A World Between Realms

Gardwyn Manor

The journey to Ealdred's manor was peaceful, giving Sophie a rare moment to breathe and take in the beauty around her. Trees in vivid shades of red and amber lined the path, their leaves rustling gently in the breeze. The air was crisp, tinged with the scent of fallen leaves and wood smoke. She leaned out the carriage window slightly, watching the valley unfold below—a tapestry of autumn hues, wildflowers, and silver streams weaving through the land.

Atop a small hill stood the manor: proud, ancient, and dignified. Its stone walls were wrapped in ivy turned crimson and gold, like nature itself had claimed the building in its embrace.

But as they pulled up to the gates, the stillness shattered.

Voices echoed across the grounds. Servants rushed back and forth, their faces tense, eyes wide. Something was wrong.

Ealdred's jaw clenched. "Something's happened," he muttered, already striding toward the entrance. Sophie followed quickly, her heart racing.

Inside, chaos.

The grand hall was filled with distressed murmurs and hurried footsteps. At the center, a woman stood—a regal figure, composed but clearly worried. Beside her, a small child writhed on a settee, her tiny frame caught in violent convulsions. Physicians hovered uselessly, whispering amongst themselves.

Ealdred's expression darkened. "Eliana..." His voice was barely a whisper, but Sophie caught the fear in it.

"What's going on?" she asked, stepping closer.

"My sister," he said, eyes fixed on the child. "She's having another fit, but it's worse than any before. The physicians—" he gestured helplessly—"they don't know what to do."

Sophie stood frozen. The blur of strange people, foreign words, and unfamiliar customs all pressed in around her. But Ealdred was her anchor—steady, real. And the girl on the settee... something about her tugged at Sophie's chest.

Then came a piercing cry. Eliana.

It was sharp, raw, and filled with a pain the little girl couldn't explain. But Sophie felt it—deep and unshakable, like an echo of something buried in her.

Without thinking, she stepped forward. Kneeling beside Eliana, she murmured soft words, unsure if they even made sense in this world. Her hand hovered over the girl's stomach, then pressed gently.

"I think... it's coming from here," she said softly, glancing up at the nearest physician.

They hesitated, doubt written all over their faces. But one of them knelt beside her, cautiously checking the spot she'd pointed to.

Within moments, the cries began to fade. Eliana's breathing steadied. The room, moments ago thick with panic, fell silent—awed.

Ealdred turned to his mother. "Lady Elowen," he said, his voice formal now, deliberate. "This is Sophie. She's been entrusted to our care. It seems she has... an ability to understand what others cannot. Especially Eliana."

He paused, letting his words settle.

"I think we should speak more privately when there's time."

Lady Elowen studied Sophie for a long moment, her gaze sharp but not unkind. "Very well," she said, her voice composed. "It grows late, and this day has been long. You must be tired, child. Our maid will take you to your chambers and see to your needs. Tomorrow, after breakfast, we shall talk."

Sophie nodded, the word "guest" anchoring her to something familiar in this whirlwind of a day. As she followed the maid out, her mind reeled, trying to piece together this strange new place—its language, its people, its magic.

They passed tapestries that shimmered with what looked like moving images—scenes of markets, forests, faraway lands. Sophie couldn't look away.

The maid smiled, noticing. "Beautiful, aren't they?" she said gently. "Each one tells a tale. The Gardwyn manor was built to help realm crossers like you—people who find themselves far from home. Everything here has a purpose. Even the walls."

Sophie blinked. "Realm crossers... like me?"

The maid nodded. "Indeed. It's not the first time the manor has welcomed someone from another world."

They climbed a grand staircase and turned into a long hall lined with carved doors. The maid stopped at one, its frame decorated with silver vines.

"This will be your room," she said, pushing the door open.

Inside, the room was warm and elegant. Heavy curtains framed a view of the forest, and the bed looked softer than anything Sophie had ever slept in.

"I'll have food brought up. Tomorrow, someone will show you around, help you get your bearings."

Sophie murmured a thank you, stepping inside. As the door closed behind her, the silence wrapped around her like a blanket—and a weight.

She walked to the window, eyes scanning the dusky woods below. It was like a storybook. Magical. Terrifying.

Her hand went instinctively to the necklace tucked beneath her shirt—her grandfather's gift. It always grounded her when things felt too big.

Then she remembered—her iPod.

Rummaging through her coat pocket, she pulled it out, along with her phone. Both dead.

No familiar music. No voice from home. Just silence.

A lump rose in her throat, and she blinked hard, forcing back the swell of homesickness.

She was here. Wherever here was. And tomorrow, there would be answers.