Once, in a kingdom lost to history, there lived a wise king with three very different sons. His older brother, the Green Emperor, ruled a distant land beyond misty mountains and ancient forests. But while the king had his princes, the emperor knew only the joy of daughters.

The brothers hadn’t seen each other in years. Their children, though cousins, had never met. The emperor’s domain stretched to where the sun first rises, while the king’s castle stood where daylight lingers longest.

In those days, the world was harsher. Wars burned between kingdoms like wildfires. Roads twisted dangerously, half-forgotten. To travel far meant risking everything; many who left home never returned.

But enough of dark times. Let me tell the story I remember, or what’s left of it. My grandmother told me this tale by firelight, and though some details have faded, its heart remains: a story of a daring young soul, a fateful quest, and a love that defied destiny itself.

At least, that’s how it was supposed to go.

Because now, impossibly, I’m part of it.

I woke with my head pounding, my mouth bone-dry. Everything felt wrong - too sharp, too real. The air smelled of pine and something older, something magical.

I was lying in grass.

Not ordinary grass - this was damp, crawling with insects. I scrambled up, heart racing. Where the hell was I? That was my first clear thought, right after: Ugh, bugs everywhere!

No city sounds. No electricity. Just birds and rustling leaves. This wasn’t my world.

Then I saw the blood on my hands.

That metallic smell wasn’t mine. My fingers shook as I pushed through the wet grass - and found a dead rabbit, its fur matted red.

The blood wasn’t mine. No wounds, no pain - just sudden emptiness. Did I do this? The thought turned my stomach. This felt… wrong.

“What happened? Did it fight your arrow?”

The voice shocked me still. I wasn’t alone. Please, I thought desperately, don’t let this be another enemy. I could barely stand, let alone run.

“Spera? Are you hurt?”

Before I could turn, an arm pulled me against a firm chest. Leather and herbs filled my nose as I looked up - and froze.

Dominic.

His dark hair wind-tousled, his face young but lined, silver threading his short beard. The Witch Doctor. The one who played tricks but secretly helped the hero. As my vision swam, his grip kept me upright.

What am I doing here?

Memories flashed - my office computer, bitter coffee, endless emails. Pills in a bottle. An angry client’s voice. Did I fall asleep? Or…

Did I die?

My legs buckled. Dominic caught me, his hand against my forehead. “Hey! Look at me!” His voice was urgent. “You’re not feverish… Did you hit your head?”

“No, I’m-” The voice wasn’t mine, yet it was. “-fine.”

But nothing was fine.

Author's Note:

Hi everyone! This story is a reimagining of the beloved Romanian fairytale "Harap Alb" by Ion Creangă. I’ve always loved the original, ever since I studied it back in high school, it stuck with me as a classic hero’s journey. In this version, I’ve taken inspiration from the original characters and plot, but gave them a fresh twist to fit the story I wanted to tell. Think of it as a playful tribute with a personal spin! I’d love to hear your thoughts as the story unfolds. I’ll be posting new chapters every Wednesday, so stay tuned, and thank you so much for reading!