When Lydia Wren woke up, the first thing she noticed was the color of the sky.

  A soft, luminous blue spilled across the treetops — not the familiar silver-white glow of her world’s moon, but something gentler. Softer. Almost… alive.

  It wasn’t the kind of blue you saw in the sky, but the kind you found reflected in the deepest part of the sea.

  The “moon,” if she could even call it that, hung low and enormous above her. It pulsed faintly, like it was breathing.

  And the stars—

  No, not just stars. The entire sky shimmered in shades of violet and rose, like spilled ink spreading over silk. Without the dull haze of city lights, the night stretched infinitely around her, vivid and almost too beautiful to be real.

  “This is… real,” she whispered, voice shaking. “I’ve actually been isekai’d—”

  Her breath hitched. “I’ve actually been what?!”

  The panic crept up fast — as it always did.

  Her chest tightened. Her pulse thundered in her ears. The cold air felt too sharp in her lungs.

  She pressed her palms against the forest floor, trying to ground herself, but the world swayed anyway.

  “Okay. Okay, Lydia. Deep breaths. You’re fine. Totally fine. You’ve just been… magically abducted to another dimension. That’s all. Happens every day in anime, right?”

  She laughed — a shaky, humorless little sound that turned into a wheeze.

  “I can’t do this. I literally cannot do this.”

  A minute passed. Then another. Her breathing slowed.

  “...Well,” she muttered at last, “on the bright side, I don’t have to retake that presentation anymore.”

  It was something.

  Small victories.

  After a few minutes of steadying herself, Lydia sat up and took stock of her situation. Her clothes were the same — hoodie, jeans, sneakers — though her backpack had somehow turned into a sturdy brown satchel.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Inside, she found her usual chaos: pens, a half-used notebook, a granola bar, and the mythology book she’d been reading the night before.

  Except now… there was another book.

  A thick, leather-bound tome wedged between her notes, embossed with an unfamiliar sigil. Its pages were filled with looping characters she didn’t recognize — elegant, flowing, but entirely foreign.

  “Great. A free souvenir from my kidnapping,” she muttered. “Maybe it’s a dictionary. Or a cursed diary. Who knows.”

  She closed it quickly.

  The forest around her was still. Too still.

  Tall, pale trees arched overhead, their leaves carrying a faint bioluminescent shimmer — almost imperceptible, like light reflected through mist. The air itself felt charged, humming faintly, as if the whole place was alive.

  When she brushed her fingers through the moss, tiny motes of blue light drifted up and vanished. It wasn’t just a forest. It was breathing.

  “This is… magic,” Lydia whispered. “Actual magic.”

  She didn’t know whether to be thrilled or horrified.

  The temperature dropped as the night deepened. Every sound seemed sharper — the rustle of leaves, the soft creak of bark, the distant call of something that definitely didn’t exist on Earth. Lydia huddled against a tree trunk, clutching her satchel to her chest.

  “Okay. Step one: don’t die. Step two: find someone who speaks English. Step three: wake up and realize this is a nervous breakdown.”

  Hours passed — or maybe it was minutes.

  The moon’s light brightened, casting the forest in silver-blue. Somewhere nearby, water trickled softly. She was starting to doze when a faint rustling broke the quiet.

  Lydia froze. Her breath caught.

  Footsteps. Human? Animal?

  A figure stepped out from between the trees — tall, sharp-eyed, carrying a lantern that shimmered faintly with green fire. The woman’s hair was tied back, her sleeves rolled, and a satchel of herbs hung from her belt.

  “What in the name of the Twin Moons are you doing out here?” the stranger asked — in perfect English.

  Lydia blinked. “...Wait, you speak—?”

  The woman sighed. “Figures. Another stray from the stars.”

  She crouched beside Lydia, brushing a few damp strands of hair away from her face.

  “You’re pale as snow. Can you stand?”

  “I—I think so?”

  “Good. Then move before the nightroot starts blooming — its spores aren’t friendly.”

  Lydia hesitated, dazed but grateful, and let the woman pull her to her feet.

  “O-oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to—uh—exist here?”

  A tired smile flickered across the woman’s face.

  “You talk too much for someone who nearly passed out. Come on — my cabin’s not far.”

  A small, anxious voice in Lydia’s mind immediately screamed Don’t follow the stranger into the forest.

  But exhaustion muffled it — like someone had pressed a pillow over her common sense.

  At that point, warmth and the promise of safety sounded like reason enough.

  As Lydia stumbled after the woman through the glowing trees, one thought refused to leave her mind:

  “Dear God… anything but a hero.”