Calen stirred.
His eyes winced against the bright sun pouring through the trees above, warm rays flickering across his face. With a groan, he lifted his arm and blocked the light.
"Ugh… did I fall asleep?"
His voice came out dry, his throat scratchy. He blinked a few times before pushing himself up to sit. Dirt clung to the back of his shirt, and he brushed it off halfheartedly.
Then the memory hit.
The bridge. The book. The river. The blinding light.
"All that... over a bag?"
He checked his wrist, thankful his watch was still there. A glance told him it was three hours past when he was supposed to clock in.
"Oh. Great. I guess I'm getting fired today," he muttered, running a hand through his tangled hair. "Not that I was Employee of the Month, but still... kind of harsh."
Looking around, he realized something was wrong—very wrong.
Gone were the familiar bridge railings and city skyline. No cars honking, no sidewalks, no people. Just thick, endless trees stretching in every direction and the soft murmur of a wide, clear river behind him. A fish leapt out with a splash, as if mocking his confusion.
"Okay. Maybe I got drifted by the current. Maybe I'm, what, a mile or two off? Hah... right."
He got up and started walking through the forest, pushing past bushes and ducking under low branches. Birds chirped overhead. The air was too clean, the kind of clean you don't get near any modern city. It smelled like wildflowers and moss and something he couldn't quite place—freedom?
Despite the calm, his mood soured quickly.
"This is how I'm starting my day?" he grumbled. "No bagel, no coffee. Not even Gary asking how my night went."
His shirt snagged on a branch. He tugged, but it tore with a loud rrrip.
"Oh, come on! What did I ever do to you, tree?" he snapped, kicking a root that looked suspiciously smug.
It didn't help. He tripped over it and fell back onto the forest floor. The sun warmed his face again.
He stared at the sky. "Maybe I should just stay down here. Let the wilderness take me. Become one with the moss. Nature Brooks. Yeah, that's me now."
A sound snapped him out of his inner drama—a soft, crunching munch.
He slowly turned his head and found a small, fuzzy creature gnawing on something by his shoulder. It looked like a squirrel… or a chipmunk… or a science experiment gone slightly off.
"GAH! Get away!" Calen flailed, jumping to the side. "Where'd you even come from, tiny demon?! Shoo!"
The creature blinked at him, unfazed.
"Seriously, what are you? Discount Pikachu?" he said, lobbing a small rock in its direction—not to hurt it, just to spook it. It scurried off.
Before he could breathe a sigh of relief, a sudden whoosh swept through the treetops. The entire canopy darkened as a massive shadow passed overhead. The wind that followed was sharp and powerful, rustling every branch in a wave of motion.
"What the hell…" Calen looked up just in time to glimpse the tail end of something huge soaring between the clouds. "Were those wings? No, no, no. I'm seeing things. Hunger's messing with my head."
He patted his pockets, found his phone, and grimaced.
Soaked. The screen flickered briefly, then went black.
"Of course," he muttered. "Why would anything work today?"
He kept walking, trying to keep his mind focused. But the forest was endless. Trees everywhere, no trail, no road, no GPS.
"How did I get this lost? Is this karma? Is this about not joining the team karaoke night?"
He pressed forward until he found higher ground—a small hill that rose above the treeline just enough for him to see a wisp of smoke curling up into the sky in the distance.
"Yes!" he shouted. "Finally! Civilization! Or at least a campfire and a person who can explain why I'm starring in a medieval fever dream."
He hurried downhill, leaves crunching underfoot, adrenaline giving him a second wind. But as he neared the smoke, his foot caught on a vine, and he went flying face-first into the dirt.
He groaned and rolled onto his back. "Okay… so the forest is trying to kill me."
When he lifted his head, blinking through the sun, he saw movement around the smoke. Shapes. Green ones.
He wiped his eyes, tried to focus.
"People? No... wait—what the...?"
The creatures were small, squat, and distinctly not human. Their green skin glistened in the sun, and they wore scraps of armor and leather. Each one carried a weapon—crude knives, rusty axes, bows strung with what looked like... vine?
"Are they LARPing?" he whispered. "No, no one commits to cosplay this hard. And who cosplays goblins?"
He turned to crawl backward and saw something lying beside him—a skeleton.
A real one.
Torn clothes. Cracked bones. A rusted blade driven clean through the ribcage.
Calen's mouth went dry. He stared.
"Nope. Nope, nope, nope. This isn't a dream. Lucid dreams don't smell like pine sap and rot. And they definitely don't come with corpse props."
The goblins raised their heads. One sniffed the air. Another growled and pointed.
"Oh God," Calen whispered. "They caught my scent."
The little green heads turned his way.
He didn't wait.
"OH NO. THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING!"
He scrambled to his feet and ran.
To be continued...