The path did not feel like ground. That was the first thing she noticed. It looked solid. It held her weight, but every step felt slightly off, like she wasn't fully touching it, as if something beneath it was shifting just out of reach.
She tried not to think about it or look too closely at the darkness stretching on either side. It wasn't just dark—it was deep. If she stepped off the path, she wouldn't just fall; she would disappear.
Her steps slowed for a moment, and the man ahead of her stopped just enough that she almost walked into him. "Stay on the path," he said. She hadn't realized she had drifted. Her gaze dropped quickly to her feet, and she stepped back into the center. "I wasn't—" she started, then stopped. There was no point explaining. He had already turned away, and they kept walking.
Time didn't move normally. She noticed it after a while, or maybe she didn't notice it at all—that was the problem. There was no sound of wind, no distant noise, no sense of direction. Only the quiet rhythm of their footsteps and the strange, steady pull of the path ahead. It felt like they had been walking for hours, or minutes, or something in between. Her chest tightened slightly.
"Where does this lead?" she asked. No answer. She almost laughed, of course. Instead, she wrapped her arms loosely around herself, more out of instinct than cold, and kept moving.
The air changed first, subtle but noticeable. It grew heavier—not suffocating, but present, like something was watching. Not the men—something else. Her shoulders tensed. "Do you feel that?" she asked before she could stop herself. No one responded, but one of them glanced at her briefly, and she knew she wasn't imagining it. That made it worse.
The darkness ahead began to shift, not lifting or fading, just changing. At first, she thought it was her eyes adjusting. Then she realized there was light—faint, barely there, but growing.
Her steps slowed. This time, no one told her to keep walking. They didn't need to. The closer they got, the more the path became visible—not just the path, but the world itself. It didn't appear all at once. It unfolded, like something revealing itself slowly and deliberately. The darkness thinned into shadows, and the shadows gave way to shapes—tall, elegant, wrong.
Her breath caught. Trees—but not like any she had ever seen. They stretched higher than they should, their branches curling in ways that didn't follow any natural pattern. The leaves shimmered faintly, catching light that didn't seem to come from anywhere. Everything looked perfect—too perfect, like it had been designed instead of grown.
She stopped walking, unaware at first that the distance between her and the others had widened. They didn't stop, didn't turn, didn't call her. Panic flickered in her chest. "Wait!" she moved quickly, closing the distance again. Her heart was beating faster now, not from the walk but from the realization settling in deeper with every step. This wasn't just somewhere else; this was somewhere impossible.
They kept walking and the path widened, the dense trees thinning until the forest suddenly gave way to a larger clearing. The light here felt different—stronger, but gentle, as if it was simply part of the air itself. Then she saw it. Her steps slowed without meaning to.
The palace rose in the distance, emerging from the landscape as though it had always been there—massive, silent, unreal. Her breath left her in a quiet rush. It didn't look built; it looked formed. The structure stretched high into the sky, its edges sharp and smooth all at once, dark stone catching the strange light in a way that made it almost seem alive.
Tall arches, endless windows, shadows clinging to it as if they belonged there.
Her chest tightened. "That's…" she started, but the words didn't come. No one answered—they didn't need to. She already knew. The closer they got, the heavier everything felt: the air, the silence, even her own breathing.
Her steps slowed again, more noticeably this time. She couldn't help it. The palace wasn't just big; it was overwhelming, like it was watching her the same way the path had been, waiting.
She swallowed. "Who lives there?" she asked, even though she already had the answer. One of them spoke this time. "The one you were given to." Her stomach dropped. Given. Again. Like it was the only word that mattered. Her gaze lifted back to the palace—to its height, its stillness, its weight—and for the first time since she left, fear settled in fully. Not sharp, not panicking, just certain.
They reached the gates without slowing. She hadn't even noticed them at first. They blended into the structure, tall and dark, lined with patterns she couldn't quite follow. The moment the man in front stepped forward, the gates opened—no sound, no effort, just a slow, smooth shift inward. Her breath caught again. Of course. Nothing here needed to be touched.
She hesitated at the entrance, just for a second. One step. That's all it would take to cross into something she didn't understand, something she couldn't undo. Behind her, there was nothing—not even the path anymore. She turned her head slightly. The forest stood still, silent, unmoving, as if it had already closed behind her. Her chest tightened.
Then she looked forward again, at the palace, at the open gates, at whatever waited inside.
Slowly, she stepped through. The doors closed behind her, and this time she heard it—a deep, final sound that echoed through the space like a warning, or a promise. She didn't know which.
But as the silence settled again, one thought pressed quietly into her mind: she hadn't just been taken. She had arrived.