The smell of damp earth filled Alexander's lungs as he dug his hands into the soil. The sun was high, gentle warmth spreading across the fields, and the quiet bleating of goats mixed with the rustle of wheat in the breeze.
His linen shirt clung to him, streaked with sweat and dirt, but for some reason he didn't mind. The work was tiring, but it was simple. Honest. Each movement of the hoe across the ground carried a rhythm, a steady beat that asked for no more than his hands and patience.
This was home. His father's farm stretched around him in neat plots of green and gold, and beyond that lay the old forest, a familiar boundary that had never been crossed. Somewhere nearby, he could hear Wendy's laughter. She had come to help again, though she was more prone to chatter than farming. Still, she brought life to the quiet fields.
It should have been perfect. It was perfect.
And yet, something tugged faintly at the edge of his mind, like the memory of a dream that slipped away when the morning came. A flash of fire. Stone walls closing in. A serpent's hiss echoing through the dark. Alexander froze for half a heartbeat, hoe still in the dirt. The images were too sharp to be a dream but when he blinked, they scattered like smoke. He shook his head, exhaling.
"Alex!" Wendy's voice carried across the field. "You're zoning out again. Don't tell me you're tired already?"
She jogged up the path between the rows, cheeks flushed, auburn hair tied back in a loose braid. She was the same age as him, though sharper with her tongue. She carried a basket under one arm, full of carrots she had probably got from her family's own garden.
"I'm not tired," Alexander said, forcing a grin. "Just… thinking."
"Thinking? You?" She nudged him with her elbow, mock-serious. "Careful. Too much of that and you'll burn your brain out. Better leave the thinking to me."
Her teasing was so natural, so real, that for a moment the flickers in his head meant nothing. He rolled his eyes, shoved her lightly, and they both laughed.
Days seemed to pass, though Alexander couldn't tell how many. He woke with the sun, worked the fields with his father, spent afternoons with Wendy, and fell asleep to the sound of crickets outside his window. Each morning felt fresh, but when he tried to remember the details of the day before, they blurred together. He couldn't recall what he had eaten, or whether yesterday had rained, or even the exact words Wendy had said.
And yet, it didn't disturb him. Why should it? Life was steady, predictable, safe.
One evening, after supper, he sat outside with his father. The sky orange, clouds rimmed with fading gold. His father leaned back on the porch, pipe smoke curling lazily upward.
"You've done well today," his father said, his voice calm, heavy as the soil itself. "This land will be yours one day. You'll take care of it, better than I ever did."
Alexander smiled. The words warmed him. And yet, a spark of unease was inside him. Wasn't there something else he was supposed to inherit? Something more than land and tools?
A vision surged his mind. His chest burning with energy, a core pulsing within him. But it wasn't here. It had never been there. His hand drifted instinctively to his chest, and for an instant he felt… empty.
He tightened his fist and forced the thought away. Nonsense. Just tired.
"Alex?" his father said, raising a brow.
"Nothing. I was just… thinking."
His father chuckled. "Again? Careful, boy. Thinking too much makes the world heavier than it needs to be."
The dream came that night. He was running through darkness, stone walls pressing close. Heat blasted against his skin, and when he looked over his shoulder, a serpent of molten rock and flame bore down on him. Its eyes glowed like twin furnaces, and its mouth opened wide enough to swallow him whole.
Alexander gasped awake, drenched in sweat. The farmhouse was quiet, moonlight silver across the floorboards. He pressed his hands to his face.
Just a dream. Just a dream.
But when he laid back down, his heart refused to calm.
The next morning, Wendy found him by the well, splashing his face with cold water.
"You look like death," she said bluntly. "Didn't sleep?"
"Dreams," he muttered. "Weird ones."
She tilted her head. "About what?"
He hesitated. The words felt absurd in the daylight. "I don't know. Fire. Stone. Monsters."
She wrinkled her nose. "Sounds awful. Maybe you should stop eating so late. Or maybe…" She smirked. "Maybe it's a sign that you're meant to stay here, safe, instead of chasing fairy tales about magic and warriors."
Something twisted in his gut at that. Fairy tales? But wasn't it real? Wasn't there… a place beyond this?
For a heartbeat, he saw himself standing in a vast hall, arcane light streaming from a crystal ceiling, surrounded by robed figures. He saw a labyrinth, endless and suffocating. He saw himself fighting and bleeding.
And then it was gone.
He laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. Maybe you're right."
The days slipped by again. The rhythm returned: fieldwork, laughter, warm meals, simple peace. Yet the cracks spread wider.
Sometimes, when he looked at Wendy's face, her features blurred, like paint running in the rain, before snapping back into focus. Sometimes the sun set too quickly, or the moon hung in the sky for what felt like hours without moving. And sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he swore he could hear a serpent's hiss behind him.
He ignored it all. He had to. Because if he questioned it too hard, he feared it would all crumble, and he wasn't sure he wanted that.
One afternoon, as he carried water back from the well, Wendy walked beside him, humming an old village tune.
"Alex," she said suddenly, "you've thought about leaving, haven't you?"
He stiffened. "Leaving?"
"The village. The farm. This life. You've always been restless. I can see it in your eyes."
Her gaze pierced him, calm but knowing.
He opened his mouth to deny it, but the words tangled on his tongue. Because yes, he had thought about leaving hadn't he? But why? For what?
And then, like a curtain lifting, he remembered: because he was meant for something else. Because there was a world beyond these fields. Because he had chosen to step into it.
The bucket slipped from his hand, crashing into the dirt.
Wendy blinked at him. "Alex? What's wrong?"
He stared at her, at the farm, at the distant forest. His chest tightened.
This wasn't right. None of this was right.
The realization didn't come like thunder. It came softly, like a candle flame against the dark. But once lit, it spread, refusing to be smothered.
He whispered, barely audible, "This… this isn't real."
Wendy frowned. "What are you talking about?"
Alexander's breath shook. Memories of fire, of blood, of the labyrinth flooded his mind. Of who he really was. The farm blurred at the edges, and he clutched at his head, as though holding his mind together.
It had been so warm. So safe. He could have stayed here forever.
But he wasn't meant to.
This was a trial.
He had to wake up.