Marcus Dent never believed in magical forests, alternate dimensions, or spiritual destinies. He believed in expired protein bars, spotty Wi-Fi, and finishing things just late enough to avoid real consequences.
Which is why he stood under a dying sun, halfway through a forest trail he didn't remember taking, with no map, no phone signal, and a sinking feeling in his chest.
"This is what I get for trying to be 'outdoorsy,'" he muttered, kicking at a pinecone.
The trees around him were unfamiliar—bark too smooth, branches too low, and the air too still. He'd followed a trail marker near the edge of Grayrock Canyon, but the terrain had changed. The soil was darker, more sponge than dirt, and the canopy above shimmered with an oily green sheen.
He tried checking his phone again—just in case the gods of bad decisions had pity.
Dead. Of course.
"Okay, Marcus," he sighed, slinging his pack off. "Let's retrace steps, ignore every horror movie instinct, and definitely not die out here."
He turned around—and froze.
The trail was gone.
There wasn't even disturbed earth behind him, no footprints, no sign he'd walked here at all. Just trees. Endless trees.
He spun, eyes scanning for anything familiar, then caught sight of something glowing between the trunks.
A light. Soft, pulsing green. Low to the ground.
Maybe someone had set up camp?
He approached.
It wasn't a camp.
It was a tree—twenty feet wide at the base, roots like frozen waves curling out in every direction. Its bark was the color of burnt coffee, but veined with threads of emerald light that pulsed gently, like a heartbeat.
At its center, near ground level, was a knotted spiral glowing with a warm, unnatural hum.
"Okay," Marcus whispered. "Cool alien tree. I'm definitely not hallucinating."
He should've turned back.
He didn't.
He reached out—and touched the knot.
The world lurched.
Light and gravity twisted inward. The trees collapsed into lines. Sound folded like a crumpled wrapper. He staggered backward but had no ground to fall on.
And then—
Silence.
He gasped as he hit the ground, cold and damp. Everything was wrong.
The forest was no longer familiar.
The sky above him had two suns—one pale orange, the other sickly blue, hanging like mismatched eyes over a purple-leafed canopy. The trees here were massive, their bark a pale silver, and their leaves fluttered without wind.
The air smelled like rain on stone, but also mint, and something oddly metallic.
Marcus scrambled up, heart hammering.
"Nope," he said aloud. "Nope, nope, what the actual hell."
He spun in place, checked for his pack (still there), patted himself down (still intact), and then heard a low hum in the trees. Not animal. Not mechanical. It sounded like someone humming through a reed flute.
He took one cautious step forward.
A root snapped upward and smacked him across the knees like a schoolyard bully.
He landed hard, rolled downhill, and slammed into a pond with a loud splash.
The water was warm.
And smelled like cinnamon.
As Marcus broke the surface, coughing and swearing, a voice echoed above him.
"Ah. A new idiot. Lovely."
He froze, blinking water out of his eyes.
Hovering above the water was a small, floating wisp of golden-green flame with glowing eyes and no visible mouth.
It pulsed when it spoke.
"You touched the Heartroot, didn't you?"
Marcus: "…Is that the tree? The weird glowing tree?"
"Yes. Congratulations. You're now forest-bonded. Possibly doomed. Certainly unqualified."
Marcus swam to the shore and dragged himself out. "Okay. Cool. Love this. Definitely dreaming."
"You're not dreaming. Just stupid."
He glared at it. "What are you?"
"I am Loria. Spirit of the forest. Whisper of the canopy. The rot beneath your feet and the breath between branches. You're now tethered to me, so get used to the sound of my voice."
Marcus blinked. "…I'm what now?"
"Tethered. Bound. Contracted. Whatever makes your tiny mind comfortable. You touched the Heartroot, so now you belong to the forest."
He sat down heavily on a mossy rock.
"Okay. New plan. I'm going to wake up. I'm going to go back to my hiking trip. And I'm going to sue whatever government let a tree like that exist."
"There is no 'waking up.' This isn't your world. This is Loria. And you are the forest's newest Guardian."
Marcus stared at the wisp, waiting for the punchline. None came.
"Guardian? Of what, exactly? Trees? Mushrooms? The weird cinnamon water I almost drowned in?"
"Yes. All of the above. The balance of the forest. The sanctity of nature. The stability of the realm. And occasionally, to clean up after territorial badgers."
"That last one better be a joke."
"You'll find out."
Marcus exhaled, slumping back onto the mossy rock.
"Okay. Assuming I buy any of this—which I don't—what happens if I say no?"
"You'll slowly rot from the inside out as the bond breaks you. Also, I'll be mildly disappointed."
He stared at her.
"Fine. Mostly the rot thing."
They walked—well, he walked, Loria hovered—through forest that grew stranger with every step. Trees that whistled. Stones that pulsed. Insects that glowed with faint symbols on their wings.
Marcus tried not to touch anything.
"So let me get this straight. I'm stuck here. In a magical forest. With no idea where 'here' is. No idea how to survive. And you've decided I'm nature's janitor."
"Forest Guardian."
"Right. Guardian. Sorry."
"You'll adapt. Most of the others did."
"Others?"
"Previous humans. You're the eleventh."
He froze. "What happened to the first ten?"
"Varied. Some were eaten. One exploded. A few ran into the Bloomwood and lost their minds. One tried to marry a fungus."
"…What?"
"It was a very persuasive fungus."
Marcus found a relatively flat patch of dirt under a crooked tree and sat down. He took inventory: a half-full water bottle, a few protein bars, a pack of gum, and a pocket knife. He doubted any of it would be useful against magical wolf-bats or carnivorous vines.
Loria floated nearby, glowing softly in the twilight.
"You'll need to find shelter before night fully falls. The dusk-dwellers don't like trespassers."
"Define 'dusk-dwellers.'"
"Imagine a bear. Now imagine it made of shadows and bad choices."
"Oh good."
"Also, they can smell anxiety."
Marcus stood up quickly. "Right. Yep. Let's move."
They trekked for half an hour through thickets and low-hanging vines until they came across a half-collapsed stone ruin nestled between tree roots.
"Old forest temple. Abandoned. Probably."
"Define 'probably.'"
"Statistically not inhabited by anything lethal."
He stepped inside anyway. The air was cool, still, and smelled faintly of ash and moss. Crumbled stone benches lined the interior, and carvings danced across the cracked walls—spirals, roots, eyes, and suns.
At the center stood a raised stone circle, wide enough to lie down on, with grooves worn smooth by centuries.
"This was a shrine to the Pulse."
Marcus frowned. "What's the Pulse?"
"Magic. Memory. Breath of the world. Every leaf, every insect, every gust of wind connects to it. The Pulse is the heartbeat of existence."
He sat on the edge of the stone and rubbed his temples. "Okay. So the forest is alive. I'm bonded to it. And this Pulse thing is what… your god?"
"Closer to a nervous system. But yes, some worship it. Others try to consume it."
Marcus paused. "Wait—what kind of people try to consume magic?"
"The kind who want to live forever. Or reshape the world. Or burn forests to fuel cities."
"…So I'm not just stuck here. I'm stuck in a war zone."
"Welcome to Loria."
That night, Marcus built a fire using a broken-off torch stem and Loria's reluctant help ("fine, one flame spark, but no more"), then curled up on a makeshift bed of moss and crushed leaves.
As the fire crackled, he stared up at the carved ceiling and asked, "Why me?"
"Because you were there. Because the Heartroot is desperate. Because the Pulse reacts to disruption, and you're very disruptive."
"That last one sounds like an insult."
"It was."
As he drifted toward sleep, Loria floated closer and dimmed her glow.
"Sleep lightly. You'll dream of the forest now. That's how it begins."
"How what begins?"
"Your forgetting."
Marcus frowned. "What does that mean?"
"You'll see."