The wooden carriage rocked gently with every stone and dip in the dirt path. Cal sat on the edge of a bundled sack of goods, legs bouncing slightly, but his eyes were the ones most active. He peered through the thin, slatted window of the trader's carriage with childlike wonder. Towering trees stretched endlessly into the sky, their leaves dancing in the wind like emerald confetti. Birds he couldn't name flitted between the branches, some too bright and colorful to be real.
"Where are the highways? The jet trails? Hell, even a traffic light?" he thought.
There were no overhead wires, no glimmer of metal rooftops in the distance—only forest, fields, and far-off mountains that clawed toward the heavens like jagged giants.
The carriage creaked louder as the road widened, revealing signs of civilization—first, a cobblestone path, then fences and distant farmhouses. Eventually, more travelers appeared, some on foot, others in their own carts or horseback. The closer they got, the more dense the crowd became.
And then… he saw it.
A castle loomed ahead, its high stone walls standing firm against the sky, towers reaching proudly toward the clouds. It was massive—gargantuan compared to anything he'd seen in real life. A slow, single-file line of people trailed toward its open gates, flanked by armored guards questioning each arrival.
"Whoa…" Cal leaned out the window slightly. "Where… is this place?"
The trader gave him a curious glance. "That there is the hold of Baron Aldrich Valemore—he governs this entire region. His family's ruled here for generations. You're lucky—we're entering through the trade entrance."
The moment they reached the gate, two guards in polished steel armor stepped forward, eyeing the group. One moved to the side of the carriage, tapping the wooden frame with his gauntlet.
"Identification," he demanded, voice muffled slightly by his helmet.
Cal froze. Identification? Crap… think, think, what would someone here even show? A scroll? A family crest? A damn sword?!
But before he could stammer anything, the trader casually opened the window. "He's with me. Scholar from the far west. Personal assistant." He said it with confidence, like it was true.
The guards paused, looked Cal over once more, then gave a slow nod. "Proceed."
Cal exhaled hard. "Phew… that was close."
The carriage rolled in, and Cal's world exploded into color and motion. Inside the walls, the castle grounds were bustling like a medieval market festival. Children ran barefoot, chasing each other between fruit stalls and barrels of goods. Vendors shouted over one another, trying to sell everything from spiced meats to linen cloaks. The clang of metal on metal rang in the distance—blacksmiths hammering steel or guards sparring. The scent of roasted meat, hay, and fresh bread filled the air, mixed with the distinct smell of leather and steel.
"Alright," the trader said, pulling the reins. "End of the line for you, Mister Scholar. I'll be here a few days if you need anything. Look for the crimson banner near the trade square."
Cal hopped off, still processing the crowd, the noise, the smells. "Thanks… really."
The trader gave a simple nod before driving off, leaving Cal in the middle of the cobbled street—tattered, dirty, and very out of place.
He turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. "Is this… really happening? I've got a literal castle behind me, armored knights walking around like it's Tuesday, and not a single damn coffee shop in sight. Am I… actually in another world?"
He chuckled softly, but it faded fast. His stomach growled. Loudly. "Okay, fantasy world or not, hunger's still real. Also, these clothes are a mess. I look like I lost a fight with a raccoon in a landfill."
People glanced at him as they passed. Some scrunched their noses. Others just gave judgmental side-eyes. Not a warm welcome. Not even a "hey stranger, need help?"
He spotted a sign above one building shaped like a coin purse and thought, "Okay, money symbol… that's gotta be a shop, right?"
Cal pushed the wooden door open, and a little bell chimed.
The shop was cramped but organized. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with all sorts of things—cloth, boots, soap, dried food, knives, scrolls. A few customers eyed him as he entered, one woman whispering something under her breath about "beggars."
Before Cal could say anything, the shopkeeper—a wiry man with a too-small vest and a twitchy eye—appeared from the back. He raised a brow and smirked.
"Well, well… look what the wyverns dragged in. You lost, traveler? Need a broom or perhaps a bar of soap?" He chuckled at his own joke.
Cal tried to smile it off and turned to leave. "Nope, not dealing with this. I'll figure it out alone."
But something stopped the man. His eyes dropped to the satchel slung over Cal's shoulder.
"Wait… hold on. That bag. May I see it?"
Cal blinked. "My bag?"
"Yes, that one."
A little suspicious, Cal unslung it and handed it over. The shopkeeper studied it like it was some kind of treasure, turning it over, inspecting the zippers, the fabric, the stitching.
"Where did you get this? I've never seen such fine craftsmanship. Not even in royal tailor circles."
"Uh… it was a gift. From a friend."
Technically true… if you count Amazon Prime.
The shopkeeper looked up, suddenly more serious. "Is that friend still around? Do you know where I might find them?"
"No… they're gone."
"Oh…" The man seemed genuinely disappointed. "I apologize. I didn't mean to bring up anything painful. But… if I may… would you consider selling this? I'd give you two gold for it."
Cal tilted his head. "Two gold? That's… good?"
The man's brow rose. "Good? My dear boy, with two gold you could rent a room, eat daily, and still have coin left for ale and laundry. Easily four months' worth of comfort."
Cal didn't hesitate. "Sold."
A pouch was handed over—heavy, solid, filled with coins that chimed as they moved.
Cal looked at it, then at the streets outside.
"Okay… new world, new wallet, and a slight chance I don't die in a ditch. Let's see where this rabbit hole goes."