And then I'm standing in our garden again, in front of the garden shed. And like a wave, everything crashes down on me. I drop to my knees. It's as if all the strength has drained out of my body — because I suddenly understand what just happened. And what it means.
"This is insane. This is completely insane."
My chest tightens again. And without meaning to, I pull the Crawcoon even closer to me. He does not like that. Suddenly, the creature starts hissing and thrashing, its claws catching my upper body. With a sharp hiss of my own, I let go.
He drops to the ground, turns toward me, and arches his back like a cat. Another hiss escapes his beak.
Then he speaks.
"Insane," he yells at me. "Insane."
Before I can even process what's happening, he beats his wings and is gone. All that's left behind is a single black feather on the spot where he stood moments ago.
"Did he just talk?" I whisper.
Without really understanding what I'm doing, I reach for the feather and start stroking it over and over with my fingers, while my thoughts slowly begin to fall back into order.
-----
I'm early.
Okay, I'm always early. Because I'm chronically late. Is that logical? It is to me. Because it means I always arrive far too early somewhere, since I factor in the possibility of being late due to unforeseen events. And if those events don't happen, I'm early.
Which is why I'm standing in front of the place where the ball is supposed to take place.
It's a grand hotel.
And suddenly, I feel painfully out of place.
Because of course I didn't decide to dress up. I'm wearing my sweater. My beige favorite comfort sweater, which is clearly two sizes too big. Jeans. Sneakers. Large headphones cover my ears, shutting out the world and all of its noise.
I argued with myself for a long time about whether I should even come, after what happened. But I couldn't think of anything else I'd rather do.
And yes, the food.
All day long, up until this moment, my thoughts have been tumbling over each other. Part of me is so terrified by what happened that all I want is to talk to someone about it. Maybe even someone official.
Because even though everything in me hopes none of it was real, it's more than clear that this has to be some kind of skill. That I awakened. Whether I wanted to or not.
Truth is ... that I somehow belong to the Hunters now.
And the problem is: I clearly can't control what's happening.
If what happened earlier really did happen — and we both know it did — then it also means that a few nights ago, in my dream, I stood face to face with a goblin. A real goblin. And that it could happen again at any time.
The place where I was with the Crawcoon —he Archive, as I now call it in my mind — doesn't look like the Labyrinth we humans know. I'm certain it lies deeper than any place humanity has reached so far. And if my ability brings me to places like that, it also means I could encounter beings far more powerful than a goblin.
And that thought scares me so much that breathing hurts.
Another part of me is terrified of telling anyone about it. Because what happens if the government finds out that this is my ability? Governments don't like variables they can't control.
So far, the only way humans can enter this other, new world, the Labyrinth, is through portals. Portals that form randomly, somewhere.
We can predict them shortly before they appear, but never far in advance.
And these portals aren't like gates you step through and suddenly descend straight into the ground beneath your feet.
No. The portals you enter lead to some corresponding location inside the Labyrinth and leave you there.
So far, there are only portals that lead to the uppermost level and the two levels beneath it. And if you enter through a portal, you have to leave through that same portal. Because once you're inside the Labyrinth, you can't predict where another portal back to the surface might open.
That's why you don't have much time down there. You go in and you come back.
What I'm doing contradicts everything humanity believes it knows about portals.
Which means one of two things.
Either we're wrong—or I am.
I don't want to think about it anymore, but somehow I managed to enter the Labyrinth without a portal. To a place we haven't discovered yet. A place that might lie deeper than anything we've ever reached.
What would a government do if it knew someone like that existed?
If it knew that I have that ability?
That I can take other living beings with me?
I know it sounds crazy, but the government scares me almost more than whatever I might encounter in the Labyrinth. And that's exactly why I decide not to talk about it.
Which really should have been another reason not to show up here today — because that agent can read minds.
I really hope he isn't here.
That hope shatters almost immediately when I spot a man in a suit heading toward the entrance and disappearing inside. Women stop and turn to look at him.
Its him. The agent.
Maybe I should go home.
I turn around — and slam into a surprisingly solid chest.
All the air is knocked from my lungs, and two unexpectedly strong hands grab my shoulders, keeping me from falling. I look up, and the guy is grinning down at me. That's when I notice the freckles across the bridge of his nose. Dancing around his scar.
"Sorry, I didn't know you were going to turn around."
I take a step back, and it seems almost reluctant when he finally lets go of my shoulders. I feel oddly relieved when I notice he's wearing nothing more than jeans, a T-shirt, and a college jacket.
Casual for the win.
"Why were you standing so close behind me?"
That came out sharper than intended.
Embarrassed, he takes a small step back.
"Yeah, cool that you're here. I just realized I don't even know your name, so... hi, I'm Jaxon."
He looks at me expectantly.
"Mirel."
"Cool."
The situation feels awkward.
"Why are you here so early?" I ask, genuinely surprised. I would have bet money that he was the never-on-time type.
He laughs. "You look like someone who shows up early."
With that, he grabs my hand and pulls me along behind him.
Caught off guard, I let it happen.
------
The hall looks like money was thrown into the air and decided to stay.
High ceilings, heavy fabrics, warm light that softens everything more than it should.
Golden accents on the dark walls give the whole place a modern edge.
It smells like perfume, polished wood, and something warm coming from the kitchen. Butter. Meat. Spices. My stomach reacts faster than my brain.
Suits everywhere. Dark, tailored, clearly made just for this event. Why, I don't really understand.
In between them dresses. Long ball gowns that whisper across the floor when their wearers move, and shorter, tighter, glittering cocktail dresses. Some women look like they belong here. Others look like they've put on armor made of fabric.
Glasses clink. Muted conversations, laughter that's just a little too loud. Music somewhere in the background, subtle enough not to get in the way. Everything is designed to impress. And to remind us that one of us here might soon be someone.
People keep adjusting themselves. Jackets are tugged straight, shoulders pulled back, smiles tested and discarded. Everyone is performing a version of themselves they hope will stick.
I catch fragments of conversation as I pass: training rankings, dungeon knowledge, sponsors, whispered numbers that sound important but mean nothing to me.
Some of them look excited. Others look terrified and are very good at hiding it.
There's a sharpness in the air beneath the perfume, like static before a storm. Too many expectations packed into one room.
I feel it in my chest first. The noise, the movement, the way my brain tries to track everything at once and fails.
I am overstimulated.
But i know how to handle this
I focus on details. The pattern in the carpet. The steady rhythm of the music. The promise of food somewhere beyond the crowd.
Breathing becomes easier again. My brain drops out of fight-or-flight mode.
Jaxson is still holding my hand. I pull it away, and we look at each other, standing there in our jeans.
And then we burst out laughing, because the whole situation is so absurd. From the outside, it looks like important people have gathered here — not just potential Hunter candidates.
We don't fit in here at all. But to me, we're the only two normal people in the room.
Everyone else looks like they're pretending.
We're the only ones not trying.
"Food?" he asks.
"Absolutely," I say.