A small settlement of ogres feasted upon their freshly hunted prey deep within the forest. At the heart of their crude camp stood a spire-shaped stone monument.

  It rose nearly three meters high, two meters across, with a strange carving upon one side that resembled the outline of a door, lending the sculpture the air of some foreign, miniature dwelling. Moss and creeping plants clung to its surface, evidence that no hand had tended it for ages.

  The ogres, long accustomed to the monument’s silent presence, paid it no mind, intent instead on their gluttonous revelry. Yet in the midst of their feast, the sculpture stirred. From the side etched with the door, there came the unmistakable creak of wood.

  Creaaak—

  Glen pushed the door open, expecting only a chamber of pitch darkness within. Instead, a blinding brilliance struck his eyes, so harsh that he was forced to shield his face with his arm.

  When his sight returned, he found himself in a dense jungle, surrounded by a horde of grotesque, misshapen creatures staring at him with unblinking malice.

  “Uh… hello?” Glen managed, tugging awkwardly at the corner of his lips in a feeble smile.

  “F… food!” one ogre slurred, shattering the silence.

  At once, the entire horde dropped their half-gnawed meat, seizing stone clubs and axes as they charged the intruding human.

  Quite the enthusiastic welcome… Glen flexed his wrists, claws unfurling like blades from his fingertips. Moments later, the clearing was littered with ogre corpses. The few who survived stumbled away in terror, grievously wounded and scarcely likely to last long.

  He could have ended them all, but the stench of rotting ogres was nothing he wished to linger over.

  Where in the world am I? Scratching his head, Glen glanced about the thick undergrowth. He had used only a partial wolf-form, sparing his clothes from damage, so there was no need to return home for a change.

  Looking back at the strange door, he marveled. Who would have thought that a portal beneath his house could open to such a place? One side of the door was stone, the other wood. Upon his right wrist he now noticed a circle of glowing runes, somehow tethered to the gate itself.

  The right hand—the one I used to grasp the handle. Was this brand marked upon me then? While he pondered, the door slammed shut of its own accord.

  Startled, Glen clawed desperately at the seams of the carved doorway, but to no avail.

  “Damn it…” His teeth clenched, his expression darkened. Am I trapped here forever? No—calm down… He drew several steadying breaths until his racing thoughts eased.

  Studying the runes upon his wrist, he pressed his palm against the stone wall, groping for any response. When his fingers brushed across a triangular symbol, the runes flared faintly, and the door swung open once more.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Relief washed over him, sweat dripping from his brow. Now that he understood the means of return, there was no need to hurry. Instead, he turned his gaze outward. Choosing the direction of a distant mountain peak, he set off to gain a broader view of this unfamiliar land.

  Upon reaching the summit, the sight that greeted him was wholly unexpected: at the edge of the endless jungle stood a great city. Its European-style houses, looming castles, and factories belching black smoke were unmistakable.

  Have I arrived at the central district of a lord’s domain? The thought seized Glen at once, its likelihood too great to ignore.

  To confirm, he bounded down the slopes, the dark wind of his half-wolf speed scattering beasts in his wake. Soon, the scent of humans reached him. Within moments he stood less than a hundred meters from the city walls. From afar, he spied a broad road bustling with caravans, travelers, and strange mounts—lizard-beasts the size of automobiles, horned felines, and more.

  The gates yawned wide, guarded by armored soldiers bearing muskets, who kept order with practiced vigilance.

  Shedding his wolfish guise, Glen emerged from the shadows and approached a passing youth.

  “Hey, friend, could you tell me where I am? I got a bit lost and somehow wandered here. A little help, please?”

  The young man gave him a puzzled look before replying, “This is the city of Kailadrea. Surely you’ve heard of it? Unless… you’re a wild man.”

  Kailadrea? Not the district of Bayek town at all… This is the great western capital of the kingdom, the district nearest the royal city itself! The realization struck him so hard he forgot to answer.

  “Sir? Are you all right?” The youth waved a hand before his eyes, his expression turning stranger still.

  “Ah? Oh…” Glen coughed lightly, recovering himself. “Forgive me, I was a bit dazed. You know how it is—suddenly learning you’ve stumbled into a district’s main city, it’s a lot to take in.”

  “Good luck, sir.” With a sigh and a curt bow, the youth departed, clearly unwilling to probe Glen’s clumsy excuse.

  Thick-skinned as ever, Glen cared little for the man’s attitude. A teleportation gate… reminds me of some old animated film. The previous owner of that house was no ordinary man. To craft such magic, he must have been a grand sorcerer indeed. Judging by the dust of that cellar, though, he’s long since perished.

  Avoiding further attention, Glen slipped back into the forest. He had no intention of entering the city—not yet. There would be time enough, when he had both coin and leisure.

  At the city gates, however, a sharp-eyed eagle perched upon a guard’s shoulder spoke in a rasping human tongue: “Damnation… I swear I just caught the scent of a werewolf.”

  “Impossible,” scoffed the guard. “This area’s long been purged by the knights. Stop jumping at shadows.”

  …

  That same day, Leira adorned herself with meticulous care. She donned her finest dress, placed a wide sunhat upon her head, and carried a wicker basket filled with the costly delicacies her mother had lovingly prepared—fare fit for kin, at least in appearance. She looked every bit the dutiful daughter setting out for a family visit.

  Yet her errand was no family call.

  Stopping first by the homes of nearby friends, she sought companions for her journey. Each refused, citing one excuse or another. Only one girl had the time, yet the moment she learned Leira’s destination was Bayek, her face blanched.

  It was a petite girl, speckled with freckles. Peering nervously from behind her door, she whispered, “Leira, listen to me. You must never go there—I swear it! If you knew how dangerous that place truly is…”

  “You know it?”

  “Of course! I once strayed there myself. The mist is crawling with monsters—I saw them with my own eyes. Had I not fled swiftly, you wouldn’t see me standing here today.” Her voice trembled with remembered terror.

  But instead of fear, Leira pressed her hand to her lips and laughed softly. “Hehe… Bonnie, you must have mistaken what you saw.”

  Her friend’s cheeks flushed crimson. “Leira! You must believe me! Ask the elders, they’ll tell you the same!”

  “That’s enough, Bonnie. I really must go.” Leira stepped forward, embraced the girl gently, and then turned away.

  In Leira’s mind, if Bayek truly harbored such perils, it would not have remained an obscure and nameless place to this day. Besides… that gentleman dwelled there still.