A weave within

Chapter 1: Portal of Fate

The day had dragged longer than Eldeth preferred. Working from home sounded like a dream to most people, and she understood why. But the reality of Corporate America was slowly wringing every ounce of comfort from her life. With no real divide between her office and her sanctuary, the boundaries blurred, and her home felt less and less like her own.

She rubbed at her tired eyes as she wandered down the hallway, grateful that the day was almost over. Soon, she'd be in bed. Just a few more steps.

Before heading upstairs, she turned into the kitchen. The clock on the counter blinked 11:22 PM, obnoxiously bright. She sighed. Another day gone, and nothing truly done for herself. She opened the cabinet and reached blindly into the dark, fingers brushing against the rim of a glass. Pulling it down, she filled it with water and took a few gulps, the tap water grounding her slightly. Setting the glass in the sink, she pivoted and made her way upstairs.

Her bedroom was the only place she refused to let work touch. It remained a sacred space, a bubble of solitude and comfort. As she closed the door behind her, she inhaled deeply, a reminder that she could exhale here.

Slipping out of her day clothes, she pulled on sweatpants, a soft tank top, and her favorite cardigan. Comfort was everything, and if not for video calls, this would be her permanent uniform.

She crawled into bed, pulling the comforter up and stretching out to find the cool spots. A small, satisfied smile tugged at her lips as she snuggled in deeper. She reached for the remote. Even if she wouldn't stay awake long, a movie was always part of the routine. After a few scrolls, she settled on the 2005 version of Pride and Prejudice. Matthew Macfadyen's Mr. Darcy never failed her.

The soft sounds of the movie drifted around her. Her eyelids grew heavier. The last thing she remembered was Charlotte Lucas saying, "I have no money and no prospects." Eldeth chuckled at that. At thirty, not twenty-seven, she could relate. Bills, groceries, barely anything left over—she felt that line in her bones.

She turned the volume down and set the sleep timer. Curling up with her body pillow, she surrendered to sleep.

At exactly 2:00 AM, the old grandfather clock struck—and a thunderous crack shattered the silence. A swirling oval of glowing pink and purple energy appeared in her living room. With a sudden crash, a body landed hard on the floor.

Eldeth's eyes flew open. Her body tensed, heart pounding in her chest. That noise—it wasn't part of any dream. She scrambled for her phone, flipping on the flashlight and scanning the room. "What the hell was that?" she whispered.

Her hand reached instinctively for the baseball bat she kept next to the bed. Just in case. She never thought she'd actually need it.

Slipping her phone into her pocket, she gripped the bat in both hands, flicked on her bedroom light, and crept to the door. Her fingers trembled slightly as she turned the knob.

Every step toward the staircase felt like a war between logic and instinct. Her body screamed to run the other way, but she kept moving forward. She made it to the top of the stairs and took a breath.

"I'VE GOT A G-GUN AND I'M NOT AFRAID TO USE IT!" she shouted, voice wavering. "I'VE CALLED THE POLICE TOO!"

She immediately winced. That hadn't sounded convincing at all.

"My gods, I must be more careful," came a voice—male, unfamiliar, and oddly... refined.

She froze. Someone was definitely downstairs.

Her breathing quickened. She stepped cautiously onto the top stair, slowly making her way down. In the moonlight filtering through the windows, she spotted a tall figure in a cloak.

One hand on the bat, the other searching the wall behind her, she flipped on the living room lights. The bulbs buzzed to life.

"Ah, there we go. Proper lighting," the man said, blinking as if adjusting to the brightness.

She tightened her grip on the bat. Her eyes narrowed. Who the hell was this man, and why was he in her house?

He wore a robe—purple with red accents—his shoulder-length brown hair tousled, and a single earring glinted in his left ear. He was... smiling?

"Oh, hello," he said with unexpected politeness. "It seems I have... landed somewhere..." He glanced around the room, then back at her. "Different."

She didn't relax. Not one bit.

"Who are you and what the hell are you doing in my house?" she asked firmly. Her feet planted, the bat raised.

He gave her a soft, apologetic smile.

"My name is Gale. Of Waterdeep," he added, as though it should mean something.

"Okay. And where exactly is 'Waterdeep'? And again—why are you in my house?"

His expression shifted through confusion, then annoyance, and finally settled on bewilderment.

"Well," he began slowly, "Waterdeep is—um. I... fell. Through a portal. Hard, I might add. Very solid flooring you have." He chuckled nervously.

She scanned the room. No broken windows. No open doors. Her alarm hadn't gone off. What the hell?

As she stepped carefully around the room, still keeping her eyes on him, he continued.

"And you are... the mistress of this wondrous estate?" he asked. "My apologies for the intrusion. But if you could kindly point me to the Sword Coast, I'll be on my way."

She blinked. "You're in Florida."

He tilted his head. "Ah. Yes. And where might this... 'Florida' be?"

Her mouth parted. "Earth?"

That seemed to confuse him even more.

He turned again, examining the room. His eyes fell on the television mounted above the fireplace, then the modern furniture, and finally back to her. A strange unease passed over his features.

There was no magic here. No hum, no buzz of energy. Even the orb in his chest, usually softly thrumming with Mystra's presence, felt... dormant.

"I should really be going," he said suddenly. "Tara will kill me if I'm late for tea again." He stepped aside and murmured something in a language she didn't recognize, hands drawing a pattern in the air.

A small blue spark appeared before him—and vanished.

He frowned. Tried again. Same result.

"Well, that's embarrassing," he muttered.

"What are you doing?" Eldeth asked, eyes locked on his movements.

"Trying to get home. Portal magic," he said plainly. "Though something's wrong."

She snorted. "What are you, a witch or something?"

"Wizard, actually. And witches are women. Say..." he perked up, eyes narrowing slightly. "Are you a witch? Sorceress? Druid?"

She shook her head. "Wizards aren't real. And I think it's time you leave before I actually call the cops."

"Not real?" he scoffed. "I am a wizard. Of Waterdeep. Chosen of Mystra, Goddess of Magic herself. I assure you, we're very real."

She remained unconvinced.

"If I could just demonstrate..." he motioned again, and this time the portal almost took shape—bluish-purple swirls forming an oval. Her breath caught.

Then—fizzled out.

Her bat lowered slightly. That wasn't a trick. That was... something else entirely.

No broken windows. No forced entry. And now this man was doing something she couldn't explain. A strange weight settled in her stomach. Her knees buckled slightly.

Before she could ask anything else, everything went black.