A Door

Fog swirled, thick and blinding, the scent of burnt spices scouring his nose and singeing his eyes, his ears popping with a sudden change in pressure. Asahi choked up on his sword hilt as he widened his stance, blade humming in his grip.

“Come out and face me, coward!”

He didn’t know what kind of game the Black Lord was playing at, but he wouldn’t go down that easy. Not after coming so far, after going through so much these past two years. He spit the blood from his busted lip, ready.

The fog stilled, then dropped, rushing outward and pooling across the floor.

He wasn’t in the cavern anymore. It was…

An apartment?

A couple stared back at him, eggrolls halfway to their mouths, remnants of fog still trickling amongst the metal table legs.

Asahi fought to pull air into his lungs, his red lacquer armor flashing strangely in the fluorescent light.

“Mom?” His sword drooped, chest tightening. “Dad?”

“A… Asahi?”

- - -

The clock lit up blue as he tapped it. Only twenty after one.

Asahi sighed, pushing at the hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. The chaotic dream slowly faded, gryphon screams and the smell of sulfur still tangled with dread of overdue homework, a snarled mess of this world and that. Was he really home?

Yes. He could feel the hole in his chest where magic should be. Where it had been.

He tossed onto his side, grunting as his forearm flared with pain—a dragon fire burn wrapped in perfect white gauze. His fist clenched. He was finally home. Returned to the place he’d been stolen from. So, why did he feel… guilty?

Two years in that world, fighting to stay alive, struggling to wrap his tongue around the language, fumbling into every faux pas imaginable. Two years of passersby staring with awe and hope, simply because of words in an old book. He’d done everything they’d asked of him on the promise of one thing. That they send him back. He’d even thrown a fit like a toddler, refusing to enter that first battle until they’d bound an oath, promising to figure out a way to undo the call.

He stared at the calendar on the wall, red scribbles covering tiny boxes, all the things he needed to catch up on. Two years there; only two months here. Ten days had passed since landing in the kitchen. How many had passed there? Was it always the same ratio, or was time more slippery than that?

What happened once he’d returned? The assault had been chaos. They had continuously told him they couldn’t win without him—that was why they had pulled him through in the first place. Served them right if it boomeranged him back before they were ready.

His eyes moved to the sword leaned into the corner with his baseball bats. It had gone quiet.  

He rubbed absently at the hole in his chest, faces slipping through his mind. People who’d taken him in, fed him, taught him, trained him. Mai’s strangled smirk as he mispronounced the word for bread, calling their host a toad. Gad’s deep laughter as they squished together beside the fire that bitter night on the mountain. Even infuriating old Pia as she smacked him for setting the training swords on fire instead of the dummy.

He pressed his sternum harder.

This was what he’d wanted more than anything. To go home.

He was going back to school tomorrow. Didn’t matter that he’d gained four inches of height and thirty pounds of muscle, that he’d mastered the broadsword and learned how to run a smear campaign against a tyrant king. Here, he was just a senior who’d “run off” for a couple months. It’d be easy to slip back into this life with no war. No famine. No monsters. No madman bent on killing those he cared about.

A breeze whispered through the room. No, not a breeze. A hum. Coming from his sword.  

He jerked upright, a tug in his chest. Magic?

“Asahi?” His dad called, voice shaking.

He tumbled out of bed, snatching his sword, bats spilling behind him.

Gold sparks danced at the end of the hallway, throwing light across family photos and cross-stitched rhymes. A roar echoed out, rattling the frames—and his knees. His parents rush up behind him, tugging him backward, away from the light.

“Asahi,” a faint voice called from the sparks. “Please!”

Mai. He could feel her desperation, the tang of panic somehow on his own tongue. But this wasn’t the syphon that had pulled him through last time. This… was a door.

He turned to his parents, the sparking light highlighting worry creases across their foreheads, circles beneath their eyes.

“Asahi, is that…” His dad gripped his arm, eyes widening.

“Please!” Mai’s voice came again, carrying flashes of struggle and fear that would never reach this world. But the door didn’t move, didn’t pull.

“I…” The words burned in his throat as he drug them out. “I have to go.”

His mom grabbed his face with both hands, her head shaking venomously. “No. No, not again. We can’t lose you again!”

He placed a hand on top of hers and forced a smile. He wanted to stay. Wanted it so bad his stomach ached. But he couldn’t. “People are hurting there. They need my help.”

“Other people can help,” his dad whispered, squeezing his arm.

A single, sad chuckle slipped out of him, his throat tightening. “You taught me better than that.”

He wrapped his arms around his parents, one fighting back sobs, the other trembling as they clung to each other.

Asahi stepped back, strangling his sword as he fought to keep a smile.

“I love you,” he croaked.

He turned. And stepped through the door.