Chapter 3
Warmth touched his face.
Not heat but just a soft, steady warmth, like sunlight slipping through a window at the right angle. It settled across his eyes, his cheek, pulling him slowly upward from the heavy, dreamless dark he’d fallen into.
Andrew stirred.
There was a faint smell of wood. Clean air. A softness beneath him that his body recognized before his mind did. He was lying in a bed; a real one, not the thin padding of a sleeping mat in his tent.
He exhaled slowly, still half-asleep. “…weird dream,” he murmured.
Running through the forest. Getting lost. Something outside of his tent.
That part felt too sharp. Too real.
But the warmth on his face was convincing. The quiet was convincing. No rustling, no cold air, no pressure of being outside in the dark.
He shifted slightly, the movement slow and comfortable. Then pain snapped through him. It was sharp, cutting through the haze. “Ugh, shit,” he grumbled.
Andrew sucked in a breath as his head throbbed with a deep, pulsing ache that radiated down into his neck. His shoulder followed a second later, tight and sore, like he’d taken a bad fall.
Which he now remembered he had. Hadn’t he?
He opened his eyes.
The ceiling above him wasn’t his apartment. No familiar white paint, no faint crack he’d always meant to fix. Instead, there were smooth wooden beams crossed overhead, polished but clearly hand-worked. Sunlight filtered through gaps somewhere off to the side, bright and natural.
Andrew blinked, trying to focus. The room came into view piece by piece.
The walls were made entirely of wood, fitted together without nails that he could see.
The texture was warm, almost golden in the light.
To his right, wide open windows; no glass, just space, with thin curtains calmly dancing on the incoming wind, looking out over a blur of green and blue.
Leaves shifted gently in the breeze, and beyond them, a clear sky stretched out, bright and endless.
He realized what he was seeing wasn’t on ground level. It was high up. Too high.
“What…?” his voice came out rough.
He pushed himself up and immediately regretted it. Pain flared again, stronger this time, forcing him back down against the bed with a sharp exhale. His head swam for a second, vision blurring. “Let’s take it slow,” he muttered, breathing through it.
He stayed where he was, letting the pain settle into something more manageable.
This wasn’t his apartment, and this wasn’t the forest. His heart rate picked up.
Andrew forced himself to stay calm and took in more of the room.
The bed beneath him was solid, sturdy, covered in thick blankets that felt softer than anything he owned. But it was not manufactured softness. It felt like something more detailed and refined. Woven and handmade. The fabric had weight and texture, as if someone had actually spent time creating it.
He became aware of his clothing next. Or more of a lack of it. He looked down and noticed he was only wearing his boxers. His shirt, his pants, his boots—all gone.
A flicker of alarm cut through him. He turned his head carefully, scanning the room again, and spotted his clothes. They were folded neatly on a wooden table a few feet away. His backpack included.
Andrew stared at it for a second, his thoughts trying to catch up.
Someone had brought him here. Someone had taken off his clothes. Someone had—
The door opened. The sound was soft, almost quiet enough to miss, but in the stillness of the room, it hit like a crack.
Andrew’s head snapped toward it. And for a moment, he forgot how to think.
When she stepped inside, it took a moment for his brain to process what he was looking at.
Her long blonde hair fell over her shoulders in loose waves, catching the sunlight as she moved.
Her eyes were blue and striking, and met his almost immediately, sharp and aware in a way that made it impossible to look away.
She wore very little. A fitted wrap of cloth covered her full chest, tied in a way that emphasized more than it concealed.
Her arms were bare, toned, and lightly tanned.
Her stomach was exposed, smooth and lightly defined.
Lower down, a short, simple garment wrapped around her hips, ending high on her thighs, leaving most of her legs uncovered.
Andrew blinked once, then again, as if his brain were trying to reset the image.
She looked like something out of a fantasy. Not just attractive, but simply unreal. The kind of presence that didn’t belong in normal life, let alone a wooden room in the middle of nowhere.
For a brief second, one thought cut clean through everything else.
I’m still dreaming.
There was no other explanation that made sense. The forest. The fall. The pain in his head. And now this?
His gaze flicked over her again, slower this time, taking in details whether he meant to or not—the way she moved, the way the light caught against her skin, the complete lack of self-consciousness in how she stood there, looking at him like he was the unusual thing in the room.
“Okay,” Andrew said, his voice low, uncertain. “Either I hit my head a lot harder than I thought…” He trailed off.
Because she was still looking at him.
Andrew swallowed slightly. “Or,” he added, quieter this time, “I’m not dreaming.”
The woman tilted her head just slightly, studying him. And then, very faintly, she smiled. “Good to see you awake,” she said. The woman held his gaze for a moment longer, then took a step closer to the bed. “Can you understand me?” she asked.
Her voice was clear, smooth, carrying a natural confidence that made the question sound almost like a statement.
Andrew had trouble finding his own voice for a moment. “Yeah,” he said automatically. “I—yeah, I can.”
She paused. Then her eyes widened slightly, and something like surprise flickered across her expression. “You speak our language,” she said, almost to herself. “How fascinating.”
Andrew frowned. “What?” For a second, his brain tried to process that sentence and came up empty. “Our language?” he repeated.
That didn’t make any sense. She was speaking English. It was with an accent he couldn’t place, warm and with a slight ring to her vowels.
Of course he understood her. Why wouldn’t he? He opened his mouth to say exactly that—then stopped. A small, uncomfortable thought slipped in. That assumption only worked if…
“Okay,” Andrew said slowly, studying her more carefully now. “Where am I?”
She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she moved closer.
Andrew tensed slightly as she stepped within arm’s reach, then closer still, until she was standing right beside the bed.
Way too close.
There was no hesitation in her movement, no awareness of personal space the way he was used to it. She leaned in slightly, her eyes focused on him with open curiosity, like she was trying to understand something by looking at it up close.
She was close enough now that he could actually feel the warmth of her skin. The faint scent of something natural—clean, almost sweet, but not artificial. Just… her.
His thoughts stuttered for a second.
She was right there. Close enough that if he moved even a little, he’d brush against her.
Up close, her features were even sharper. Those blue eyes: clear, bright, studying him with an intensity that made it hard to look away.
Andrew swallowed. “Uh…” he started, then stopped, his brain trying to catch up with the situation. “You’re—” He didn’t even know how to finish that sentence.
She leaned in just a fraction more, her head tilting as if trying to examine him from a different angle.
It had been a long time since a woman had been this close to him. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach.
His lips had turned dry. His eyes flicked downward, catching a glimpse of her full chest. He quickly brought his gaze back up, finding her eyes, still staring.
And then, just as suddenly, something seemed to click. Her expression shifted. “Oh,” she uttered and stepped back.
The change was immediate, like she’d just remembered something important. The distance between them opened again, not far, but enough that Andrew could finally breathe normally.
He was still trying to recalibrate. “What’s the matter?” he asked, a little more bluntly than he meant to.
She straightened, her posture adjusting slightly, though her expression remained calm. “I was tasked with taking care of you,” she said. “And ensuring your recovery.”
Andrew stared at her. “Taking care of me.”
“Yes.”
“While… I was out?”
“Yes.”
His head still hurt, but the confusion was starting to outweigh the pain. “Where am I?” he asked again. “And who are you?”
She again didn’t answer directly. Instead, she said, “I was instructed to remain with you until you woke.”
“By who?”
“The higher sisters.”
Andrew frowned. “The what?”
She seemed about to explain with her lips parting slightly, and her gaze shifting as if organizing the words, but then something outside the room caught her attention.
Her head turned sharply toward the open window. For a brief moment, her entire focus shifted away from him.
Andrew followed her gaze instinctively, but from his position all he could see were leaves moving gently in the breeze.
When he looked back at her, something had changed. “They must be informed,” she said.
“Wait—what?” Andrew pushed himself up slightly, ignoring the protest from his shoulder. “Informed about what? What’s going on?”
She turned and crossed the room quickly, her earlier calm replaced by purpose. The door opened and she stepped outside.
Andrew felt a spike of unease. “Hey—” he called after her. “You can’t just—”
She paused in the doorway, glancing back at him. “You should remain here,” she said.
“Yeah, I got that part,” he said, frustration creeping in now. “But where am I? What is this place?”
For a second, she held his gaze again.
Then, with the faintest hint of something—amusement, maybe, or anticipation—she said, “You are safe. I’ll be back soon.”
And then she was gone.