There's a bamboo garden behind my home. It's not mine— I don't think it's anybody's. It just sprung up one summer and nobody bothered to question it. The neighbors on the other side of the fence built a traditional fish pond to make the most of the change. I see them meditating out there every now and again. An old man and lady, both of whom grew up in traditional households. It's a format of life, I realize, and that's why they choose to live it. Some people have embraced the modern times, engrossing themselves in popular culture or even just caving

in and buying a new iPad. But there's still those few people who don't, who reserve themselves by choice. They don't get mad at the changing times, nor do they file into the most recent craze. They just live. I can appreciate that, not that I'd ever be able to mimic it. I'm too poor for that. If I don't stay just ahead of the trends, I'd probably be out on the streets. Such is the life of an illustrator, I suppose. And not everyone takes change all too well.

'This's gotten a little out of hand,' I think to myself. I look out my back window at the mess of tall shoots that've nearly doubled my one-story house in height. They've grown all the way up from my fence line and now rub up against the house's side shingles. I haven't gone down into the cellar for a few years, but I wouldn't be surprised if I found dozens of little sprouts sticking out from between the cracks in the brick floor.

With a sigh, I decide it's probably time to cut it back a bit. The only problem is that if I were to do it on my own, I'd probably end up accidentally dropping it on mine or one of the neighbors' houses. But if I were to call a service to come do it, that'd cost money that I don't even have— and it'd grow back by next spring.

I slump back down into my chair. I find myself in those kinds of predicaments often lately. I finally decide I have to do something, and then turn away upon realizing I have no money. Maybe that's why I'm still single... And a virgin... And utterly alone.

I look to my running computer, a blue-lit LED fan casting a dim blue glow on the back wall. It's old, back from when I lived at my parents' place. But now they're divorced and I'm a college dropout, so this's really all I have left. That, and a drawing tablet I got as a present from the author I work for.

The tablet is open to my latest project, a sequel to the moderately successful series of which I never knew the name, nor have I bothered to look it up. When messaging me, the author would simply refer to it as X; X^2, in this case. But I do know the character names; Pierce is a haughty wisecracking teen with a cool sword I designed myself. He's joined by Lilith, a girl the author insisted had to be "very, very cute," with few more descriptors. So I drew them as I thought they should look, and he took them. But now he wants me to draw this new mysterious character silhouetted in the light of the setting sun, standing triumphant over a dragon's corpse with a giant katana hoisted over his shoulder. I've made multiple attempts at him now, but none of them fit quite right. The author never gave a name, nor much of a personality, so I've been honestly struggling with it for a few days.

I reach to the speakers that reside just behind my main monitor, turning the volume down of whatever it is I'm listening to with the tips of my fingers. It's lo-fi, basic stuff without any words. I use it whenever I'm working because it's not really distracting, and gives me something to ponder while my hand basically melds with the electronic pen.

The music suddenly cuts out. I look up. The monitor's gone blank, and so has my drawing tablet. The light my computer had cast has disappeared. I look out the window, but can clearly see the television on another of my neighbors' houses. Since this whole block's on the same grid, that means I've either forgotten to pay my electricity bill, or I've blown the fuse. Since I've demanded so much of the old thing for so long, it's no wonder it couldn't take any more.

A buzzing of my phone snaps me to attention. Taking it out of my pocket, I see that I'm being called by the author himself.

"Hello?" I say into the mic.

"Hi! Hola—! Namaste—! it's Chen!" he says. His voice always comes off as overly-ecstatic for no particular reason. He's the kind of person who naturally sounds like they've had a little too much espresso in one sitting. Maybe that's why he gets his works out so quick. "How's the progress on the next panel?"

I decide to run with a little white lie for the sake of giving myself a break. "Sorry, my power's out at the moment. Might be a while before it's back on, and all my work's stuck on my computer. I'll get it to you as soon as it's back."

"No worries, but I've got the next panel idea for you," he replies. "Can I send it to you now? You can get to it whenever you're ready, just remember that I've gotta get this out before the end of the year."

"Sure," I sigh. "Is it the last one?"

"Hells yeah! After this, Number Two's headed straight to the publishers!" he says. "This one's gonna be good, I'm tellin' ya! Speaking of which— how'd you like the first?"

"…U-Uh, yeah— it was great," I sputter. "Listen, I should hang up. Gotta save battery on my phone... You know how it is."

"Ahh, I totally getcha! Hey, I'll send you a copy just before it hits the print, alright? Just don't go selling' it, yeah? Hahah, jk. Seeya— Err, hear ya' later bro!" He hangs up.

I recline my chair as far back as possible and let my arms fall limp out to each side. I guess I should probably figure out what book he's talking about.

The fuse box is located in the cellar. Speak of the devil, right? So I flip on the switch— only to remember the reason I'm going down there in the first place. I slowly make my way to the door that leads to the musty stairwell. I twist open the door, and begin down the stairs.

I'm still going down. I don't remember the stairs being this long. The dim daylight no longer reaches me. I look back and the door is still really close, like I've only taken a few steps. And yet when I look back down, it's like I've been walking for almost ten minutes. An idea pops into my head, and I flip my phone out of my pocket. I switch something on, and the flashlight suddenly flickers to life. I point it down at about a forty-five degree angle, where I'm assuming the bottom lies. Only... the light shines down for multiple steps, and I still can't see the bottom. A feeling of unease crawls down my back and I quickly shut the light off. I turn to head back up the stairs, but the door is gone. I turn the flashlight back on. Only more stairs. I'm in a pitch-black stairwell with nothing but rickety stairs for as far as the eye can see which, granted, isn't all that far. I start to sprint back up as fast as I can, but by the time I'm huffing and puffing and red in the face I still can't see the top.

"What kinda sick joke is this—?" I mutter to myself. I turn around and take a single step down... only to find that my foot has touched solid ground. I put my other foot down. Yup, I've hit the bottom. I recognize the gross texture of rough concrete under my bare feet. Even the old broom I threw down a few weeks ago is here, but I only know that because I stub my toe on it as I pass. I curse and kick it aside.

I'm walking now. It's the same thing as the stairs. Even with the flashlight I can't see the end. When I walk back to where the broom lies, the stairs are gone. So I start walking again— walking in one direction while I lightly trace my hand against the slightly moist wall. I've decided that this is all a dream, and that I'll wake up when I'm ready. So until then, walking is all I'll do. It's all I'll do. it's all I'll...

I realize I've removed my hand from the wall. I try to reposition myself, only I can no longer find it. The wall is completely gone, as well. With no more bearings, I can't help but drop to my knees in defeat. I flip open my phone and navigate to the compass app— which seems unable to point north without abruptly changing directions. The time still works though. It shows I've been down here for over two hours. Last time I checked it was eleven o' clock, and now it's half past one.

Was I really down here that long...?

I just can't think straight.

"Hello—?!" I call, to no response. "Hello-o—!" I repeat. The echo seems to drift on forever. I scramble to my feet and start running again. It's a desperate run at this point. I just want to get out of here. It's not a dream, I now know, because otherwise my feet wouldn't hurt like hell. I'm not just going to call it off as some kinda phenomenon, nor magic— but I'm not dismissing the possibility, either. At this point, anything's possible.

I'm lying on my back. I have no idea how I got this way. The darkness is consuming me, stripping me of my will to move forward. If only I could just—

"Who goes there—?"

I look up. There's a light far off in the distance. But it's getting closer without my moving. It's a door, an old wooden door swung wide open. I stand up. It approaches closer still. I start running. It approaches faster. Blinded by the light, I reach out when suddenly—

I'm falling now. Far below me I see a whole world, spanning further than my eyes can perceive. I see lakes, sparkling blue with the purest of water. I see forests, lush and green. I see mountains, tall and looming, cold and yet alluring. I see deserts, vast and dry. But more than that, I see cities— civilizations dotting the open fields, or surrounded by forest, or carved into the mountains themselves. I'm too far up, so I can't see much of the details, but the blurry images that even hint at civilization are enough for me. A sense of joy washes over me, and I feel—

But the joy quickly disappears when my senses snap to, and I realize I'm falling out of the sky at terminal velocity without a parachute. My body starts to twist, and I can do little but let go as I quickly spiral out of control, doing flips outside of my own volition. I'm starting to feel sick, the contents of my stomach being sloshed around like a clothing washer. I tuck my head into my chest and hope it to be over soon.

I'm no longer falling. I'm lying in some sort of short grass, with no recollection as to how I got here— how I went from falling at terminal velocity, to sitting peacefully in what I believe to be an open meadow.

"I said— who goes there?"

I look up. An armored figure stands menacingly above me. Their plate is a shiny silver with red crosses painted on either shoulder. Their helmet is secured firmly to their head, so I can't tell whatsoever who is behind it. I then question who, outside of a really dedicated cosplayer, would ever be seen in full armor. My head's still fuzzy, and I can't make sense of much as I am, so I decide to close my eyes. I suddenly feel a sharp pain in my side as they kick me back awake. I jolt up in surprise, accidentally letting out a pitiful yelp in the process. But before I can do anything else, I find a sword's tip placed firmly to my throat. The armored figure, still looming over me, points the weapon with a god-awful sense of malice emanating from their very being. I feel something trickle down my neck and I realize the blade has lightly punctured my skin.

"How, may I ask, did you manage to wiggle your pitiful self into this manor's grounds?" asks the guard in a condescending tone.

"I-I-I'd say exactly what happened, b-but something tells me you won't believe me," I sputter. I raise my hands in surrender. "You see, I—" The blade is pressed harder to my throat, and I reel backwards.

"No lies," they warn.

"Alright, alright," I whimper. "I fell out of the sky, and wound up here."

Their armor stands there, unmoving. I can't tell what they're thinking, mostly because I can't see remotely anything that confirms them as even human.

They drag me out of there, them and another just like them, and throw me swiftly out into the street. The gate closes with a loud clang behind them.

So what I'd found myself in wasn't actually a meadow at all— just a front yard of some sort. I see this now. The house, or what's more along the lines of a mansion, is gated all the way around and guarded by at least a dozen people in identical armor. The house, old almost medieval in design is just one of the oddities that now fall before me.

Like a scene straight out of the books I've worked on prior, I find myself in the middle of a sprawling, bustling fantasy city. The streets, all cobblestone and brick, are crowded by hundreds of passing pedestrians. Large caravans ride by, all pulled by various types of strange creatures I've never seen before. And the buildings— I'd say they're absolutely stunning, but that hardly does them justice. Each building is one, two, or even three stories tall. They're well made, built of yellow, red, gray brick as well as solid wood beams for support. They're houses, marketplaces, taverns, inns— an honest to god fantasy city... A fantasy world. And I've been plopped right in the middle of it!

"Does this mean I'm destined to be— a hero?" I say to myself. "Why else am I here? I know I shouldn't get my hopes up, but— M-Maybe... I'm in a video game...?! Battling dragons, saving princesses—! Jeez, what am I, twelve again?"

But I can't help it. It's every geek's dream to be swept away into a full-fledged fantasy world. And while I'd probably have been way more into it in my teens, there's no denying I'm still the same hopeless kid on the inside.

"Excuse me..."

"Hm—?" I turn to the side.

A young woman looks up at me. She wears a simple blue-cloth dress and a white shawl. She is particularly pretty, with simple yet elegant slim features and a perfect face like a porcelain doll. Her eyes are stagnant and unimpressed, but even through it I can't help but admire them.

"Excuse me..." she mutters again. "Might you... stop staring at me now?"

"...O-Oh—!" I quickly jolt my eyes away. "S-Sorry..."

"As well as..." She looks off to the side.

I turn to follow her gaze. I then realize I'm standing in the middle of the street, and several caravans are parked not far from me with angry stagecoach drivers glaring daggers at me.

I quickly step off to the side-street to let them pass. The young woman nods appreciatively and gets back into one of the carriages towards the back of the line. I can tell she's purposefully trying not to look my way now. I can't help but feel a little hurt, and embarrassed all at once. Not really knowing what else to do, I give something of a pitiful wave as the first few carts begin to take off again. Before they turn the corner, I'm pushed away by an oncoming pedestrian, brushed up against another. I'm swept away by the crowd, leaving me no choice but to continue onward with seldom idea of what I'm meant to do.

I hang defeatedly over an arched railing that lines a bridge, watching dully as the crystal clear water lazily flows past.

"Some 'new world' experience this's turning out to be," I breathe. My arms still hurt from being grabbed by those silvery guards. I don't even know how I got there in the first place. And now I'm being stared at by a bunch of people from the tavern across the street. Yeah, I might get stabbed soon.

"What's with these clothes?"

I look under the holes between the stone rails to see a good few pairs of small legs standing behind mine.

"Who cares? See if he's got any money on him!"

I stand up and turn around, scowling with the ferocity of a thousand suns. The group of kids, four in all, cautiously take a step back. They all wear grubby worn down clothes with patches of what look like twined potato sack squares intermittently sewn into the fabric. Most of their faces, two boys and two girls, are grimy and smeared with dirt.

"Say again, you little brats?" I mutter. I take a step towards them. "I'm in a real shitty mood, so you'd better back off."

The kid in the back stirs. He's the tallest of them, probably ten years old with tan skin and spiky brown hair. He's shirtless, but wears a ragged red scarf around his neck. He's shaking, I notice. His teeth are clenched. He reaches a hand behind his back and slowly reveals an ornate dagger, and though it's rusted it could easily still cut flesh.

"I really don't like kids," I mutter. "They're smelly, messy, loud— Almost makes me cry at the fact that they'll eventually be trusted with the future itself."

"Alright, mister! N-Now I'm serious!" hollers the tallest boy. "Hand over all your money! Come on, I-I'm not afraid!"

I look around. It's not like there aren't any people near me, they just seem to be purposely turning a blind eye. I turn my gaze back to the grubby kids. The tallest one seems to be holding the knife loosely, a sure sign he's not remotely a threat. So I pinch the broad tip of the blade and pull it out of his grasp before he can tighten his grip. I toss it up in the air a bit and have it land in my hand. Honestly it's a total coincidence the knife landed the way it did. I could very well have accidentally stabbed myself just then. But I play it off, and make it look intentional.

"H-Hey! Give it back!" the tallest one shouts, stumbling forward in a reaching motion.

"Now you know not to steal from strangers," I say, holding the knife out of his reach.

"No fair!" he yells, hopping to try to take it back.

"You know what? I'm gonna keep this," I mutter. "It's a little rough around the edges, but I wouldn't mind."

"N-No, please don't—!"

"What did we learn here?" I say.

The other kids are trying to pull him back now.

"Lyle! Let's just go!" whimpers one of the girls.

"It's not worth it! Come on!" says the other boy.

"We have to go!" cries the second girl.

They pull with all their might, but he holds strong. I look down to the tallest boy, who has almost burst into tears.

"It's mine! Don't take it away from me!" the boy exclaims. He pounds on my chest and pulls at my clothes.

"Jesus, what the hell's the matter with you?" I shout, shoving him off with one final push. He reels back and ends up sending them all tumbling to the ground. "Seriously! You try to steal from me, and then you break down when someone else takes from you? Do you get what's happening here? Huh?"

"It's... It's mine..." snivels the boy. He sits on his knees with his hands clenched at his side. I can tell it's taking all his might not to burst into tears. "You... You can't have it... It's... It's mine...!"

I sigh, mentally kicking myself in the butt for being such a soft-ass. I take a knee and slowly let out my hand, the hand that still holds the knife. The boy looks to me cautiously and carefully retrieves the knife from my hand.

He sniffles. "I-I'm... I'm sorry for—"

"Don't worry about it," I say. "You look like a good kid. You never had it in you to hurt me. And that isn't a bad thing, either."

The kid nods. He returns the knife behind his back, and clasps his hands in his lap when he's done.

I stand up. "Well, I'd better leave. Not that I have any idea where I'm going. Try not to threaten anybody else for money, from now on. Trust me, it won't get you far."

"H-Hey, Mister—?" The kid stands up alongside me. "Who... are you?"

"Me? The name's— um..."

Something tells me my real name won't hold up all that well here. Everyone around me looks undeniably Caucasian— or whatever this world's equivalent is.

"—Cyr. Yeah, Cyr," I finally say.

"W-Well, what are you, then?"

I tilt my head in thought. "Um... Human, I guess."

I've never been asked what I am before.

The kid smiles. He points a thumb to his chest. "I'm Lyle, the leader. I'm human, too."

"You kids really change on the flip of a dime, don't you...?" I mutter.

A girl steps forward. She has to be no older than eight. She has straight brown hair and wide, bright green eyes, and is by far the least filthy of the four. "I'm Lilly! And I'm an elf!" she exclaims. She turns to the side and shows her ears. They're quite pointed, which I hadn't noticed earlier. There's no doubt that she's a real elf. I hold back the geek in me to maintain the composure I've held thus far.

The second boy steps forward. "My name's Raymond, but you can call me Pug. I'm a human, just like you and Lyle!" He's much shorter than Lyle and a small bit chubbier as well. He's maybe a year younger at the most. He has wild orangish hair that's cropped just above his line of vision, and glancing brown eyes above rosy yet mud-smeared cheeks.

"Pug, huh? Where'd you get that name?" I say.

Pug shrugs. "I dunno."

The second girl is all that's left. I look to her but she quickly shies away. Lyle notices and takes her hand.

"This's Nora," he says. "She's the runt of the group, but she's also the mascot cuz she's so cute."

"L-Lyle—!" Nora whimpers in a hushed tone.

She's the smallest of them all, probably not even up to my waist in height. She has reddish golden hair, somewhere between Lily and Pug's in color, which is cut in a neat line just above her shoulders and brow. Her eyes are a dark blue, with an almost silver glow to them. Below them are tiny freckles that dot her cheeks.

"She's also a Nexis, which makes her even more cute!" exclaims Pug.

"Y-You guys—!" frets Nora. She looks quickly between the three with a pouty expression on her face.

"Sorry, she's a... what? A... Nexis...?" I ask.

Lyle let's off a cheeky grin from behind Nora. With a lunge he lightly pinches Nora's sides, making her jump and let out a quick yelp. Suddenly, a pair of cat-like ears atop her head jut out from under her hair. She quickly spins around and smacks Lyle straight across the face. Lyle winces, but can't help bursting out in laughter. Moments later, the rest of them catch on and they all sit there laughing to themselves.

"So you see?" says Lyle. He wraps an arm around Nora. "That's why she's the mascot. It's cuz she's so cute, right Cyr?"

I can't deny it. A timid cat-girl represents the very definition of adorable. But something about a grown adult calling a child 'cute,' especially one he's just met, seems like it should be putting up red flags for miles around. So, I clear my throat, awkwardly fold my arms, and say nothing more.

"Hey mist— err, Cyr..." says Pug. "What kinda clothes are those, anyways?"

"What, these?" I look down at my grubby old jeans, stretched white t-shirt, and baggy zipper hoodie. I pause, pondering how good an idea it would be to mention I'm not from this world. In the end, I decide against it. "Um... These are—"

"They look so expensive," awes Lily. "Are you a noble?"

"Far from it," I mutter, recalling the small pile of overdue tax forms on my bedside table.

"Did you steal 'em?" asks Lyle, folding his arms behind his neck.

"I'd be a hypocrite if I did," I say.

"Then do you have wealthy parents?" asks Pug.

"Wealthy grandparents?" asks Lily.

"A— wealthy lover?!" gasps Lyle.

"What?! N-No—!" I sputter. "Look, these're, err... commoner's clothes from where I grew up, alright?"

"They must all be pretty rich, if that's what the commoners wear," says Pug.

"Some people," I say. "Look, I really should get going now."

"But you just said you don't have anywhere to go, didn't you?" asks Lyle. He turns to the other three before I can respond. They silently nod to each other and turn back to face me. "Come back with us, Cyr!"

"Sure— Wait, what?"

"If you don't have anywhere else to go, it shouldn't be a problem," he says. "C'mon, we'll show you the way."

"Somehow I can't help but worry I'm still gonna get stabbed in the back here," I sigh. "You'd better not try anything, alright?"