The fluorescent lights in the grocery store flickered with a tired hum, casting a pale glow over the rows of canned soup. Aster moved with the slow, rhythmic mechanicalness of someone who had done the same task for a thousand hours.
He reached for a carton of milk, checked the date, and slid it to the front of the shelf.
At twenty-four, his life felt like a room with no windows. He lived in a small apartment where the heater rattled like a bag of stones, and his only true friend was a stray cat that occasionally sat on his fire escape. He had spent years jumping from one temporary job to another—washing dishes until his hands were raw, delivering mail through winter slush, and now, stocking shelves in the dead of night.
He stepped outside for his break, leaning against the brick wall of the alleyway. The air was heavy, smelling of rain and distant electricity. The sky was an bruised shade of indigo, and the clouds were churning in a way that made the back of his neck prickle.
"Just once," aster muttered, looking at the cracks in the pavement. "I'd like to go somewhere where the air doesn't taste like exhaust. Somewhere quiet."
As if the universe had been waiting for a reason to snap, the clouds tore open. A jagged, terrifying branch of white light surged downward. It wasn't a flash; it was a roar. The world became a vacuum of heat and sound, and Aster felt himself pulled into a blinding, weightless void.
...
"Aster! You useless, leaf-brained boy! Get up before the ants start building a nest in your ear!"
The voice was like a rusty hinge swinging in the wind. Aster groaned, feeling something cool and fragrant against his cheek. It was soft—far softer than the asphalt of the alleyway. He blinked, his vision blurry, and saw tiny yellow wildflowers dancing just inches from his nose.
"My head..." Aster croaked, reaching up to touch his scalp.
WHACK!
"OW!" aster shrieked, bolting upright. He clutched his head, his eyes watering as he stared in shock at the person standing over him. "What was that?! Why would you hit me?!"
Standing there was a small man who looked as though he had been carved out of an old oak tree. He wore a simple tunic of rough, cream-colored cloth and held a gnarled wooden staff. His eyebrows were white and bushy, twitching with genuine irritation.
"Why?" the man huffed, planting his staff in the dirt with a firm thud. "Because you've been lying there catching flies for half the morning! I told you, aster, don't climb that Sugar-Pear tree. The branches are as brittle as dry crackers! But no, you were so desperate for a snack that you had to go for the one at the very top."
Aster stared at his hands. They were stained with green juice and dark soil. His expensive grocery store vest was gone, replaced by a tattered brown vest and a coarse shirt.
"How... how do you know my name?" he whispered, his heart thumping against his ribs.
The old man's jaw dropped. He looked at aster with a mix of horror and disbelief. "How do I know your name? Did the fall knock your soul out of your body? I'm the one who carried you home when you were no bigger than a pumpkin!" aster looked past the man. There were no cars. No streetlights. Instead, there were rolling hills that looked like velvet and a sky so clear it hurt to look at. "Where am I?"
WHACK!
The staff landed squarely on his shoulder this time.
"Hey! Stop it!" aster scrambled backward on his hands and knees, his face twisted in a pained, confused pout. "I'm being serious! I don't know where this is!"
"And I'm being serious about your chores!" the old man barked. "You're in the Highlands of Velmire. And quit calling me 'Old Man' like I'm some stranger you met at a tavern. I'm your Grandfather! Now, stand up. Your legs aren't broken, even if your head clearly is."
aster stood up, his knees wobbling. He felt lighter, as if the heavy weight he had carried for years had stayed behind in the white light.
He looked toward the horizon and saw a massive, sweeping palace of white stone, its towers reaching toward the clouds like fingers of a giant.
"We have to get to the Royal Gardens by noon," his Grandfather grumbled, turning to walk down a winding dirt path. "The Head Gardener is already short-tempered. If he sees we haven't started on the hedges because you were busy falling out of trees, he'll have us scrubbing the stables instead. Move your feet, aster! The flowers won't wait for your memory to come back!" aster took a shaky breath, looking at the star-shaped fruit on the ground and then at the strange, beautiful world around him. He didn't understand how, but he was no longer stocking shelves. He was a gardener—and he had a very loud grandfather to keep him moving.
...
The sun hung high over the Velmire Palace, casting a golden warmth that made the dew on the grass sparkle like scattered diamonds. aster wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, still feeling a bit shaky on his feet.
In his hands, he held a pair of heavy garden shears that felt strangely natural, despite him never having touched a plant more complicated than a plastic fern in his old life.
Beside him, his Grandfather was already a blur of movement, snipping away at a wall of green with practiced ease. The garden was a masterpiece of impossible colors—flowers with petals like velvet ribbons and vines that seemed to pulse with a soft, inner light.
"Keep your eyes on the stems, astee!" his Grandfather barked without looking back. "If you snip a Royal Rose by mistake, the Queen will have your ears for breakfast!"
"Yes, Grandpa," aster sighed, bowing his head. He turned to a dense patch of hedges near a shaded stone walkway.
As he worked, a soft, melodic sound drifted through the air—the sound of lighthearted laughter. aster paused, his curiosity getting the better of him. He stepped onto his tiptoes and peeked through the leafy branches.
Five young women were strolling down the path. They were the most beautiful people aster had ever seen, dressed in flowing gowns of silk and lace that shimmered in shades of rose, lavender, and gold. Each held a delicate lace umbrella, twirling them slowly to shield their porcelain skin from the sun. They moved with a grace that made them look like they were floating just an inch above the grass.
Aster's heart did a strange little somersault. He leaned further into the hedge, a goofy, wide-eyed grin spreading across his face. I love this world, he thought, his chest swelling with a sudden sense of gratitude.
The sky really did hear me. This is way better than stocking milk at 3:00 AM!
Lost in his daydream, aster squeezed the shears shut to trim a stray twig.
SQUEAK!
A sharp, tiny cry of pain pierced the air. aster jumped, his heart nearly leaping out of his throat. He looked down at the base of the hedge and his jaw dropped.
A tiny figure, no bigger than a sparrow, lay crumpled on a broad leaf. She was a fairy, her skin the color of a peach and her hair a wild mane of shimmering blue. She wore a dress made of flower petals, but her left wing—a delicate, translucent thing that looked like spun sugar—was bent at a painful angle.
"Oh no! Oh, I'm so sorry!" aster hissed in a panicked whisper.
The sound of his voice reached the path. One of the princesses stopped, her head tilting as she looked toward the bushes. "Did someone hear a bird?" she asked, her voice like tinkling bells.
aster scrambled to hide, ducking behind a large stone urn and pressing his back against the cool surface. He waited, his breath coming in short, jagged gasps, until the soft footsteps of the princesses faded into the distance.
He crawled back to the injured fairy, his hands trembling. "I am so, so sorry. I didn't see you there, I swear—"
THWACK!
Something hard and wooden smacked him right between the eyes.
"Ow! Not again!" aster cried, rubbing his forehead.
He looked up and froze. A swarm of tiny figures had descended from the trees. There were dozens of them—fairies with wings like dragonflies and eyes that glowed with magical light.
They all held miniature wooden staves, tipped with glowing, five-pointed stars that hummed with energy.
A fairy with fiery red hair and a very sour expression hovered right in front of his nose. She looked like a —haughty, sharp-tongued, and clearly unimpressed with him.
She gestured wildly with her star-topped wand.
"You clumsy oaf!" she shrieked, her voice tiny but piercing. "Look at what you've done to her! Do you have rocks for eyes?"
Two other fairies rushed down to scoop up their injured friend, their faces full of worry as they looked at her tattered wing. They vanished into the greenery in a blur of sparkles.
"I didn't mean to!" aster pleaded, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace. "I was just... I was distracted! I'll make it up to you, I'll explain everything!"
The red-haired fairy crossed her tiny arms and drifted downward, landing on a rosebud. She looked at him with pure disdain. "Explain? There is nothing to explain! This garden is our sanctuary. We have lived here since the Great Darkness nearly destroyed our kind."
She paused, her expression softening into a brief, sad frown. "The Queen was the only one kind enough to take us in. She gave us this garden because the world outside is a graveyard for magic. And this is how you treat us? By snipping us like weeds?"
Then, her temper flared again. She raised her star-wand, sparks of yellow light dancing at the tip as she prepared to poke him in the chest. "Why do you act like you've never seen a fairy before? Every gardener is told the rules!"
Aster tilted his head, his face twisting into a confused, nervous expression. "It's a long story... but to make it short... I'm not actually from here. Like, at all. I'm from another world."
The fairy froze. Her eyes went wide, and for a second, she just stared at him. Then, she let out a long, exhausted sigh and lowered her wand.
"I won't punish you," she muttered, rubbing her temples with her tiny fingers. "Seeing as you're already clearly a bit touched in the head. 'Another world'? Honestly."
"I'm telling the truth!" aster insisted, leaning in. "If I knew you guys lived here, I would have been so careful! But I'm telling you, I came here through a lightning strike!"
The fairy turned away, waving a hand over her shoulder to dismiss him. "I'm too tired for this nonsense. Go back to your dirt and your shovels, boy. Just keep your shears away from anything that breathes."
"Wait! I can prove it!" aster started, but a loud, familiar voice cut him off.
"ASTER! Are you talking to the bushes again?" his Grandfather yelled from across the yard. "Lunch is ready, and if you don't hurry, I'm eating your portion of the bread!"
Aster looked at the fairy, who was already disappearing into the shadows of the leaves. He had no choice. He scrambled to his feet and ran toward his Grandfather, his head spinning with the realization that his quiet life was already becoming very, very loud.
..
The afternoon sun was soft and warm, turning the garden into a sea of swaying gold. Aster was currently engaged in a very serious battle with a stubborn patch of ivy near the white stone walls of the East Wing.
He was humming a song from his old life—something he used to hear on the radio—when he heard the soft rustle of silk nearby
He froze. Coming around the corner was Princess Arcelia. She wasn't wearing a heavy crown or a stiff gown today; she wore a simple dress of pale blue that seemed to catch the light like a clear pond. She was alone, carrying a book with a pressed flower sticking out of the pages.
Aster panicked. In his old world, he'd just nod and say 'excuse me', but here, he wasn't sure if he should bow, hide, or pretend to be a statue. He settled for dropping to his knees and digging very intensely into the dirt.
"You're the new one, aren't you?"
The voice was soft and kind, like the sound of a gentle stream. aster looked up and found the Princess standing just a few feet away, a small, curious smile on her face.
"Uhm... yes, Your Highness," Aster stammered, quickly wiping his dirty hands on his tunic—which only succeeded in making him more of a mess. "I'm aster. I'm the... well, I'm with my Grandfather."
Arcelia giggled, a sound so sweet it made aster forget he was covered in soil. "You don't have to be so nervous, astee. The flowers don't bow to me, so why should the man who cares for them?"
She sat down on a stone bench nearby, sighing as she looked at the grand towers of the palace. "I wish I could stay here with the plants. It's so much quieter than inside. Everyone is fluttering about like panicked birds because of the Empress's Grand Ball."
Aster leaned on his shovel, his curiosity getting the better of him. "Is a ball really that scary?"
"When it's for Crown Prince Kael, yes," she said, her smile fading into a look of worry. "The Empress is determined to find him a bride. But Kael... well, he's not exactly a man who desire for women . They call him the Eldrathis Prince for a reason. He'd rather be on a battlefield than in a ballroom."
"Is he really that bad?" Aster asked, imagining a man with a face made of actual metal.
"He's terrifying," Arcelia whispered, though there was a hint of mischief in her eyes. "He once stared at a glass of wine so coldly that the servants swear it turned to ice. Every princess invited to this ball is practicing their curtsy as if their lives depend on it. They are all terrified of him, yet they all want to be the one to melt his heart." aster made a face, imagining a bunch of girls in fancy dresses trying to talk to a human icicle. "Sounds like a lot of work for a dance."
Arcelia laughed again, leaning forward. "It is! And the youngest princess, the one from the Southern Isles, is so scared she's practically made herself sick. It's quite a mess. Sometimes I think the fairies have more sense than the nobles."
At the mention of fairies, a familiar red-haired head popped out from a nearby lily. The sharp-tongued fairy from before stuck her tongue out at aster before vanishing again.
"I think you're right," aster muttered, shaking his head.
"Anyway," Arcelia stood up, brushing off her skirt. "I should go before they send a guard to find me. It was nice to meet someone who doesn't just stutter and look at my shoes, aster."
As she walked away, aster sat back on his heels. He looked at the massive palace and then at his muddy boots. The Eldrathis Prince sounded like a nightmare, and the royal ball sounded like a circus. He was glad he was just a gardener, tucked away safely in the bushes where no scary princes could find him.
"Good luck to those princesses," aster chuckled to himself, picking up his shears. "I'll stick to the weeds. They're much easier to deal with."