The cabbage never stood a chance.

  One moment, it was peacefully existing in a neatly tended garden row, fulfilling its modest vegetable ambitions. The next, it found itself obliterated beneath a cosmic anomaly—or more accurately, beneath the flaming rear end of a superhero who'd just fallen through reality's ceiling.

  "Son of a...!" The Abigail with the longest flame-orange hair rolled away from the smoking crater, flames extinguishing as she clutched her bruised buttocks.

  She wasn't alone in her vegetable homicide.

  The air ripped in four more places. Four more bodies tumbled through, each screaming with the same voice, though with notably different inflections.

  The second crasher, short-haired Abigail, executed a more graceful but still catastrophic landing, skidding through three rows of vegetables before colliding with what appeared to be a stone birdbath filled with silver liquid that definitely wasn't water. The liquid splashed over her, instantly crystallizing into delicate frost patterns.

  "Perfect. Just perfect," she muttered, brushing frost from her shoulders while shooting a disdainful glare at the first one. "Couldn't aim for the nice empty clearing twenty feet to the left, could you?"

  The third, the wavy-haired Abigail, touched down with remarkable control, flames shifting to create a cushioning effect. She landed in a crouch, surveying the garden with quick, protective glances.

  "Everyone alright?" she called, moving toward the fourth who had tumbled into a hedge that rustled with indignation and actually scooted away from her, roots and all.

  "I'm fine! This hedge broke my fall. And then it... moved?" The wild-haired fourth one scrambled up, dusting off leaves that appeared to be shrinking away from her touch. "Is it me, or does the foliage here seem unusually opinionated?"

  The fifth landed last, almost floating down on curls of smoke rather than flame. She remained kneeling after her arrival, silently observing as the final rift in the air healed with a sharp crackle.

  "So," said the first one who'd taken a dive into the cabbage, "I'm gonna go ahead and address the elephant in the garden. We are absolutely, one hundred percent, not in Kansas anymore." Orange flames danced excitedly around her shoulders. "Did that dimensional doohickey just drop us into a fantasy world? Because if so, that's kind of awesome. Terrifying, but awesome."

  "It's not awesome," snapped the frost-covered second. "It's a complete disaster. We're stranded in an unknown realm with a magical curse that forces us to maintain five separate bodies, and we just destroyed someone's..." She gestured at the ruined vegetables, "...very magical vegetable patch, judging by the looks of these carrots."

  The fourth Abigail bounced to her feet, nearly tripping over a shattered gourd, her eager eyes wide as she spun in place.

  "Guys! GUYS! Look at the SKY! Three moons! Three! This isn't Earth! We're in another DIMENSION!" Her flames danced in excited gold spurts that set a nearby scarecrow smoldering.

  The fifth Abigail stood silently at the edge of the destruction, smoky wisps curling around her form as she contemplated the distant mountains with a vacant expression.

  "We have crossed beyond the veil of our reality into a realm where our understanding of physical laws holds no dominion. Our atoms should have scattered across the void."

  The other four stared at her.

  "Well, that's cheerful," the short-haired one quipped, flames burning low but steady.

  The wild-haired Abigail clapped her hands, sending a shower of orange sparks across what remained of the garden.

  "Ladies! Focus! We've just been interdimensionally yeeted into a fantasy world. This is literally the coolest thing that's ever happened to us!"

  "Coolest?" The wavy-haired Abigail raised an eyebrow, her flames shifting to a warmer amber. "We're cursed, stranded, and, judging by the way that old man ran screaming, not exactly receiving a warm welcome."

  "Details," the wild-haired one waved dismissively, accidentally igniting a nearby shrub. "Oops."

  The short-haired Abigail extinguished the burning plant with a sharp gesture. "Can you control yourself for five seconds? We need to assess the situation, not burn down what's left of this place."

  "Right, right," the wild-haired Abigail said, stamping out the last embers. "So, we're cursed, stranded, and accidentally arsonistic. But still! Fantasy world! Dream come true, right?"

  The wavy-haired Abigail shook her head in disbelief. "You're getting a little too excited about this."

  "Of course she is," the short-haired one retorted, ice crystals frosting her shoulders. "She's basically our impulse control and ego ramped up to eleven."

  They surveyed their surroundings—a quaint cabin stood nearby, smoke curling merrily from its chimney in defiance of the burning questions the five flaming women were raising. A cobblestone road wound into the distance, bordered by fields of shimmering grain.

  The cottage door creaked open, and an old man emerged, clutching what appeared to be a gnarled wooden staff. His white beard reached his waist, and he wore deep blue robes emblazoned with silver runes—definitely not the sort of fashion you'd see on your average midwesterner.

  "Demons! Foul, fiery demons from beyond the Nether Abyss!" he cried, shaking his staff vigorously. "Begone, back to the foul hellpit that spawned you!"

  The eager Abigail gasped in delight. "He thinks we're a demon! And he's an actual wizard! This is just like episode three of—"

  "Will you stop fan-girling for five seconds and focus?" the short-haired one snapped, her eyes narrowing. "We're being threatened."

  The wizard spat at their feet. "Foul hellspawn! Don't you dare touch my precious crops!"

  "We're not demons," the wavy-haired one called soothingly, stepping forward with hands raised in a placating gesture. Her flames dimmed to a gentle, non-threatening glow. "We're very sorry about your garden. It was an accident."

  "A five-bodied accident," the short-haired one added under her breath.

  The old wizard stared at her, bushy eyebrows raised in disbelief. "You fell through the sky, leaving trails of otherworldly fire, and you expect me to believe you're not demons? Bah! If not demons, then what manner of flame spirits are you? Never in forty years of study have I encountered fire elementals with such... distinct manifestations."

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  "We're not elementals either," the wild-haired Abigail announced, striding forward and striking a dramatic pose. "We're a superhero! From another dimension! I mean, we're superheroes. I mean—" She frowned, struggling with the grammar of their situation. "I'm a superhero who's currently five people. We. Me. Us."

  The wizard's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "A hero?"

  "Sworn to protect the innocent and smite the wicked, blah, blah, yadda yadda," the short-haired one interjected. "Can we skip to the part where you tell us where we are and how to get back to our reality?"

  The fifth Abigail sighed, her smoky flames flaring briefly. "I do not believe we are capable of return."

  "Wow, cheery," the fourth Abigail scoffed, flames sputtering irritably.

  The wizard stroked his beard thoughtfully, then gestured at the ruin of his garden. "Your destruction suggests an involuntary arrival. Tell me, how did you come to fall from the sky?"

  "That's... difficult to explain," the wavy-haired Abigail said carefully. "We were in a lab, and there was an accident with some equipment meant to help us control our powers..."

  "This machine was attempting to restore our quintessential unity," the fifth Abigail added solemnly.

  The wild-haired Abigail nodded, flames flaring. "Yeah, it went kinda...explosively wrong. Next thing we knew, BAM! Here we are."

  The old wizard squinted at them. "You fell from a...lab in the sky?"

  The five women exchanged glances.

  "Just go with it," the short-haired one said flatly, flicking a shard of ice off her shoulder.

  The wizard pondered for a moment. "Hmmm. Not demons. Not elementals. Something...other. Most peculiar."

  "So you believe us?" the wavy-haired Abigail asked cautiously.

  "Let's say your claim intrigues me. For now." His tone grew stern. "However, the destruction of my property cannot go unpunished. As is the law of the land, I claim the right of recompense. You will fix what you have broken. Only then can we speak further." He brandished his staff once more. "Or you can resist, and I'll have no choice but to bind you."

  The wavy-haired one sighed, glancing at her duplicates. "It's not like we have much choice, do we?"

  The short-haired one shrugged. "Fix a stupid garden, or get magically manacled. Yeah, easy call."

  The wild-haired Abigail spun to face the old wizard, her eyes lighting up like a child offered free ice cream. "So we get to do actual gardening magic? With, like, enchanted tools and stuff? Can we summon plant spirits? Ooh, or maybe grow instant super vegetables with arcane fertilizer?"

  The wizard's bushy eyebrows furrowed so deeply they nearly covered his eyes. "You'll use rakes and shovels like civilized people. Nothing arcane about honest labor." He jabbed a gnarled finger toward a shed beside the cottage. "Tools are in there. Replant what you can salvage, clear the rest. I expect order restored by sundown."

  As the wizard turned to shuffle back toward his cottage, the short-haired Abigail stepped forward. "Wait. Before you go—where exactly are we? What is this place called?"

  The old man paused, glancing back with a mix of suspicion and bewilderment. "You truly don't know? This is the eastern edge of Alderbrook Valley, in the Kingdom of Lumenfall." When their expressions remained blank, he added more slowly, as if speaking to children, "On the continent of Eldoria."

  "And is there...magic here?" the wavy-haired Abigail asked carefully.

  The wizard's laugh came out as a snort. "Is there magic? What nonsense! Next you'll ask if there's air to breathe!" He shook his head and continued toward his cottage, muttering about "flame-headed imbeciles."

  The five stood in silence until the cottage door slammed shut.

  "Well," the wild-haired Abigail clapped her hands together, sending a fresh spray of golden sparks across the already traumatized vegetables. "I vote we name this adventure 'The Quintessential Quintuplets: Fantasy Edition.' Who's with me?"

  "Why do you always have to name things?" the short-haired one grumbled, already moving toward the shed. "Let's just fix this mess and figure out our next steps."

  "But we need to make this official," protested the wild-haired one, skipping after her. "We're in a fantasy world now! New world, new us! We need proper names!"

  The wavy-haired Abigail paused her inspection of a peculiar purple carrot that appeared to be humming. "She might have a point. Calling ourselves 'Abigail' repeatedly is getting confusing."

  "Technically, we're all still Abigail," the fifth one murmured, staring at the three moons hanging impossibly in the afternoon sky.

  They gathered tools from the shed—rakes, trowels, and what looked suspiciously like a sentient watering can that gurgled indignantly when the wild-haired Abigail picked it up.

  "So, names," she continued, brandishing her rake like a staff. "I've always wanted a cool fantasy name. Something like Zephyra or Flameheart or—"

  "We're not naming you Flameheart," the short-haired one cut in, expertly turning soil with her shovel. "That sounds like a bad fantasy novel protagonist."

  "Fine. But we need something." The wild-haired Abigail began enthusiastically digging, sending dirt flying in all directions. "How about something flame-related? Since that's our whole thing."

  The wavy-haired Abigail considered this while carefully replanting a row of trembling carrots. "It's not the worst idea. Better than all of us using variations of 'Abigail'."

  The fifth Abigail, who had been silently collecting scattered seeds, spoke softly: "Names are more than labels. They shape identity."

  "Exactly!" The wild-haired one pointed her dirt-covered trowel triumphantly. "And right now, we have five identities! That's the whole problem with this curse thing."

  The short-haired Abigail paused, leaning on her shovel. "Maybe the wizard had a point. We're not exactly five separate people. We're five aspects of the same person."

  "Like elementals," the wavy-haired one mused, gently patting soil around a rescued cabbage.

  The wild-haired Abigail's eyes lit up, literal flames dancing in her irises. "That's it! Fire elementals! I'll be Pyra—like pyromancer but cooler. Short and snappy!"

  "Pyra," the short-haired one tested the name, her expression softening slightly. "It's not terrible."

  "Thanks for the ringing endorsement," Pyra grinned, then pointed at the short-haired Abigail. "You can be Cinder! You know, because you're all contained fire and smoldering intensity."

  "I am not smoldering anything," the newly dubbed Cinder protested, though the frost on her shoulders had begun to melt. "But fine. If it helps us communicate more efficiently, I'll accept it."

  Pyra bounced excitedly, nearly trampling a row of herbs. "And you," she pointed to the wavy-haired Abigail, "can be Ember! Because you're all warm and protective, like embers keeping the hearth going."

  Ember smiled despite herself. "That's...actually rather thoughtful."

  "And me?" asked the wild-haired one with the eager eyes.

  "Kindle," Cinder suggested with surprising quickness. "Always ready to ignite something new."

  "Kindle! I love it!" the newly named Kindle spun in a circle, her excitement causing small sparks to ignite around her body.

  They all turned to the fifth Abigail, who stood apart, her gaze distant.

  "Ash," she said simply, before anyone could suggest a name. "What remains when all else is consumed."

  An uncomfortable silence fell over the garden, broken only by the indignant squeak of a half-buried turnip.

  "Well, that got dark fast," Cinder muttered, returning to her digging.

  "I think they suit us," Ember said diplomatically, moving to help Ash collect more seeds. "Names with meaning."

  "It's perfect!" Pyra declared, thrusting her rake skyward. "The five flame sisters, stranded in a magical realm! Pyra, Cinder, Ember, Kindle, and Ash! We're like a superhero team now!"

  "We were already a superhero," Cinder pointed out, "just...with considerably less identity confusion."

  Kindle paused in her enthusiastic weeding. "Do we need a team name? Something like The Flaming Five or The Burning Babes or—"

  "Please stop," Cinder groaned.

  "How about The Bickering Blazes?" Ember suggested, smothering a smile.

  Cinder jabbed her trowel in Ember's direction. "You're supposed to be the mature one, remember?"

  "I know," Ember said, her lips twitching, "but you make it so hard."

  "Okay, okay," Pyra clapped her hands decisively, sending a shower of sparks across the half-restored garden. "We'll workshop the team name. But for now, let's just focus on not getting ourselves enchanted into submission by an irritable old wizard."