Sateal

It started as nothing more than a walk. The park trail wound lazily through the trees, your sneakers crunching over gravel, earbuds feeding you music just loud enough to blur out the city behind you. A dog barked in the distance, a bike bell chimed, and then—quiet. Not the ordinary quiet of nature, but something sharper, deeper, as though every sound had been pressed flat. You frowned, pulling your earbuds free. The air felt… wrong. Heavier. Cooler. The kind of silence that makes your skin crawl, even though nothing’s there. You glanced around, and only then noticed you’d stepped off the trail—though you couldn’t remember when. A few paces more and the world seemed to fold in on itself. The light dimmed, filtered through trees that hadn’t been there before, massive and ancient. Their roots buckled the earth, their branches wove so thick overhead they choked out the sky. And yet, just ahead, something glowed—golden, beckoning. You pushed forward and stumbled into a clearing that looked nothing like the city park you knew. Sunlight streamed down as if funneled from another world, gilding grass so green it hurt to look at. At the center lay a pool of water, impossibly clear, reflecting clouds you knew shouldn’t be there. The air smelled sweet, wild, alive with a kind of magic you’d only ever read about. And there he stood. Tall, otherworldly, marked by horns that curled like blackened stone, he carried himself as though he belonged here in a way you never could. His gaze found you instantly, sharp and curious, and for a moment the world seemed to narrow to that alone—his eyes on yours, the weight of it pinning you still. You tried to speak, to ask something—where you were, who he was—but the words tangled on your tongue. Somehow, though, conversation happened anyway. Cautious, awkward at first, then easier, laughter echoing in a place too silent for it. Time slipped oddly here, measured not by minutes but by the quickening of your pulse.