Chapter Text
Many humans think that magic and science are the antithesis of each other. But magic has rules just as science does, and often science breaks the mind with implication, just as magic can. Perhaps in a way the principles are actually the same.
I found "magic," alchemy, and the arcane arts intriguing, largely because others in my life scorned my investigation of them. From studying hermetic seals, to the Emerald Tablet, and the Seals of Solomon, nothing could quite satisfy my appetite for knowledge.
And then one day I slipped into the Fairy Kingdom.
I blame the ley line.
Not the broken compass, or the flickering lantern I'd stolen from the history department, or that I definitely skipped dinner again. No, it was the ley line’s fault—because if reality hadn’t bent like wet paper around me, I absolutely would not have been stumbling into this.
I was supposed to be in another dimension. Instead, I think I went somewhere… else.
I was still in a clearing in the woods, but things looked… different. A small ring of strange mushrooms, powdered with frost, was around me, maybe seven feet in diameter. The air smelled like lightning and honey, which should’ve been a red flag big enough to make me turn around and run.
Instead, I sighed dramatically and observed.
Fog swirled around the edges of the clearing, obscuring anything that might lie beyond. No sun, just a dim light, possibly from the moon hidden by clouds. It was cold, and getting colder by the second.
And that’s when he appeared.
Not walked in, he just appeared. Like the light decided it was bored of being photons and would rather be a man—if you could call something like him a man at all.
He was all long limbs and impossible poise, moon-silver hair lifting in a breeze I couldn’t feel. His pale skin shimmered like snow in the moonlight where it peaked out of his impossibly thin and plunging silk jacket. His red wings shifted behind him like sheets of molten stained glass.
I think I forgot how my lungs worked. Not ideal.
He regarded me with eyes so bright and focused; it made my throat constrict. “A human,” he mused, as if reading a label on a curiosity jar. “How rare.”
Fantastic. A gorgeous eldritch being noticed me.
“I’m not here for your amusement,” I snapped, because panic always makes me mouthier. “I’m just lost. Temporarily. Probably.”
His lips curved into something like a smile. “You stepped across a barrier woven from star fire.”
“That sounds like something I definitely didn’t do on purpose.”
“You followed the pull,” he said softly, stepping closer. “Something called to you.”
“Yeah. Insomnia.”
Another step. He was too close now, close enough that I could see constellations reflected in his too-blue irises. Close enough that my heart decided skip a few life-giving beats.
“Humans don’t wander into my realm without reason.” His voice dropped, rich and amused. “And certainly not ones as… incandescent as you.”
“I’m not incandescent.”
I probably was incandescent. My face was on fire. Traitorous blood, betraying me like always. I swallowed hard, still trying to figure out what I was dealing with. “Are you a celestial being?”
There was a small bark of a laugh in reply. “Oh, no, but how kind of you to mistake me for one.”
I clenched my jaw, irritated that I didn’t get an answer forthright. “Then you must be an elf?”
The being cast his gaze down to the ground, smiling. “A fae,” he replied conversationally.
Shit.
I quickly searched my mind for what I knew of them; my studies had led me to be knowledgeable in many things, but the fae were creatures I had not intended to meet tonight. I didn't exactly prepare.
No iron on me, so that’s a problem. Iron could hurt them by searing their essence, and if you wrapped them in a chain of it, they had to do your bidding. I was pretty good at word games, so I doubt I could be bound into a contract accidentally. Fae can’t lie, but they are also notoriously good at half-truths. They are easy to offend and are exceedingly petty.
But they are powerful. And though contracts with them are often more trouble than they are worth, I could still get what I wanted for a price.
The fae’s gaze dipped—cheeks, lips, throat—like he was memorizing me. “You seem surprised to see me. Were you expecting someone else?”
I folded my arms. “I was seeking a deal from something more… direct.”
The fae tilted his head to the side, causing his long hair to fall off his shoulders and his hair ornament- a crown maybe?- glinted in the low light. “Humans should not be making deals with beings of magic. They would take advantage of you.”
“I know the risks,” I said, irritated at being underestimated.
“Then you must be desperate for what you desire.”
I grimaced at that. “I have relics. Human technology, human craftmanship, books-”
“And you wish to trade for something?” he said looking me over again appreciatively. I could feel his gaze rake across my skin.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” he asked innocently. “Like I want to take you to my bed and keep you until dawn?”
I choked on absolutely nothing. My entire body went rigid. “I—what!?”
He shrugged, wings shimmering in lazy agreement. “Is that not what humans do when they’re drawn to someone? You came into my garden. You stared at me as though I was the first star you have ever seen. And your heartbeat—” He glanced at my chest with scandalous interest. “—tells me the rest.”
“I—No—that’s—!” My voice cracked like a teenager. Wonderful.
The being blinked, confusion softening his features. Then interest. Then something dangerously like fondness. “Ah. I was too forward. I miscalculated how fast humans proceed because of their shorter lifespans.”
Something about the way he said that struck my curiosity. “Miscalculated?”
He reached out with a hand so elegant it made my bones feel messy. The tips of his fingers grazed my cheek, cool and featherlight. I swayed toward him before my dignity slapped me back upright.
He smiled—slow, knowing, devastating. “Are you willing to trade a kiss for what you seek?”
“I… what I want is worth much more than a kiss,” my mouth said automatically, even though my mind was reeling.
“I think I can be the judge of that,” he said. “Though perhaps… another time? Your ley line appears to be failing.”
I cursed softly as reality bled into this magical liminal space. I turned back towards him, realizing I had lost my chance. My entire face ignited. “Yes. I mean—maybe. Possibly. Hypothetically. A very distant hypothetical.”
The being laughed, a sound like bells dipped in molten gold. “Then I will wait.”
And the worst part was that I believed him.
He stepped back, wings folding down. The forest bent quietly around him as though bowing.
“Until we meet again.”
When I opened my eyes, the world had the audacity to be ordinary.
No shimmering trees. No honey-light air that tasted like possibility. No fae creature with wings made of celestial light.
Just… frost. Frost on the dead grass, frost on my jeans, and frost probably forming inside my boots because of course the universe wanted me cold, damp, and miserable.
I was back on campus and back in reality.
For a long moment, I sat there, trying to catch my breath and trying to piece together how a night of impossible beauty had spit me out into Tuesday morning.
The regret hit next—sharp, icy, and humiliating.
I should have gone with him.
I should have said yes. Or at least something smoother than “very distant hypothetical.” Gods, I probably sounded like a flustered Victorian maiden.
The being had offered me starlight and wonder, and I chose frostbite and freshman physics.
Brilliant, Soren. Truly inspired life choices.
The thought settled uncomfortably in my chest, heavy enough to bruise.
I hated my life here. And for the first time, I realized it wasn’t just exhaustion speaking.
It was yearning.
By third period, I had concluded that frostbite had been the high point of my morning.
Now I found myself stuck in Advanced Arcane Physics—“arcane” meaning “wildly misnamed elective about electromagnetism taught by a man who should not have tenure.”
Professor Mallory loomed over my desk, chalk dust in his hair, eyes glinting with the kind of joy only found in petty tyrants and people who enjoy correcting Wikipedia pages.
“Mr. Schreier,” he said, projecting his voice for maximum classroom humiliation. “Since you’re clearly too clever to pay attention, why don’t you solve the equation on the board?”
I didn’t look up from my notebook. “Which part? The incorrect assumption or the flawed conclusion?”
A ripple of snickers. Mallory’s smile tightened like a cheap knot. “Perhaps you’d care to explain.”
I sighed the sigh of someone who once spoke to a winged creature of incredible beauty and now had to deal with this. I stood, walked to the board, and fixed the equation with three smooth strokes.
“There. Now it won’t implode reality. You’re welcome.”
The class laughed. Mallory’s eye twitched.
I returned to my seat and pretended not to enjoy the dramatic fury radiating off him.
After class, I barely made it three steps outside into the courtyard before three of the campus golden children swooped in like discount harpies.
“Wow, Schreier,” said Brad—because of course his name was Brad. “You really love the sound of your own voice, huh?”
His voice carried. A few nearby students snickered. One girl rolled her eyes in that theatrical, exaggerated way that let me know she wanted to be seen disliking me.
I smiled sweetly. “Oh, Brad. I don’t love the sound of my voice nearly as much as I love the sound of you trying to be witty.”
A couple of people laughed—not with me, the way they once did in high school when my sarcasm was something that set me apart in a good way. No, now they laughed like they were scolding me, excited for however dearest Brad was going to put me in my place.
And Brad had a perpetual chip on his shoulder. He had an older brother Preston, who was very uptight and known for his genius intellect. So, all that anger at being overshadowed was now coming my way just because I happened to be around and punchable.
Brad’s face went red. He puffed up, chest out, posture wide—an angry, posturing pigeon desperately trying to look like a hawk.
“You’re always so smug,” he snapped, jabbing a finger into my chest. Too hard. Hard enough to make me stumble a step.
“Not always,” I said, keeping my voice steady even though heat flared behind my eyes. “Just when I’m awake.”
I caught myself—barely.
“Well,” Brad said, leaning in close enough that I smelled his overpowering cologne, “maybe you shouldn’t be awake so much. Might make people like you better.”
That one hit, but I wasn’t expecting it to. Not like that. It wasn’t even witty! But when people are constantly against you, looking down on you, delighting in every bad thing that comes your way, sometimes the barbs find a way under your skin.
Someone in the onlooking crowd said, “Seriously, who likes this guy?”
A girl I’d worked on a project with once added just loud enough, “He’s exhausting.”
“Are we done?” I asked, voice quiet now, not as snarky as tired. “Or do you need a study guide to form another sentence?”
Without warning, his fist grabbed my backpack strap and yanked—hard. My shoulder wrenched, pain shooting down my arm as the strap twisted. I stumbled forward into him, hitting his chest. His friends closed in like a pack, boxing me in, their laughter sharper now.
“Oops,” Brad said with fake innocence. “See what happens when you run your mouth? Eventually someone has to put you in your place.”
“And you are just taking it upon yourself to bear that responsibility?” I asked, gasping a little as he shoved me back against the brick wall of the lecture hall. The rough brick scraped the back of my head, possibly drawing blood. My bag slipped off one shoulder and fell, scattering papers across the ground.
I tried to bend down to pick up my notes, but Brad grabbed my collar and slammed me back against the wall again. Hard enough that my teeth clicked.
“You aren’t done,” he said.
I felt heat rise to my face—humiliation, anger, something sharper. My hands curled into fists, but I held them at my sides. If I hit him, I’d be the one escorted to the dean’s office by campus security. That was how this always worked.
“Get off me,” I said, voice low.
He smirked and pressed a forearm into my chest, pinning me. “Or what? Gonna cry?” He leaned closer. “Gonna lecture me?”
I shoved at him, but he was stronger and fueled by the thrill of the crowd forming behind him. The courtyard wasn’t empty anymore—students lingered, hovered, watched. No one stepped in.
The air had changed a little, thrumming with anticipation. Everyone watching was hoping this was going to escalate and that I was going to end up hurt and pathetic on the ground. But I not good at keeping quiet, and frankly? I was over this.
“Would a lecture do any good, Brad? You seem unable to grasp even the simplest arcane concept.”
“Keep talking,” he said, teeth clenched. “See what happens.”
I smirked. “Oh, I know exactly what happens.”
That threw him.
“Yeah?” he sneered.
“Oh absolutely.” I leaned in until we were nose-to-nose. “You swing at me. You bruise me. And then—Brad? Sweetheart?—I tell the school’s athletic board how their star boy can’t control himself in public.”
His brows pulled together.
“And then,” I continued pleasantly, “every scout who’s been sniffing around this campus hears about ‘The Incident.’ You know, the one where big, strong Brad Henderson tried punching the weird quiet kid against a wall.”
His grip faltered.
“So tell me,” I said softly, “do you think they’ll still want you for their precious team? Or do you think they’ll move on to someone who doesn’t have anger management issues and an inferiority complex the size of the gymnasium?”
A muscle in his cheek spasmed.
“But don’t worry,” I said, and patted his wrist as if comforting a toddler, “I’ll make sure to tell them you only did it because you were scared. They’re pretty forgiving when it comes to fear.”
His friends stared, eyes wide. One stifled a laugh.
Brad’s face turned a dangerous shade of purple—not rage this time, but humiliation. The worst poison for boys like him.
He shoved me away with a disgusted noise—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to claim the last word physically since he knew he’d lost the verbal one.
“Whatever, freak,” he muttered. “Not worth it.”
Spoiled of their sport, everyone around moved on like they hadn’t just been salivating at me getting it. I shrugged to readjust my shirt and sweater, also trying to hide my shaking hands. I picked up the contents of my bag, trying not to pay any mind to people nearby.
After Brad and the idiotic courtyard circus, I hid in the shadowy corner of the library. My hands still shook faintly—not from fear, not exactly, but from the comedown of an adrenaline spike mixed with exhaustion and whatever passed for emotional aftermath in my dysfunctional internal system.
I stared at my phone for a long minute.
I shouldn’t call home. It never helped.
But I was tired. Not just physically—bone-deep, soul-deep tired.
And some small, pathetic corner of me wanted to hear a familiar voice. Something grounding. Something that reminded me I existed outside bruises and fae politics.
So I pressed the call button.
“Hello?” chirped a too-bright, too-polished voice that still made my stomach clench. Not my father. Of course not.
“Hi,” I said, pressing my thumb between my eyes. “Can I speak to my dad?”
She gave a delicate, disdainful inhale.
“Oh. Soren.” Her tone shifted, like she’d spotted a stain on a white tablecloth. “I didn’t expect your call.”
“I need to talk to him,” I said, keeping my voice as flat as possible.
“You’ve already got your allowance this month,” she said with a scoff.
“It’s not about money, it’s just been a while and I wondered—”
“He’s busy.”
She didn’t even pretend to check.
Of course he was. He was always busy when the choice was between speaking to me or anything else on Earth.
“I just—” I swallowed. “I wanted to check in.”
“How… unexpected,” she said, the pause dripping with disapproval. “I assumed you were off doing your… projects. Or your… intense little hobbies.”
I resisted the urge to slam the phone into the table.
“They’re called classes,” I muttered.
“Mm.” A thoughtful hum, condescending in that way only women who thought they’d upgraded husbands could manage. “Right. Your… intellectual pursuits.” She made “intellectual” sound like a communicable disease.
“Is he available or not?” I asked.
“No. And he doesn’t need… stress.”
“I didn’t say anything stressful.”
“You didn’t have to.”
A beat of silence stretched, taut and painful.
She sighed dramatically. “Honestly, Soren, these calls… they always put him in a mood. The whole day gets derailed. You know how sensitive he is.”
I really didn’t because I hardly saw him since he remarried.
“You should text next time,” she added, voice softening into faux concern. “Or better—email. Something less… demanding.”
“I’m his kid,” I said quietly. “It’s not demanding to want to talk to him.”
Another pause. Sharper this time. And for a moment I thought she might let the mask slip.
“Well,” she said briskly, “you’ve reached us now, and he’s busy, so this was… unfortunate timing.”
It always was. I exhaled, giving up.
“Tell him I called,” I said, already knowing she wouldn’t.
“If he asks,” she replied cheerfully. He wouldn’t.
She didn’t even bother with goodbye. The line clicked dead.
I lowered the phone slowly. My chest hurt in that dull, empty way I hated most—the kind of ache that didn’t bleed or bruise but seeped into everything.
I stared at my reflection in the phone screen.
“Apparently,” I muttered, “I’m stress.”
My throat tightened. I rubbed my face hard and forced a breath.
Well. Time to escape, then.