Aven’s eyes snapped open with a gasp.

  “Mira—! Bren—!”

  His breath caught in his chest. He wasn’t falling anymore. He wasn’t moving at all.

  He lay flat, staring straight up into a pale, endless sky. There were no clouds. No sun. Just light—diffused, cold, still.

  Something tapped his chest.

  Then again.

  He blinked. Looked down—

  A man crouched over him, long white beard spilling across Aven’s ribs like moss over stone. The man grinned, poking Aven’s chest again with one knuckle like he was testing a melon.

  “Still got lungs,” he said, cheerful. “That’s good. Last one showed up all blue and foaming like a latte.”

  Aven flinched, tried to sit up, but the man kept poking.

  “Steady, steady. You’ll wrinkle the water.”

  The lake beneath him didn’t ripple. It didn’t even feel like water—more like cool, living glass. It held his weight without soaking him. There was no wind. No scent. No horizon.

  Just the man.

  And the grin.

  Aven shoved at him weakly. “What—what is this—where the hell—”

  “Back to the classics,” the man said, still smiling. “‘What, who, where.’ You left out the ‘why,’ but we’ll get there.”

  Aven’s pulse was hammering now. The man—the thing—was still crouched above him, eyes twinkling like a joke only he understood.

  Aven shoved himself halfway upright, elbows digging into the surface. It didn’t give. Still no ripple.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  The man leaned back slightly, as if granting him space was a courtesy.

  “Name’s Tanen,” he said simply. “Though it probably doesn’t mean much to you. Not yet.”

  Aven stared. “What is this place?”

  Tanen gave a thoughtful hum. “Bit of lake. Bit of sky. Bit of in-between.”

  “In-between what?”

  Tanen's grin returned. “Now that’s the right question.”

  He stood in a fluid motion—no creak of joints, no signs of age. Just motion like gravity didn’t quite apply. The wooden sword at his side bumped softly against his leg.

  “I fell,” Aven said. “There was a bridge. A mural. I called out and—”

  He stopped, breath catching. “Mira. Bren. Where are they?”

  “Still where you left ’em,” Tanen replied, as if it were obvious. “Alive. Shouting. Running around like ants after the sugar bowl broke.”

  He chuckled. “You made quite the exit. Whole ruin’s gone now. Just a hole in the ground and some very confused shouting.”

  Aven stared. “Gone?”

  “Wasn’t meant to be there,” Tanen said with a shrug. “Bit of a mistake. Bit of fate. Hard to tell the difference most days.”

  Aven’s voice tightened. “The ruin—what was it?”

  “More question than answer, I’d say.”

  Tanen folded his hands behind his back. “But if you’re asking why it vanished… well. Let’s just say the Lord and Lady weren’t quite in agreement that day.”

  “The who?”

  Tanen sighed like he was tired of explaining the moon to fish.

  “The Lord. The Lady. You saw them—mural, yes?”

  (He made a vague two-hands-toward-each-other gesture.)

  “Always arguing, those two. Can’t decide if they want to create, destroy, or just keep playing pieces on a board no one else can see.”

  He walked a slow circle around Aven, feet gliding silently over the water’s surface.

  Aven stared at the endless sky.

  “Why now?” he whispered.

  Tanen froze mid-step. Looked at him awkwardly.

  Then up.

  Then back at Aven, wincing slightly.

  “Ooooh. Right. That wasn’t now for them. Just for you. Time’s weird like that.”

  He rolled his wrist as if trying to swirl air that wasn’t moving.

  “That ruin? Very, very, very old, lad. New to you. Ancient to this land Saeliryn is the name.”

  He gave a low whistle. “Hell of a way to find an echo.”

  Tanen crouched again, idly tapping the surface beside Aven with two fingers.

  “Seems some of their subjects started a war,” he said lightly. “Got messy. The Lord and Lady stepped in.”

  He made a little popping motion with his fingers. “Fixed what needed fixing. That ruin? Just an echo. Wasn’t supposed to be there. Was… now it’s gone.”

  He stayed crouched beside Aven, poking the lake idly with one finger. No ripples.

  “The universe’s funny like that. Doesn’t like loose threads. Usually cleans up things that bleed through from others. Leaks. Tears. Echoes. Your world knows of the creatures from Saeliryn, doesn’t it? The orcs. The elves. The giants. Fairy tales, you call them.”

  Aven blinked, wide-eyed. “Those are real?”

  “Real in one world myth in another,” Tanen said cheerfully. “Most were echoes. Some… weren’t. That war ended a long time ago. Bled across too many stars.”

  He stood again, arms spread like he was trying to balance on a tightrope.

  “But you—you weren’t supposed to be there when the fix came down. That’s the curious bit. A little accident. Right place, wrong moment.”

  Tanen laughed—short, sharp, like a bark in a church.

  “And now here you are. Nowhere at all. So…”

  He looked down at Aven with a wide, almost childlike smile.

  “What shall we do with you?”

  Aven could barely breathe. His mouth opened, but no words came. He looked around the empty, glowing lake, the impossible sky, the man with the wooden sword laughing like none of this mattered.

  “…What the fuck is going on,” he muttered.

  Tanen stopped laughing and tilted his head.

  Not mockingly. Just curious. Like he was trying to decide whether Aven had asked him a real question or just said something interesting by accident.

  “Ah,” he said finally. “That’s the one, isn’t it? Right there. What the fuck is going on. That’s the real start of things.”

  He tapped his temple.

  “Used to come later for people. After the fire. After the dying. Now it shows up early. Progress, maybe.”

  Aven pushed himself to sit up fully, bracing his hands behind him.

  “I need real answers,” he said, the edge of panic sharpening into anger. “What is this place? What is Saeliryn? Why am I here?”

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  Tanen gave a long, thoughtful sigh.

  Then he plopped down cross-legged like a child at story time.

  “Alright. Since you asked so politely.”

  He smiled, hands resting on his knees. “You’re not dead. You’re not alive, either. You’re... in transit.”

  Aven stared.

  “This lake,” Tanen continued, “isn’t a place. It’s a space. Between. You fell out of your world like a marble off a cracked table. And Saeliryn caught you.”

  Aven swallowed. “So... what now? You send me back?”

  Tanen made a sharp, amused sound in his throat.

  “Back? No, no. That door closed. You can’t go back through something the gods already erased. What’s done is done.”

  He leaned forward slightly, smile fading just enough to let something real show through.

  “You don’t get to undo fate, Aven Locke. You only get to move forward.”

  Aven pushed himself to his feet—not smoothly. His legs wobbled, knees threatening to give. But standing felt better than lying there while the world fell apart around him.

  “I can’t stay here,” he said. “I’ve got a job. A home. Bills to pay. People who rely on me.”

  He paused.

  “…I had friends. A life.”

  Tanen just stared at him, then slowly, slowly began to shake his head.

  A soft chuckle escaped.

  “Even I don’t live here, Mr. Locke,” he said, grinning. “What a funny thing to say.”

  He spread his hands wide. “I’m not the welcoming committee because I live here. I’m here because the Lady told me to be. Said I should greet the poor soul who got yoinked sideways by the gods. Kind of a... sorry about that gesture.”

  He tilted his head.

  “You’ve got two options now: death... or rebirth.”

  Aven stiffened. “I thought you said I couldn’t go back.”

  Tanen rolled his eyes like it physically pained him.

  “I said you couldn’t go back to Earth, son. What, can’t you hear me? It’s like talking to a wall, every time they send me to greet one of you travelers. Happens once every few thousand years and still—still—nobody listens.”

  He stabbed a finger toward the lake.

  “No, no. You’ll be reborn. On Saeliryn. But you’ve got options, boy.”

  Aven’s breath hitched.

  “This is a cruel joke,” he muttered. “A dream. I’m asleep. I hit my head—there was the fall, and I must’ve blacked out—”

  He turned and started pacing, hands running through his hair. Then slapping his face. Hard.

  Once. Twice.

  “Wake up,” he hissed. “Come on. Wake the hell up.”

  He dropped to his knees, slapped his cheek again. Nothing. Just the endless glassy lake and the pale sky and the old man watching him with too much amusement.

  Tanen giggled.

  Not laughed—giggled, like a kid watching a bird fly into a window.

  “Ah, now comes the refusal part,” he said brightly. “Then we get to acceptance. I’ve got time.”

  Aven stopped. Shoulders sagged. He let out a long, trembling breath.

  “So my options are death... or rebirth.”

  “Correct.”

  “What does that even mean?” Aven snapped. “I just appear somewhere? In a tavern or a city square like a video game? Just spawn in?”

  Tanen burst out laughing—full-bodied, head-thrown-back laughter.

  “Oh gods, no. You idiot.”

  He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, still chuckling.

  “You’ll be a baby.”

  Aven stared at him.

  Blinking. Processing.

  “…A baby?” he said, flatly.

  Tanen just nodded, still wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

  Aven recoiled like he’d been slapped. “You’ve got to be kidding me. A baby? Old man—”

  He threw his arms out in disbelief, pacing in a tight circle.

  “—this isn’t funny anymore. What is this, some kind of punishment? I’m thirty-five years old! I’ve spent my life chasing history, chasing meaning, and now what—I get diaper duty and warm milk?”

  Tanen snorted. “Well, technically it’s cold milk at first. But yes. Squealing, crawling, the works.”

  Aven turned back to him, eyes wide. “This is insane.”

  “Mm,” Tanen mused. “Most people prefer that to death.”

  Aven opened his mouth, closed it, then just growled low in his throat.

  “This is a joke. A cruel one.”

  Tanen’s grin softened just a hair. “No joke, Mr. Locke. Just the next part of the story.”

  Aven shook his head, staring down at the lake beneath his feet like it might split open and offer a better answer.

  “A baby,” he said again, quieter now. “So I’ll have to relearn everything? Even… walking?”

  “Mm-hmm,” Tanen hummed, rocking back on his heels. “Till you’re a bit older. Then it gets interesting.”

  Aven glanced at him, eyes narrowing.

  Tanen grinned. “You’ll start to remember things. Not all at once—little impressions, flashes. Enough to shape you. Not enough to trap you.”

  He held up a finger. “And—bonus—you get a choice.”

  Aven didn’t reply.

  Tanen clapped his hands like a merchant unveiling a game board.

  “You choose your race, and I choose where you’re born. Fun, right?”

  Aven stared, still reeling.

  “Oh, and it gets better,” Tanen added. “You choose one skill to carry over—something that’ll wake early. In exchange, I choose one boon. A little gift.”

  He winked. “You’re getting the deluxe package.”

  Aven rubbed his face with both hands, then let them drop.

  “A skill, a boon, a race—what the hell does that even mean?”

  He looked up, exasperated. “This sounds like a video game.”

  Tanen’s eyes sparkled.

  “Oh no, Mr. Locke. No levels or any of that weird stuff.”

  He paused.

  “Well—”

  “There are levels,” he admitted, holding up a finger. “But not like… skill trees and numbers floating over your head. Just your general level in a skill or class. Maturity. Essence. That sort of thing.”

  Aven just stared at him.

  “The skill,” Tanen went on, completely undeterred, “is simple stuff. Basic. Like cooking. Farming. Swordsmanship—”

  He jiggled the wooden sword at his hip and raised his eyebrows twice.

  “—stuff that wakes up early. Part of your soul, you could say.”

  Aven crossed his arms. “And the boon?”

  Tanen leaned in like he was sharing a secret.

  “I’m not technically supposed to give you that part. But you made me laugh. So I’m bending the rules.”

  Aven raised an eyebrow.

  “So what—you want me to pick tax evasion or something?”

  Tanen’s smile flattened into a deadpan stare.

  “Listen,” he said. “Don’t be an idiot. You made me laugh—don’t make me change my mind.”

  Aven held up his hands, half-surrendering. “Alright, alright.”

  “You get to choose something basic,” Tanen went on, straightening up again. “Foundational. Not dragon-slaying or spellcasting or summoning lightning from your ass.”

  He pointed his finger like a teacher scolding a bored student.

  “Something humble. Something that grows.”

  Aven exhaled. “What, you want me to pick from a list?”

  Tanen snorted.

  “What do you want, a scroll with sparkles on it? A narrated menu? You want a voice from the heavens going ‘Choose your class, brave hero’?”

  He threw up his hands.

  “Just pick a skill, Mr. Locke. Something that sticks. Something that matters.”

  Aven sighed, dragging a hand through his hair.

  “Okay… fine.”

  He looked around the still lake, the empty sky, the old man’s wooden sword catching faint light.

  His eyes lingered on it.

  “I guess… I’ll just choose swordsmanship. Seemed useful in that mural.”

  Tanen nodded approvingly, tapping the hilt of his own blade. “Classic. Can’t go wrong with pointy steel.”

  Aven added quickly, “And I want to be human. There are humans, right? I’m not gonna wake up as some freaky half-orc thing, am I?”

  Tanen squinted like Aven had just insulted his soup.

  “I mean... you could. But who the fuck would choose that?”

  He gave a visible shudder.

  “Orcs aren’t exactly clean. Or friendly. Or, you know… alive in this time period.”

  Aven blinked. “Wait—what?”

  Tanen waved it off. “Only place you’d see one now is a dungeon. And you’d best hope you never step into one of those.”

  He leaned in, dead serious for the first time.

  “No one’s cleared one in ten thousand years....well not in the human empire that is, last one was an elf five thousand years ago bit of a legend now.”

  Then he straightened again, cheery.

  “Bad idea. Human it is!”

  Aven rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, so—wait. You said skills. But… are there classes?”

  Tanen’s expression shifted—half shrug, half smirk. “You can get one, yeah. Rare, though. Most folks don’t.”

  “When?” Aven asked.

  “Usually ‘round Level Ten in your skill,” Tanen said. “And even then, it’s not always fancy. Just an upgraded version of whatever you’re already good at.....usually.”

  He mimed a glowing title with his hands. “Like ‘Earth mage’ instead of ‘Earth Magic.’ ‘Blademaster’ instead of ‘Swordsmanship.’ That sort of thing.”

  Aven’s face twisted. “Wait—there’s magic?”

  Tanen blinked, then snorted. “Oh. Right. Forgot to mention that.”

  Aven threw up his hands. “You forgot to tell me there’s magic?!”

  “Well you already picked swordsmanship,” Tanen said, grinning. “Bit late now.”

  “What the fuck is a sword gonna do against someone hurling fireballs?!”

  Tanen burst out laughing, hands on his knees. “Ohhhh, you’re gonna die so fast. Gods, I hope I’m watching.”

  Aven threw up his hands. “Okay, seriously—what kind of world is this? You’ve got gods, magic, monsters… am I walking into fucking Mordor?”

  Tanen grinned wider. “Mordor? You wish. Saeliryn’s grown since the war. It’s what you’d call medieval, probably—castles, kings, dirt roads and bad plumbing—but with magic. And dungeons And worse.

  Aven sighed "worse?"

  Tanen slowly said...."politics"

  Aven groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Can I change it? The skill. Just—undo swordsmanship, pick something else?”

  Tanen gave him a slow, theatrical blink. “Nope.”

  Aven stared.

  “No takebacks,” Tanen said cheerfully. “You locked it in. Cosmic binding. Very dramatic.”

  Aven muttered something under his breath that didn’t sound holy.

  Tanen stretched, spine popping like dry wood. “That said… you won’t be completely alone out there.”

  He straightened, eyes narrowing slightly. Just a flicker. The grin didn’t vanish, but something behind it sharpened.

  “I wasn’t supposed to do this,” he said. “But I like you. You’re loud, you’re dramatic, you face-plant into divine accidents. Reminds me of me.”

  Aven squinted. “That sounds like a bad thing.”

  “Probably.”

  Tanen stepped closer, and for the first time, he felt taller. He looked Aven in the eye, and the lake around them went quieter somehow—like it was listening too.

  “I’m giving you a boon.”

  Aven blinked. “A what now?”

  “A little divine favor,” Tanen said softly. “From me. From them. A whisper stitched into your soul.”

  He tapped Aven’s forehead gently. “You’ll have quicker reflexes than any normal human. Danger will feel slow to you.”

  Then he tapped just under Aven’s eye.

  “And you’ll see things others don’t. Skills. Classes. You’ll see what people carry.”

  Aven stared at him, breath shallow.

  “But you can’t tell anyone,” Tanen added, more serious now. “Not unless you trust them with your life. They won’t believe you. They’ll think you’re mad. And worse, some might try to rip the truth out of you.”

  A pause.

  “So if you speak of it… speak wisely.”

  Aven narrowed his eyes. “What’s the catch?”

  Tanen’s smile curled back in place—sharp, knowing.

  “Well…”

  He rocked on his heels, hands clasped behind his back.

  “It could drive you mad. You know—seeing people’s truths all the time. Some folk aren’t built to carry that much clarity.”

  Aven opened his mouth.

  “And if it really goes sideways,” Tanen added brightly, “you might even die.”

  He laughed again—light, honest, delighted.

  “But too late now!”

  Aven frowned. “What—”

  He didn’t finish.

  The lake beneath him shifted. Not rippled. Shifted.

  His feet sank an inch. Then two.

  “Wait—wait, what the hell?!”

  He scrambled, flailed, tried to lift his legs—but the surface clung to him, thickening like wet stone. It rose up his ankles, then his knees, pulling him down with slow, impossible force.

  Tanen just waved.

  “You’ll be fine, Mr. Locke! Probably!”

  Aven’s hands vanished under the surface.

  “Not again—!”

  And then—

  He was gone.

  The lake went still.

  Tanen scratched his beard. “Always forget to warn them about the falling part.”

  He turned.

  Walked back across the glassy water.

  And the sky above blinked.