Rowan Hale had always been drawn to the unusual and forgotten, to things that others cast aside. Old, cracked leather, yellowed pages, and the faint scent of dust—those were the treasures he sought. On that fateful day, he found himself wandering through the narrow, winding streets of his hometown's older quarter. There, tucked between a run-down bakery and a shop selling clocks that never seemed to tick in unison, stood a small, decrepit bookstore.
Its windows were fogged and speckled with years of grime, and the wooden sign above the door had long since faded to illegibility. No one seemed to visit this shop anymore. Even Rowan, with his eye for curiosity, had never noticed it before. Something about its quiet mystery pulled him inside.
The bell above the door gave a hollow, metallic jingle as Rowan stepped into the store. The air inside was cool and musty, filled with the scent of old paper and forgotten stories. Shelves groaned under the weight of countless volumes, stacked haphazardly, with no clear system of organization. The shop was more like a labyrinth of books than a proper store, its narrow aisles winding deeper into darkness.
Rowan wandered between the shelves, brushing his fingers across cracked spines and worn covers, wondering how many stories lay hidden here, lost to time. He was about to leave when something caught his eye—a book that seemed even older and more worn than the others. Its cover was of simple brown leather, the title long since faded from sight. It sat at an awkward angle on a dusty shelf, almost as if it had been carelessly tossed aside.
Drawn by an inexplicable curiosity, Rowan pulled the book from the shelf. It was heavy in his hands, its pages yellowed and brittle. As he thumbed through the book, he noticed that most of the pages were blank, their ink faded to the point of illegibility. But despite its apparent uselessness, Rowan felt something strange, something humming beneath the surface of the book's decrepit exterior.
He found a chair in a dim corner and sat down, cradling the book in his lap. He couldn't quite explain it, but the book seemed to call to him. With a deep breath, he opened it to a page near the middle, where faint lines of text still lingered. As he began to read, the words, though faded, seemed to ripple across the page, almost alive.
Suddenly, the room was filled with a blinding light. Rowan gasped and tried to shut the book, but it was too late. The light enveloped him, white and brilliant, flooding his vision and pulling him away from everything he knew. His body felt weightless, like he was falling—or flying. The world around him faded, and for a brief, terrifying moment, there was nothing.
Then, just as suddenly as the light had come, it disappeared.
Rowan stumbled forward, catching himself on the rough ground beneath his feet. Dazed and confused, he blinked several times, trying to adjust to the sudden shift in surroundings. The familiar scent of dust and paper was gone, replaced by the sharp, clean air of the outdoors. He stood on a vast, open plain, the ground beneath him covered in thick grass that stretched out to the horizon. The sky above him was a deep shade of blue, far brighter and clearer than he had ever seen before.
A warm wind tugged at his clothes, and Rowan turned in slow circles, taking in the strange, unfamiliar landscape. Where was he? This was no place he recognized. The bookstore, his hometown, everything was gone. In their place was an entirely different world—vast, untouched, and wild.
His heart pounded in his chest, and his mind raced to make sense of what had just happened. The book. The light. Could it have been some kind of portal? His eyes darted around, looking for any sign of the book, but it was nowhere to be found. Had it vanished with his arrival? A cold wave of uncertainty swept over him, but before he could dwell on it, the distant sound of voices reached his ears.
Rowan turned toward the noise and saw a group of figures approaching, their silhouettes dark against the brightness of the sky. As they drew nearer, he could make out details—horses, wagons, and people dressed in long, flowing robes. It was a caravan, moving slowly across the plain.
He hesitated for a moment but realized he had little choice. If he wanted answers, he would have to speak to these people. Squaring his shoulders, he walked toward the caravan.
As he got closer, one of the figures at the head of the group raised a hand in greeting. It was an older man, with a long white beard and sharp, piercing eyes. His clothes were simple, though well-made, and he rode atop a large, muscular horse.
"Ho, traveler!" the man called out, his voice carrying easily across the distance. "What brings you to these lands?"
Rowan cleared his throat, trying to find the right words. "I... I'm not sure," he admitted. "I'm not from here. I think I... might be lost."
The old man studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Not from here, eh? Well, you certainly don't look like one of the locals. You've the air of someone far from home."
Rowan shifted uncomfortably under the man's gaze. "Where am I?" he asked. "What is this place?"
The man smiled faintly. "You're in the lands of Stagpeak, my young friend. A dangerous place, especially for someone unfamiliar with its ways."
"Stagpeak?" Rowan repeated, the name unfamiliar to him. He had never heard of such a place. "I... don't suppose you know how I might get back home?"
The man chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I'm afraid that's not a question I can answer. But if you need a place to rest and get your bearings, we're heading to a nearby town. You're welcome to join us."
Rowan hesitated for a moment, but the alternative—wandering alone in this strange and possibly dangerous land—seemed far worse. "Thank you," he said, nodding.
The caravan moved slowly but steadily across the plains, and as they traveled, Rowan tried to make sense of what had happened. He asked a few questions, but the caravaners didn't seem to know anything about strange books or portals to other worlds. They were friendly enough, but their answers were always vague, and Rowan got the distinct feeling that they didn't entirely trust him.
After several hours, they arrived at the outskirts of a small town. It was a simple place, with low stone buildings and narrow streets. The caravan came to a stop outside a large tavern, its wooden sign creaking in the wind. Rowan dismounted from the wagon he had been riding in and stretched his legs.
The old man nodded toward the tavern. "You'll find food and drink inside, and a place to rest if you need it. Good luck, young traveler."
Rowan thanked him and made his way into the tavern. The inside was warm and lively, filled with the sound of laughter and clinking mugs. He found an empty table in the corner and sat down, still trying to wrap his mind around everything that had happened.
Before long, a young woman with dark hair and bright green eyes approached his table. She wore a simple apron over a long skirt, and her face was kind, though there was a spark of curiosity in her eyes.
"Welcome," she said with a smile. "What can I get for you?"
"Just something to eat, and maybe a drink," Rowan replied, grateful for the hospitality.
As she left to fetch his order, Rowan glanced around the room, still trying to make sense of where he was. When the girl returned with a plate of food and a tankard of ale, he decided to ask her.
"Excuse me," he began. "I'm not from around here, and I'm trying to get my bearings. Could you tell me where exactly I am?"
The girl raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by his question. "You're in Stagpeak," she said. "A dangerous place in the countryside. Why do you ask? You don't seem like a local."
Rowan sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm... not. I think I might be lost."
The girl—Maya, as she introduced herself—gave him a sympathetic look. "Lost in Stagpeak, eh? Well, you've got your work cut out for you. This isn't exactly the friendliest of places."
Rowan nodded, taking a sip of his drink. He wanted to tell her about the book, about how he had come to be in this strange world, but when he reached into his bag, it was empty. The book, the portal, everything that had brought him here was gone. Had it disappeared when he arrived? Or had it never existed at all?
He decided to keep that part of the story to himself, at least for now.
"Well," Maya said, giving him a friendly smile, "if you need help finding your way, I'd be happy to point you in the right direction. But be careful—Stagpeak has a way of trapping people who don't belong here."
Rowan looked up at her, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Thanks," he said. "I have a feeling I'll need all the help I can get."
And so, Rowan Hale found himself in a strange new world, with no idea how he had gotten there and no way to return home. The road ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear—this was only the beginning.