The world twisted and dissolved, a whirlwind of colors and sensations that stole my senses. One breath I was in the familiar sting of icy air at the peak of Mount Acala, the next I was face-first in a bed of impossibly soft grass. The scent of wildflowers - a heady, sweet explosion – was an assault compared to the crisp bite of mountain snow.

I pushed myself up, the world swaying nauseously. My left ankle screamed in protest, pain shooting up my leg. Where the hell was I? Mount Acala was gone, the austere gray monastery where I'd trained for decades now replaced by a riot of green life. Butterflies the color of jewels danced through the air. Were those rabbits? No... they had too many legs and fur that shimmered like a rainbow.

Panic surged within me. My entire life revolved around the discipline of my body, the perfection of my fighting forms. My katana was an extension of my being, and it was gone. Lost in this unreal landscape as I was.

A cry pierced the air. I spun, searching for the source. Above, an impossible sight – a hawk, yes, but with feathers the color of the sea at sunset and a tail like a flowing, luminous banner. It circled, calling out with a sound that held an unsettling beauty.

"Training accident?" I muttered. This felt worse than any blow I'd taken before, more disorienting than a sparring match gone wrong. But the nagging feeling in my gut told me this was more than a concussion dream.

I followed the path through the field, ankle throbbing with each step. I needed people, answers. My stomach, as if to emphasize the point, let out a growl that would've put a bear to shame. Training always made me hungry, but this was ridiculous.

The path led me out of the meadow and, blessedly, towards signs of civilization. A village, its houses built of unfamiliar pinkish stone, was tucked into the foothills. The scent of food teased my nose – roasted meat, something spicy. My mouth watered. People bustled about, their clothing an explosion of colors after the monk's robes I was used to. They seemed... happy. Carefree in a way those in my old life never were.

I spotted a young woman with a streak of blue in her hair. She was carrying a basket filled to the brim with fruit so vibrantly colored it almost hurt to look at. She stopped short when she saw me, eyes wide.

"Whoa, you're so tall!" she chirped, then immediately flushed. "Sorry, that was rude."

For the first time, it struck me that I was taller than most people I'd met back home. "It's fine," I managed. "Do you... speak the common tongue?"

Confusion creased her brow, then she broke into a wide grin. "Common tongue? No, sorry!" She tilted her head, studying me as if I were a puzzle. "You're not from around here, are you?"

I could have lied, but the absurdity of the situation made me laugh. "I have no idea where I am." I gestured to the world around us. "One minute I was somewhere completely different. Do you... is there anything you can tell me?"

She looked a bit overwhelmed, so I reached into a pocket and pulled out a small, smooth stone. A memento from when I was little. It seemed like a lifetime ago now.

"Water?" I asked, cupping my hands as if to drink.

Understanding dawned in her eyes. "Oh! Water, yes! There's a well over there!" She pointed towards the center of the village.

Gratitude so strong it surprised me filled my chest. I managed a nod. As I hobbled towards the well, I caught her staring after me. She turned away quickly, but the touch of pink on her cheeks was unmistakable. Did I imagine that?

Drawing water from the well, I drank deeply, the cool liquid soothing my parched throat. The gnawing in my stomach reminded me that I hadn't eaten in almost a day. The thought of asking for food made something twist uncomfortably within me. Back on the mountain, we provided for ourselves, but something about the open, friendly energy here made me hesitate.

A deep voice startled me out of my thoughts. "Young traveler. You appear troubled."

I turned to see an old man with a flowing white beard and eyes that held far too much wisdom. He wore simple robes, but he carried himself with an air of authority that set him apart from the other villagers. Was he their leader?