Holding her breath, Matira waited to see if the sound alerted anyone inside. After a tense few minutes, Matira was confident she remained unnoticed.

The world was dark, but the path to their rendezvous spot - the ancient oak tree - was well known to her. For nearly two years, Matira joined the other teen girls in the Home in sneaking out during the full moon to get together with the guys from the property next door. Both homes had officially sanctioned assemblies once a month to train the orphans in proper social interactions. The gatherings happening in the woods were done without the knowledge of their caregivers. And tonight’s meeting between Alec and Matira was even more secretive. Matira had not breathed a word of it to any of her peers.

Slinging the bag she had previously dropped over her shoulder. Without looking back, Matira sprinted for the treeline. Freedom was within reach. She was finally being fearless like the heroes in the stories she loved. She speedily covered the distance across the yard. With each step, her smile grew. Joy crashed down around her as Madame Hall stepped out from the shadow of the trees, directly in Matira’s path. The Headmistress’ arms were folded over her chest as Matira’s feet slid out from under her, causing her to land hard on her butt.

“There will be no running away, Matira.” Madame Hall stated flatly.

Tears welled in Matira’s eyes. Escape so near. Who knew an arm’s reach could be such a long distance?”

Master Fredricks was alerted to Alec’s intentions and will be handling it in the way he sees fit. You can apologize to the other girls at breakfast.”

Chiming from the mantle clock pulled Matira from the vision of the past. The first rays of dawn chased away the final remnant of the dream, leaving only dread and regret. Several weeks had passed since her failed attempt to run away with Alec. The uneasy sleep left her struggling to stay awake during the day.

The following nights repeated the same pattern. Visions of the last night she attempted to do something more rebellious than tell stories played every time she closed her eyes.

She grew quiet and reserved, going through the motions autonomously. She performed tasks asked of her without hesitation. Matira’s mood shifted so much, the Headmistress now smiled at her proudly. Stories had not returned to their bedtime routine either. Her imagination useless.

Classes ended, and the girls were moving on to their chores when Matira received a summons to Madame Hall’s office. The matron was working on paperwork at the oak desk, occupying a sizable portion of the room. “Please be seated,” she said.

Matira did as she was told and waited to hear what she had done wrong this time. That was the only reason she was brought to this room.

“I see you have taken my words to heart,” the Headmistress said. “Over the past few weeks, you have improved. At long last, you are taking your future seriously. In light of your recent progress, I decided to offer you a position as a teacher.”

“What?” Matira interjected. This was the last thing she expected. Is this a dream? She had never experienced one this vivid, but there was a first time for everything. Could she be starting to sleepwalk once more?

“You have finally proved your ability to grow and mature. Besides,” Madame Hall placed her elbows on the desk and pressed her fingers together. Leaning forward, she continued smugly, “You have no other options. Do you believe I would cast you out to be a drain on society? Such an action would tarnish the reputation of the Hawthorn Children’s Home.”

Matira sat there stunned. Had this been Madame Hall’s goal the entire time? Break her will and prevent her from making connections until she willingly remained in her cage? The Headmistress had been overheard on multiple occasions complaining about the difficulty of finding new staff and retaining the current personnel. The faces of teachers past and present flashed through her mind. It was plausible this trick had been successfully used before. There had to be a way out, another option.

“May I have time to consider your offer?”

“Of course,” replied the matron graciously. She sat back in her chair, her voice turning to ice. “Although you do not have much time remaining to make a decision.”

The threat was not lost on Matira. She had mere weeks to make a choice. Such a short time to create a fresh dream. “Understood.”

Having completed their discussion, Matira was dismissed to carry on with her chores. Her mind crafted scenario after scenario as her body moved through the motions of her tasks. Each one more outlandish than the last. “Be real, Matira, you will never fall asleep or touch a mirror and find yourself in a new world like your favorite story,” she scolded herself.

Time passed quickly as Matira slept even less. What other options did she have? In a couple days, she would be homeless and jobless unless she accepted the position. She was not a lost princess with a kingdom waiting for her return. There would be no happily ever after. No escaping reality. She needed to accept the offer.

The life she had been trying to escape through books and daydreams would continue. Forced to inflict the same restrictive systems as had been placed on her. No other choice remained.

During a night filled with dreams alternating between drowning and being chained in a cell with a collar around her neck. A voice broke through the terror. It was both familiar and foreign, calling her name.

With a start, she sat straight up, fully awake and drenched in sweat, expecting to see the Headmistress standing at the foot of her bed.

There was no one.

The moon cast a pale light over her roommates, soundly asleep in their beds.

“Full moon,” Matira muttered. She did not need a closer inspection of the window to know a rope made of sheets hung from it. It happened every time the moon was round in the night sky.

It must have been the older girls I heard sneaking out, she thought. After getting caught, the monthly gatherings in the forest ended for several months. When they eventually began again, Matira was no longer invited to participate.

Sighing, she closed her eyes and tried to fall back to sleep.

“Matira,” a faint voice reached her ears.

Did they decide to invite me again as a final hurrah? Matira swung her feet over the side of the bed, excited at the prospect of spending a night in the woods with other teens. Would Alec still be waiting?

An unnatural glow interrupted her thoughts and drew her attention. Rubbing her eyes, she discovered the room bathed in a pale blue-white color, brighter than moonlight. Light was more intense to her left, but the cause remained hidden, obscured by bunk beds. Curiosity beckoned, and she rose to investigate the origin of the strange coloration. Peering past the foot of the beds, she spotted the source. Out of the moonlight illuminating the floor, a mist grew and bloomed.

Mesmerized, Matira’s heartbeat quickened. Her widened eyes could not believe what she was seeing. Slowly, she approached the sizable egg-shaped apparition hovering inches above the floor. It filled the space between the bunks, reaching close to the ceiling. A bright white light outlined the perimeter, creating an effect similar to the ring of fire caused by a solar eclipse.

The core of the odd form reminded her of a highly polished pewter mirror. As she stared, the silver center transformed, revealing a strange vortex overlooking a snowy landscape stretching out impossibly far. Circling the foreign object, she discovered the surface was not flat like anticipated. The silhouette remained the same no matter which direction she walked.

The scene inside the elliptic shape did change, like walking around outside a snow globe that went on infinitely. It was surreal to see mountains and trees take form and disappear as she shifted. “A dream world.” She whispered to herself.

Matira fidgeted with her pendant as she continued to circle. It was comforting warmth in her ice-cold hands. Scanning the room confirmed she was the only witness of this magical moment.

If I touch it, what’s the worst that could happen?

She reached out to the surface of the vortex. As her trembling fingers lightly brushed the periphery, she jumped back reflexively. The icy sensation was unexpected, yet welcomed. It reminded her of summers when the Headmistress would allow the girls to swim in the bordering lake on the hottest day of the year to cool off after performing chores indoors caused them to work up a sweat.

The exterior was solid yet flexible, like touching a balloon made of thinly rolled dough. Inspecting her hand eased her concern. She still had all her fingers. No burns. No harm.

Do I dare? She considered as she bit her lower lip in thought. Sue has a happy home, and the other girls may be treated better without me around. I wouldn’t be in a cage. I’d be free.

The steady breaths of her roommates remained unchanged.

Can I step into it? What will happen if I do? When I was younger, I remember the older girls at the time telling me that going into the light meant you would die. But that can’t be true.

The strange portal flickered, interrupting her thoughts.

This might be the last good dream I have, she reasoned, I may as well enjoy it.

She rushed to the closet, pulled on shoes and a coat, and hurried back to the oval-shaped hole. Biting her lower lip again, she took a final glance around the room, inhaled deeply, and stepped into the unknown.

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The city was still.

Quiet.

Abandoned.

Nothing alive remained, exactly as it had been since the day of its founding. Ancient architecture persisted in immaculate condition, untouched by time. Vacant archways stood watch over empty sandstone lanes. No sounds of merchants selling their wares echoed in the town square. Homes were void of laughter and warmth. No children ran through the streets playing games. Plants turned dormant in their pots, frozen in the emptiness. Wind no longer passed through in search of trouble to cause. Suspended in time, the city held its breath.

Dead.

Forsaken.

Forgotten.

Loneliness lived here, surrounded by walls of lost potential and broken oaths. An echo of shattered dreams remembered only by the pale moonlight. It was fitting the only inhabitant was now a ghost of a memory.

For too many years, the spectral shade haunted abandoned pathways predating her occupation. Under a full moon, cloaked in white, she appeared without fail, forever wandering in deafening silence. Waiting.

Wind tousled her ethereal hair, warning of the prowling pair of shadow wolves hunting for non-existent intruders.

How much longer would this forlorn existence remain?

Fate smiled.

A hushed murmur reverberated like a shock wave through the barren landscape. Wind rushed through every corner, an invisible messenger stirring life into the foundations once more. In response, the city inhaled, feeling alive for the first time since its creation. Long sleeping vines opened their buds, joining the ghostly figure’s gaze toward the source of the sound.

“So it begins.”

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