Chapter Two

The morning was barely breaking when Idris received the letter, the kind of early surprise that rarely heralded anything good. The first light of dawn was struggling to push through the heavy cloud cover, and at six a.m., most of the world, at least in his corner of it, was still wrapped in the lingering haze of sleep. Even after years of grueling paramedic hours, Idris had never quite adjusted to the insanity of waking up at this hour. It was still far too early for anyone to be delivering post, let alone for something this… peculiar.

The letter arrived without an envelope, just a folded sheet of paper sealed with an ornate wax emblem that sent a strange chill down his spine. His name was the only marking on the front, no address, no stamps, nothing. Intrigued but skeptical, he paused mid-morning routine—one boot on, one off—and cracked open the seal to unfold the letter.

Idris,

On behalf of the Seelie Queen I am writing to inform you that your presence is hereby requested at Court to discuss the delicate matter of your marriage. Come to us by midnight tonight and you will be rewarded for your cooperation.

Regards,

Nene, attendant to the Queen

Idris blinked. His coffee mug hovered near his lips, the dark liquid forgotten. “Well, that’s new,” he muttered to himself. Scams had certainly taken a strange turn lately, but this was something else. He ripped the seal off the letter and tossed it into his recycling pile, barely sparing it another thought as he slipped his other boot on and grabbed his bag. Midnight? Marriage? It had to be a joke, a prank of some sort, though he couldn’t fathom who would bother to send him something so… elaborate.

Shrugging it off as he had so many absurdities in the past, Idris left for work, the letter now a distant memory. He had more pressing things to think about—namely, the dozens of emergencies he would inevitably be called to handle today. His mind quickly refocused on the morning’s chaos: drunks with broken arms, students injured in silly stunts, and kids falling out of trees like clockwork. It was the usual madness, routine in its unpredictability.

The only real change came in the form of the rookie, Addison, who was driving the ambulance for the first time. Idris had never been one to get carsick, but with her behind the wheel, he was seriously considering carrying motion sickness tablets from now on.

“Oh, this thing has some power!” Addison exclaimed, grinning wildly as she floored the accelerator, the ambulance skidding around a corner with a jarring squeal of tires.

“Yes,” Idris agreed, gripping the armrest as they narrowly missed a parked car. “And it has a lot of expensive medical equipment in the back.”

“I’ve got this, don’t worry,” Addison assured him, her excitement practically palpable as she weaved in and out of traffic.

It was a perfect setup for disaster, and naturally, that was exactly what they were headed into: a fire in the suburbs, likely caused by some idiot playing with roman candles indoors. It was always something like that this time of year. Fireworks and bonfires, all fun for the unthinking masses, but for paramedics, it was an ongoing nightmare. Idris hated Bonfire Night—he would have gladly traded the whole night for a peaceful shift on New Year's Eve if it meant getting to skip the chaos that came with it.

“Dispatch said Woodlands, right? Should I take the bypass?” Addison asked, her eyes sparkling with reckless determination.

“Please,” Idris muttered. The bypass had fewer sharp corners and would give his stomach a much-needed break. He exchanged a glance with Owen, who raised an eyebrow and mimed throwing up.

Idris tried to suppress a chuckle. “Oh, we’re gonna smash our target,” Addison declared as she expertly swerved the ambulance onto the bypass.

“Bet you we beat the firemen,” Owen said, leaning forward to peer through the windshield, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“No way,” Idris laughed. “They’ll be stuck in traffic for sure. We’re already ahead.”

Addison whooped in excitement, clearly enjoying every moment of her first ride as the official driver. Idris couldn’t help but smile despite himself. It was refreshing to have someone with Addison's energy on the team, a change from Owen's constant pessimism and his cynical view of the world. Addison’s enthusiasm reminded him of why he’d joined the paramedics in the first place: to help people, to make a difference, even on the craziest of days.

As they neared the Woodlands estate, however, Idris’s good mood quickly evaporated. The sight of thick, dark smoke rising from a central tower block told him everything he needed to know. This was no small incident.

“Over here!” a woman in an oversized cardigan called frantically, waving them over to where a crowd had gathered. Idris’s stomach dropped. The fire was still raging, and there were at least fifty people milling about in various stages of panic. Fifty, and only three paramedics on site. His mind went into overdrive as he quickly assessed the situation.

“Addison, get these people assessed and organized. Owen, call base, get more crew over here.” Idris’s voice was sharp as he ran toward the crowd, scanning for injuries. His heart sank when he saw the panic-stricken faces around him. There didn’t appear to be any immediate life-threatening injuries, but the smoke inhalation risk was huge, especially with so many people packed in so close.

Before he could reach the first person in the crowd, someone grabbed his sleeve from behind.

“Sara’s still trapped, please, she has her son with her,” a woman pleaded, tugging urgently at his arm.

Idris’s heart skipped a beat. He turned to follow the woman’s frantic gaze, up to a small balcony halfway up the tower block. A hazy figure—a woman, desperately waving—was barely visible in the thick smoke. But there was no sign of her child.

His mind raced. “The firemen will be here any second,” Addison reassured the woman. “Any minute now.”

“They can’t wait,” Idris said, his mind already calculating the quickest way to help. The fire had likely started in Sara’s flat, and with the smoke thickening by the second, Idris knew the child couldn’t survive much longer in those conditions. He couldn’t stand by and do nothing.

“I’m going up there,” he said, his voice firm. He didn’t wait for anyone to argue. Grabbing the emergency rucksack from Addison’s hands, he ran toward the tower block. The scaffolding that clung to the building would take him close enough to the flat, but he didn’t have time to waste. Every second counted.

Idris slung the rucksack over his shoulders and began climbing the scaffolding, his muscles burning with the effort. It wasn’t a difficult climb—not for someone with his years of experience—but every minute spent dangling above the flames made the situation feel more desperate. He made it to the fifth level with relative ease, only to find the next obstacle: the balcony he needed to reach was just out of his direct path, separated by another apartment.

One step at a time, Idris told himself. You haven’t even made it to the first balcony yet.

The gap between the scaffolding and the first balcony was small—only a couple of feet. But it was enough to make Idris hesitate for just a moment, considering his options. The frame of the scaffolding groaned beneath him as he adjusted his grip, calculating the next move. If he could swing himself across to the balcony, he’d land in a crouch, making the jump with minimal impact. The risk was there, but the alternative—waiting—was unacceptable.

Smoke was filtering out of the nearby apartment as well, though it was light compared to what was billowing from Sara’s flat. His heart pounded as he shifted his weight, looking down at the concrete below. From this angle, the distance seemed far greater than it had when he’d been standing on solid ground.

Well, at least there’s already an ambulance here, he thought with a bitter chuckle.

Taking a deep breath, Idris launched himself forward, pushing off from the scaffolding with all his strength. The world around him seemed to slow as he sailed through the air, his arms reaching instinctively for the balcony railing. His feet caught on nothing but air for a heartbeat before his fingers locked around the cold metal.

He gritted his teeth, feet scrambling for purchase against the sheer wall of the building. The impact of his landing reverberated through his body, but he held on with everything he had. He heard Owen's voice below, cheering him on, and Addison shouting words of encouragement interspersed with frantic commands to hold on.

Idris could barely hear them over the roaring sound of blood pounding in his ears.

With effort, he hauled himself up, using every muscle to swing his body onto the balcony. He landed in a crouch, gasping for breath. Adrenaline coursed through him as he quickly scanned the area. He spotted the child first, his small form curled up on the floor, eyes wide with fear, his face covered in a thin layer of soot.

Idris didn't waste a second. He grabbed the first oxygen mask from his rucksack and gently placed it over the little boy’s face, reassuring him with a steady hand. The boy’s breathing was shallow, his eyes starting to flutter in and out of consciousness. Idris quickly moved to Sara, handing her another oxygen mask before slipping his own over his face.

A suffocating heat radiated from the apartment behind them, the fire growing fiercer by the second. The smoke thickened, swirling in dark clouds, making it hard to see much beyond the hazy outline of the building. Idris could feel the sweat trickling down his neck, stinging his eyes, but he kept his focus on the mother and child, trying to keep them calm while they waited for rescue.

"Close your eyes," Idris urged Sara softly, his voice muffled by the mask. She nodded, her eyes watering with relief as she clutched her son closer to her chest.

Idris kept his own eyes open, scanning the surroundings for any signs of further danger. The seconds stretched on as if time itself had slowed, but all he could do was wait. Every breath was a struggle, every second of smoke inhalation a risk. But this was his job.

Minutes later, the screech of a fire truck’s ladder rang through the air, followed by the rush of firefighters climbing up to rescue them. A pair of hands reached out for the boy, and Idris passed him over, his hands shaking from the strain of it all. He then helped Sara onto the ladder, guiding her gently as she clutched her child, both of them now tethered to safety.

Idris followed them down the ladder, his movements shaky but purposeful. The moment he set foot on solid ground, he ripped his oxygen mask off and tried to blink the smoke from his eyes. He could hear Owen and Addison’s voices behind him, their excitement palpable as they congratulated him.

"That was pretty damn cool," Owen whistled, watching Idris land on the ground.

"So cool," a teenager—one of the victims they’d attended to—chimed in, giving a half-hearted thumbs up. "Like Spiderman, but like, slightly worse."

Idris gave them a playful grin, though his throat was raw from inhaling the smoke. "Worse than Spiderman, huh? I’ll put that on my business cards." He coughed and chuckled, his throat aching from the dry burn of the fumes. "Damnit, I hate fire jobs."

"Only slightly worse," the teen corrected, and Idris, too tired to argue, just gave a nod.

“Who’s left to check?” Idris asked Owen, eager to wrap things up.

“We’re good,” Owen replied, glancing around at the scene. “Second crew showed up right on time. Addison’s got the grannies over there on oxygen, and we’ve got a kid who fell down the stairs. Besides your two, we’re pretty casualty-light.”

Idris exhaled a relieved sigh. "Nice," he said, whistling through his teeth. "Celebratory beers tonight, then?"

"Celebratory gins," Addison corrected with a grin, appearing from the crowd. "I’ve been looking for a reason to break out that bottle I got for my birthday, and I think my driving saving the day is a damned good reason."

Idris laughed, his spirits lifting as the tension of the day slowly ebbed away. "I like your thinking," he said, grinning. "But let’s just make sure we’re out of here before Elena starts asking questions."

It had been an exhausting shift, but it was almost over. They only had a few more minutes before their rest days began, and they were due for some well-earned relaxation. They all had their own ways of unwinding, but Idris felt confident that a cold drink and a few laughs with the team were exactly what he needed.

As they walked back toward the ambulance, the sound of a fire truck’s sirens grew distant, and Idris could finally breathe a little easier. His thoughts briefly flickered to the strange letter, but it was quickly pushed aside. There were more important things on his mind right now.

That was, until a familiar voice interrupted his fleeting peace.

“Idris, you idiot.”

Idris froze, his hand still on the door of the ambulance, and turned to see Elena standing in front of him. Her jacket was undone, her helmet tucked under her arm, and her gaze was sharp as ever.

“I know I should have waited for you, but—” Idris started, but Elena cut him off with a smirk.

“You brilliant idiot,” she grinned, delivering a playful punch to his shoulder. “You saved those two from some nasty lung damage, by the sounds of it.”

Idris couldn’t suppress a relieved sigh, grateful that she was at least acknowledging his actions with a bit of humor.

“Hey, Kayla,” Addison called over, “when’s your shift end? We’re breaking open the gin at mine this evening. Wanna come? Bring Elena if she’s free, too.”

Elena raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Sure we won't cramp your style, kiddo?"

“Nah, Owen’s already got that covered.” Addison laughed, casting a sideways glance at their colleague. Owen made a noise somewhere between disgruntled and resigned.

“I think we’ll pass,” Elena said, glancing at Idris. “But speaking of my darling wife, you three’d be wise not to mention Idris’s heroics to her. You know what she’s like with her risk assessments.”

Idris nodded dutifully, miming zipping his lips. He gave Elena a brief hug, then turned back toward the ambulance, eager to finish the day in peace.

But as he reached for his bag, Elena’s voice cut through the air again.

“I heard you let Addison try driving today. How did that turn out?”

Idris couldn’t help but grin as he shut his locker and hoisted his rucksack over his shoulder. “She’s quick, boss,” he said, trying to play it off. “If a little rough around the edges.”

“Next shift, I want her driving as default,” Elena said, eyes narrowing playfully. "We’ll see how your times compare after. I know you’ve always been good at hitting your targets, Idris, but it never hurts to up the game a little."

“Oh, I’m gonna smash those targets,” Addison chimed in, popping up from her locker.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Elena said, smiling as she reached over to flick Owen’s shoulder. Owen grunted in response and buried his head back inside his locker.

“And speaking of notes…” Elena turned back to Idris, her smile turning sly. “I would prefer it if you didn’t get your personal mail directed here, but I’ll let it slide just this once.” She handed him a thin sheet of paper, pale in color, the only marking on it his name. “Good work today, team. I’ll see you later.”

She was gone before Idris could respond, leaving him standing there, staring at the letter that had once again appeared in his life.

“Love letter,” Owen assessed, pulling his head out of his locker as soon as Elena had walked away. “Probably that nurse who saw you help deliver that baby the other week. I told you she was making eyes at you during the handover.” “It’s a scam,” Idris muttered, already recognizing the seal on the paper. It matched the one he’d received earlier that morning, the same strange emblem that had triggered a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Not even going to open it? Go on, it looks fancy.” Idris sighed, his fingers skimming over the wax seal before tearing it open with a deliberate motion. The letter was longer than the first, and to his surprise, there was a coin affixed to the bottom, a small disc of gold that seemed oddly out of place. Idris’ eyes flicked over the first few lines, but his thoughts scrambled as the words set off an odd alarm bell in his head. If this was a scam, it was definitely one that took an unsettling amount of effort.

Idris,

Our deepest apologies: we overlooked several factors in our last letter, and we hope to provide more detail to persuade you that what we say is no trick. We know that this may seem fantastical to you, but trust us, we never lie.

Twenty-five years ago, you met a boy in a park—a boy whom you married on a childish whim. It is our solemn duty to inform you that such a marriage is seen as lawfully binding in our eyes, and that your husband, who you may know as "Tam," now wishes for an annulment. We would greatly appreciate your cooperation in this matter, and as we promised before, you will be compensated handsomely for your time. We attach but a small token of our gratitude as proof of our honesty and hope to welcome you to our Court as soon as you are able.

The portal is located in the pond of the park in which you bound your life to Tamriel’s: come alone, Idris, for this is no one’s business but your own.

Yours,

The letter was signed with a flourish of lines so numerous and intricate that they resembled a tangled web of vines. The name was completely illegible.

“Dude, gold.” Owen had already snatched the coin and was twisting it between his fingers, examining it with a mix of disbelief and curiosity before biting down on it.

“Seems legit,” he said, handing it to Idris. “Though god knows where it came from.”

Idris ran his fingers over the spot on the letter where the coin had been affixed. There was no adhesive, no catch, no visible trickery—nothing to explain how the coin stayed attached to the paper. It didn’t even have a mark on it, a blank circle of gold with a sheen that seemed almost unnatural. Idris could have sworn that static electricity might have been the only thing holding it there.

“What do you make of this?” Idris asked, handing the letter to Owen. Owen scanned it quickly.

“Maybe not a scam, but for sure a prank. I mean, no way you could’ve gotten married when you were, what, five?”

“But I did,” Idris replied, his voice quieter than he intended. “You know, just a stupid kid thing. That’s now apparently legally binding.”

“Well, at least we know who sent it—must be this ‘Tam.’ Probably wants money from you.”

“But how did he find me?” Idris asked, his voice tinged with something between suspicion and dread. “He didn’t even know my full name. How would he know where I work?

And why now?” The question lingered in the air like an unspoken threat. He hated how much of it felt real. There was something about the letter that gnawed at his gut, something that made his stomach churn uneasily.

“Idris,” Owen said, his tone gentle but firm. “Just forget it. Come on, it’s been one hell of a shift, and we both need a shower before we’re fit to go to Addison’s. If it’s really something important, Tam will find you himself.”

Owen was probably right. Idris hated it when Owen was right. He sighed, stuffing the letter into his jacket pocket. Things always got blurry at the end of a shift block, and the line between dreams and reality blurred too easily. The only cure was a solid twelve hours of sleep and a stiff drink or two.

“Tomorrow,” Idris decided, a mental promise to himself that he’d look at the letter again when he wasn’t so tired.

But the nagging feeling never left. It was only when he was floating in the half-conscious space of his bus ride home that he found himself thinking about it again. The letter was heavy in his pocket, its presence practically calling out to him, demanding to be examined. Idris clenched his fist, trying to suppress the feeling, but the itch in his brain refused to let go. It was as if the letter itself wanted to be read, wanted to pull him back in.

Once home, he showered, changed, and mindlessly pulled the letter from his jacket, shoving it into his jeans pocket. The moment he realized what he had done, he stopped, pulling it out again. What was happening to him today? Why couldn’t he let this go? Idris hadn’t thought about Tam in years, and could barely recall that day in the park at all. But now, with the letter weighing so heavily on his mind, the memory seemed to shift, flickering like a broken record.

Flickers of that day crept back to him—laughter from a child’s carefree voice, the pale hand of another boy in his, the still surface of a pond where no ripples disturbed the water, and the way a blade of grass had become a ring, simple yet strangely binding. It felt surreal, like a dream—a memory so distant, so ethereal, and yet the weight of it pressed down on him now.

Idris had never thrown the ring away, he remembered suddenly. He had tucked it into the back of his bedside drawer years ago, forgetting about it as time passed, as everything seemed to fade.

He should check, he told himself, but a voice in his head answered, No, you shouldn’t.

Shaking his head, he tried to push the thoughts aside, but there was no escaping them now. With a resigned sigh, he pulled out his phone and glanced at the time. He had about an hour before he was due at Addison’s place. Enough time to nap, to try and reset, to stop this madness. A nap was the rational choice.

But Idris’ hands were already moving, pulling on his jacket and heading for the door, a pull he couldn’t explain but couldn’t deny.

That’s how he found himself on a bus to his parents’ house, the familiar landscape blurring outside the window as he tried to make sense of the chaos in his mind. He loved his parents, sure, but there came a point in a man’s life when living so close to them just wasn’t the easiest arrangement. Idris was an adult now, and his mother’s surprise visits, her unannounced cups of coffee, were starting to feel less like acts of love and more like an invasion of his personal space. Still, at least they didn’t question him when he showed up on their doorstep out of nowhere.

“While you’re up there, take a look at the shirts I left out on your bed,” his mother called from the kitchen, her voice carrying up the stairs after him. “I brought them as a gift for your father before I realized how much weight he’s put on.”

Sure enough, there were two shirts laid out on Idris’s bed when he stepped into his childhood room: one a garish orange with pin-tucks that he immediately dismissed with a quiet groan, and another a much more palatable sky-blue with short sleeves, a comfortable choice. Beneath the shirts, a couple of pairs of socks were neatly folded, and a pack of animal print boxers with a neon “70% off” sticker caught his eye. His mum had never been able to resist a good bargain, no matter how eccentric the item.

Idris pushed the clothes aside absentmindedly, the familiar fabric and scents of his old room failing to bring the comfort they usually did. Instead, there was a gnawing feeling deep inside him, a weight that had nothing to do with the clothes, but everything to do with the letter still sitting in his jacket. That letter in his pocket felt like a weight on his chest, pressing him in ways he couldn’t quite explain.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, trying to force some calm into his racing thoughts.

He could stop this now. He could just leave the ring in the drawer, forget about it all, and head to Addison’s as if nothing had happened, as if nothing was calling him back to the past. His mind screamed for him to forget it, to move on, but something kept pulling at him, some unseen force he couldn’t quite shake.

He reached for the drawer.

The ring was where he had left it, tucked at the back behind his old journal and half-finished lip-balm tins, just as he remembered. It was almost absurd that it hadn’t decayed by now, given the years it had spent forgotten. As he pulled it into the light, it seemed impossibly fresh, impossibly green and the tiny leaves that had once wound around the band were as vibrant as they had been all those years ago.

This shouldn’t be possible. Magic didn’t exist. Idris knew it, had believed it for years. Yet, here it was—an object from his past that defied reason, a token from a boy he barely remembered, a piece of his childhood that seemed to carry an odd weight of something far more than simple nostalgia.

The impulse to return to the park was immediate, undeniable. It wouldn’t hurt to look, at least. He could prove to himself that there was nothing magical about the pond, that everything had been a childish fantasy. The park was practically on his way to Addison’s, just a short walk. He’d pass by, see that it was all normal—no magic, no strange happenings—and then he’d move on with his life. It wasn’t even out of the way.

Idris shoved the ring into his pocket and made his way downstairs. His mother’s voice echoed from the kitchen as he passed, her words warm and familiar, like the embrace of a well-worn blanket.

“Did you find what you’re looking for?” she asked as he made his way down the stairs, the new clothes in his hand, the ring pressing against his side in his pocket.

“Yes, thank you,” Idris said, though the words felt strange in his mouth. He pulled his mum into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, feeling her arms squeeze around him like she always did when she was making sure he knew he was loved.

She let him go, then pulled back with a sharp look in her eyes. “Are you sure you don’t need to take anything to Addison’s? I have some bjawia left over, or one of those big packs of those fancy crisps you like.”

“No, Mama, it’s fine.”

His mother didn’t seem convinced. Without a word, she marched off into the kitchen, and a moment later, reappeared with a large packet of crisps in one hand and a canvas bag in the other. “I did not raise you to be a guest in other people’s homes without bringing something. Take the crisps. They’re your favorite.”

They were his favorite, but the way his mother said it, so firm and decisive, made it clear that even if they weren’t, they’d better be by the time she finished.

“Thank you, Mama,” Idris said dutifully, placing the crisps and clothes into the bag. “I’ll see you later.” He let her pull him into another tight hug, and then, with some effort, he extracted himself from her arms.

“Come round any time,” she called after him, her voice sweet as he stepped out into the brisk evening air. “I will,” he called back, though he knew next time, he’d definitely message beforehand. Maybe, just maybe, one day, that would rub off on her too.

Idris jammed his hands into his jeans pockets as he made his way toward the park, his mind still buzzing. It’s fine. It was just a stupid ring, a stupid memory. There was no harm in checking. Besides, he was already out of the house, and he didn’t want to face Addison's with the lingering weight of this nonsense on his mind.

But the truth was, as he walked through the familiar streets, the evening air sharp in his lungs, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was walking toward something he wasn’t prepared for. That strange, hollow feeling in his stomach had deepened into an insistent pull, something he couldn’t ignore.

By the time he reached the park, it was almost pitch black. The only light was the faint moon overhead and the scattered, dim glow of streetlamps. Idris had walked this path so many times before in his youth that it almost felt like muscle memory, and yet now, everything felt different. The world seemed quieter, the usual hum of activity and distant chatter replaced by an unsettling stillness.

His hands tightened into fists in his pockets as he made his way toward the pond. It wasn’t a bad neighborhood, not really, but it never hurt to stay alert, especially in places like this after dark.

He stood at the edge of the pond, staring at the water. The place looked… wrong. The surface was unnervingly calm, despite the gentle breeze that rustled the trees overhead. He’d thrown a rock in the pond all those years ago, and he could still remember how it had sunk without making a splash, how the water had remained perfectly still. The memory felt distant, like something half-remembered from a dream.

Idris reached into his pocket and pulled out a decent-sized rock, tossing it into the pond. It sank with a disturbing silence, vanishing into the water without so much as a ripple.

This isn’t right.

His pulse quickened. He crouched down, reaching out his hand to touch the water. He expected to feel the cool dampness, the weight of the liquid against his skin, but instead, it felt… dry. He swirled his hand around, baffled by the lack of moisture. Then, in a moment of absurd curiosity, he pushed his entire hand into the water.

It didn’t get wet.

He pulled it back out again, staring at his dry hand, utterly confused. The water hadn’t even clung to his skin. There was no trace of wetness, no damp sensation that would come from touching a body of water, no matter how still.

It was as if the pond didn’t even exist.

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” Idris muttered to the night, his voice tinged with reluctant humor, though there was no real amusement in it. He straightened up from where he had crouched by the water’s edge, casting one last look at the eerie calm of the pond. He’d crossed every line of common sense by coming here, but it was too late now. That gnawing pull deep inside him had led him to this moment, and all he could do was continue forward and see where it led.

With hesitant steps, Idris inched his way into the pond. The ground beneath his feet was solid, unwavering, and as he took another step, he felt no moisture. No splash. No trickle of water. The surface seemed to shimmer faintly, but it wasn’t wet.

Another step.

Then another.

It was absurd, his mind telling him to stop, yet his body pressed forward, propelled by something deeper than curiosity now—something that felt more like compulsion. He was in too deep. What’s the worst that could happen? he tried to convince himself. That’s when the ground suddenly gave way beneath him.

Idris stumbled, his heart racing as he found himself falling—falling through the water, through empty space, through a void that seemed to swallow everything around him. His breath caught, panic rising in his chest, but then—

He wasn’t falling anymore.

He was standing.

Confused, Idris looked down at his feet, half-expecting to see the pond’s water lapping around his ankles. Instead, he stood in the middle of a forest, the sun filtering softly through the canopy of trees above, casting dappled light onto the forest floor. The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. His first instinct was to pinch himself, but he was too disoriented to make any sense of what was happening.

He turned his head, eyes flicking to the ground. A small cluster of pebbles lay scattered around his feet, and beside them, the very same rock he had thrown into the pond just moments ago. He bent down, his fingers brushing over it, still warm from where it had passed through the strange water. His heart hammered faster, panic welling up in his throat.

This couldn’t be real.

This wasn’t real.

He took a step back, his breath quickening as he spun around to face the surroundings. The air seemed still, unnervingly quiet, like the world was holding its breath. And then, right before him, was a shimmering wall—no, not a wall, but a surface—of water, except it was vertical, as though the pond had turned sideways and became a barrier separating him from the world he had just left behind. He reached out tentatively toward it, fingers grazing the shimmering surface. It rippled but didn’t part, as though it were a sheet of glass with no intention of yielding.

“Fuck,” Idris breathed, the words escaping him in a rasp. He wasn’t sure what he was seeing anymore. Nothing about this made sense, and yet it felt real. He stumbled backward, his heart now thundering in his chest. Was this magic? Was he dreaming?

Another snap of a twig behind him froze him in place. He whipped around, instinctively bracing himself for something—anything. His breath caught in his throat when his eyes locked onto a figure standing not far off. A man, tall and commanding in his posture, wearing a tunic that blended with the wild colors of the forest. His features were striking, almost otherworldly—sharply pointed ears, a proud, angular nose, a face that didn’t belong here. But it wasn’t his face that held Idris’s attention.

It was his eyes.

Tam's eyes.

Idris’s pulse spiked as recognition surged through him. Those were the same eyes—the same deep turquoise-tinged gray, a color that had haunted his dreams for years. A flicker of disbelief ran through him. He knew that face. He knew that gaze. There was no mistaking it.

“T-Tam?” Idris stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

The man—the boy from his memories—looked up, his expression cautious but not unfamiliar. His eyes softened with recognition too, and for a moment, there was something like hesitation in the way he stood. He wasn’t just staring at Idris like a stranger; there was something else in his gaze—an understanding, as if he had been waiting for this moment for a long time.

“I suppose you have questions,” Tam said, his voice low, measured, and almost… apologetic.

Idris stood frozen, his heart pounding, a hundred questions firing through his mind. Where was he? What was happening? How was this possible? And most importantly: Why was Tam here, in front of him, like this, when he’d barely thought about him in years? Hadn’t thought about him at all until the letter, until the ring, until the magic that seemed to have dragged him into this impossible situation.

But Tam… Tam was here. And as absurd as everything felt, Idris couldn’t shake the deep, twisted pull in his gut, the feeling that this was where he was meant to be, that somehow, everything had been leading him to this very moment.

Idris opened his mouth to speak, but the words tangled in his throat, the confusion too thick to allow him any real answers. Instead, he reached up to pull the ring from his pocket. The cool metal felt heavy in his hand, like a key to something he wasn’t ready to unlock. Something he wasn’t sure he could handle.

Tam’s eyes flickered to the ring, and something passed across his face—something Idris couldn’t quite place, something heavy, like regret or resignation.

“It’s been a long time,” Tam murmured, almost as if to himself, before he stepped forward. “And a lot has happened since we were... last together.”