Fantasy could never be reality. Dragons didn't soar through clouds, ghosts belonged to campfire tales, and cultivation meant tending crops and nothing more.
Nolan had always refused to accept that. To him, life had to offer more than a degree, a job, and a predictable marriage.
He hated the world's noise and chaos, so he escaped it through novels and movies—anything that promised another reality.
The attic in his small suburban home felt heavy with still air. Cardboard boxes filled with research notes and yellowed paperbacks were stacked to the beams.
The scent of thick dust hung around, and strands of cobwebs shimmered faintly in the weak light slipping through the window.
Nolan crouched on the wooden floor, a piece of chalk between his fingers.
He drew a complex pentagram, its curves and symbols overlapping with the precision of someone who'd spent too long studying things no one believed in.
His normally dull expression, framed by messy dark hair and lifeless hazel eyes, was replaced with something unfamiliar. Intense anticipation.
"Finally… it's complete." His voice broke the silence as he rose, wiping chalk from his hands.
"That's it?" Julian's voice came from the corner, laced with sarcasm. He leaned against a stack of boxes, his dark suit still pressed as if he'd just come from court.
"You're basing this on comic books and web novels?"
He shot a look toward Elena, who sat on a folded blanket near the window, her nurse's scrubs creased and her face pale with exhaustion.
"Why don't we give him a chance?"
she said softly.
"Give him a chance?"
Julian snapped, beginning to pace around the dusty room.
"This is life and death we're talking about!"
"No one's forcing you, Julian. There's the door," Nolan said evenly.
He dropped the chalk and faced them both, his voice steady but worn. Then, almost laughing at himself, he added,
"Honestly, I've got nothing to lose. My ex drained my savings, I lost my job, and now she's threatening to sue. If this doesn't work, I'll just keep losing in the same world anyway."
Julian stopped pacing. His posture softened, and he slid his hands into his pockets.
"Yeah, well, I'm not exactly swimming in luck either. My clients turned out to be mobsters. Now they want my head.
My problems are just… bigger than yours, kid."
Nolan ignored the jab and turned to Elena. She looked like she hadn't slept in days. Guilt pressed against her features.
"It was a mistake," she whispered.
"One wrong dosage, and I killed someone. The hospital suspended my license, and from the way things are going, I don't think they'll stop there."
That was why they were here—three people cornered by their own lives, clinging to the promise of an impossible escape.
Nolan had posted his "dimensional travel theory" online, mostly for fun.
He didn't expect anyone to believe it, let alone reach out. But both Julian and Elena had replied, desperate and ready to gamble everything.
If the ritual failed, they'd lose nothing but a night. If it worked… they'd start over in a new world.
"I guess this is a better option than suicide," Julian muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Let's just get it over with.
Where are we going exactly?"
Nolan's lips curved into a grin that didn't quite fit the tension.
"The world's called Midguard. According to the old texts—and, well, the novels—it's peaceful now. The Great War ended centuries ago. We'll be going during the quiet era, where people live simple, free lives."
Julian raised an eyebrow, skeptical. Elena, however, smiled faintly, clinging to the hope.
Nolan continued, his tone almost wistful.
"I don't want glory or power. Just… calm. A place where life isn't a constant fight."
Elena stood up, brushing the dust from her scrubs. "Are you sure there won't be any mistakes?"
Her question made Nolan hesitate. The air seemed to thicken between them. When he finally spoke, his voice had lost its confidence.
"I can't guarantee that. We might end up in a different part of Midgard—or a different time. But we can't stay here either, not like this."
He stepped toward the pentagram, now glowing faintly from the moonlight filtering in through the attic window.
"Life's already over for us, unless you'd rather wait for prison or worse."
Elena looked at Julian. His grimace slowly turned into grim resolve.
"Fine. Let's do it before I change my mind."
She followed him into the circle, her steps slow but steady. Nolan reached into his coat pocket and drew out a small dagger, its handle engraved with runes.
"Now that the moon's full, everything's in place," he said, voice calm but shaking at the edges.
"There's no reason this shouldn't work."
He pressed the blade to his wrist. The attic filled with a sharp hiss as metal met skin.
A thin line of red trickled down his arm, falling onto the pentagram.
The symbols pulsed faintly in response, a soft hum vibrating through the floorboards.
Julian turned his head away, muttering a curse. Elena didn't flinch.
She reached for the dagger next, making her own cut with steady hands.
Julian was last, his jaw tight as he passed the blade back to Nolan.
Nolan nodded toward the parchment scroll spread out in the center of the circle. Its ink shimmered faintly in the moonlight.
"Together. We read the incantation at once."
They joined hands, forming a small ring around the scroll.
The attic grew silent for a moment save for the creaking wood beneath their feet, then they started...
"#%#."
"#%#."
"#%#."
The strange words rolled off their tongues again and again, echoing through the attic.
Each repetition deepened the hum beneath the floor until it felt like the house was responding.
The symbols glowed brighter, shifting from dull orange to the color of sunflowers.
Furniture rattled. Dust drifted down from the beams.
The light spread outward, covering the room in a slow, pulsing wave.
Julian squeezed his eyes shut. His usual confidence cracked, his shoulders tightening.
Elena held Nolan's hand tighter, whispering something he couldn't hear over the growing roar.
The air turned warm, then hot, as the glow became blinding.
"Stay focused!" Nolan shouted. "We're almost there!"
The pentagram flared one final time, swallowing their voices and the room in a flood of light.
When the brightness faded, the attic was empty. The chalk circle, the scroll, the blood, all of it was gone. Only the faint smell of burnt wood lingered where three people had stood moments ago.