There was a noticeable chill in the air today, distinct from yesterday. Well, maybe that's not entirely accurate. The coldness was a constant in the Alaskan air, but today felt different—a harbinger of the impending change in seasons and the imminent return of snowfall. It seemed inevitable; Alexander could never escape a snowy birthday. Without fail, the flakes would start to fall, and his celebration would be marked by freezing temperatures.

Alexander started to miss the sun's warmth as the winter months drew near. The temperature would drop to uncomfortable levels for most people, which would cause tourists to leave and just the hardy natives to remain. He had gone hunting with his father the day before, restocking their freezer to last them through. When the cold set in, his father's magical prowess would keep their home cozy by maintaining a steady fire throughout the night.

Although Alexander often yearned to live closer to town, he understood the impossibility of that wish, given their reliance on magic. Yet, he couldn't help but feel frustrated at his inability to wield magic himself. As his nineteenth birthday loomed tomorrow, he anticipated the annual ritual of his father urging him to cast spells, only to end in failure. His father seemed oblivious to the humiliation this repetitive experience brought to Alexander, exacerbating the bullying he already endured.

The desire to escape this magical world gnawed at him. He yearned for a place where he could be himself, free from the judgments tied to his family's magical heritage. Alexander couldn't help but envy normal humans for their seemingly carefree lives, untouched by the challenges of magic. However, the prospect of moving across the country was financially and emotionally out of reach, especially with his father's reluctance.

Sighing, Alexander glanced at the clock, realizing it was 11:59. Another year older. With a heavy heart, he closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep, hoping to evade the impending birthday and the familiar cycle of humiliation. Perhaps this year, he could endure it without succumbing to the urge to lash out physically, a temptation that had grown stronger with each passing year.

The next morning, Alexander was roused from sleep by his father's cheerful voice. "Happy birthday, kiddo!" Groaning, he attempted to shield himself with the blanket, only to have it swiftly pulled away. "Oh no, none of that. Up and at 'em!"

Reluctantly, Alexander sat up and stretched. "It's cold," he muttered before succumbing to the inevitable and getting out of bed. "Don't suppose there's any chance I could skip my birthday this year?" he half-jokingly asked.

His father chuckled, his dark hair contrasting with his paler skin. "Of course not, what's the fun in that? Now get downstairs and have some breakfast," he declared before leaving the room.

Though all Alexander desired was to crawl back under the covers, he knew it would only delay the inevitable. After a shower and a change into fresh clothes, he headed downstairs. In the kitchen, his father sat at the table, and the tempting aroma of pancakes, bacon, and sausage filled the air, awakening his appetite. As he drowned his pancakes in syrup, his father droned on about the details of his birthday party, an annual event planned against Alexander's wishes. Of course, the dreaded part was always on the agenda – attempting to cast magic. It had become an unfortunate tradition, initiated when one turned sixteen. Alexander's repeated failures subjected him to the same ordeal every year. Following breakfast, Alexander had the rest of the day to himself, intentionally avoiding thoughts of the impending party and its unpleasant rituals. He wandered to the library, losing himself in a book until his phone buzzed, reminding him of the impending alarm. Tempted to linger and hope his father wouldn't find him, he acknowledged the impossibility of hiding from a witch.

Sighing, he rose from his chair, stowed away the book, and made his way home, each step feeling heavier. Upon arrival, the party was already in full swing. He suspected people attended each year for the entertainment of witnessing his failed attempts at casting, finding amusement in his struggles. After enduring the uncomfortable stares and hushed whispers longer than intended, he retreated into the house, disregarding the judgmental glances. Despite the awkwardness, his father appeared pleased with the festivities.

Alexander stuffed his hands into his pockets and pulled his jacket tighter, the crisp, icy air catching his throat. Having just turned nineteen, he left his party early to spend time and escape the noisy celebration.  But a look of confusion crossed his face as he turned to look back.

The familiar sidewalk and streetlights that usually indicated his route were gone, as were his tracks. Impossible, he thought.  Alexander knew what should be there and what wasn't because he had taken this path countless times. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he looked up at the sky, his face going pale as snow fell silently, revealing a disconcerting scene.

He couldn't comprehend the strange sight of two moons hanging in the sky. Anxiety swept through him. Had he collapsed?  Was this a dream? He ran back, disregarding logic as every second stretched painfully and minutes stretched into an unending void of doubt. Breathless and disoriented, he collapsed to his knees and realized that the forest beside him was silent and devoid of civilization.

Abruptly, a deep roar broke the silence, its raw power coursing through him. He was overcome with panic and wanted to run, but there was nowhere to run. His gaze settled on a large white wolf that was visibly frightening despite its flawless camouflage in the snow. As the thing circled, identifying him as prey, fear took hold of him.

Alexander trembled, waiting for the impending attack, but it never came.  Rather, he saw the wolf slain, its wounds caused by an arrow that emerged from the darkness. Alexander was sick to his stomach and found it difficult to process what had happened. Who was responsible for the creature's death? friend or foe?

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Footsteps.

Alexander turned towards the footsteps, and as he did, a small group of people emerged from the tree line. Bows with nocked arrows aimed right at him.

Alexander put his hands up in defense as one of the men approached him. He was a large and stocky man, and his stride faltered with a pronounced limp. At the same time, his skin was a light beige that contrasted so much against the snow that it was almost lost.

"Who are you, human? Why did you cross the border?"

The man's voice was deep and baritone as he spoke with authority and purpose. This man was a leader, likely a very respected leader. Alexander knew he needed to be wary now. One misstep and he would probably be dead at this man's hand or his signal.

However, Alexander was confused by his words. What did this man mean? Were they not human? What did they mean by the border?

When Alexander didn't answer immediately, the man frowned and stepped closer, clearly growing impatient with him. He looked him up and down, examining his clothes and appearance. He then turned and made a signal, and the bows lowered before he asked Alexander something else.

"You aren't from this world, are you?"

Alexander blinked. Startled. "This isn’t… I don't understand."

The man sighed before motioning to one of the other men, "Owen. You're in charge of him. He's coming back with us."

Owen, the younger man, or maybe the boy, tried to protest but was stopped before everyone began to disband back into the tree line.

"I'm not going anywhere, not until I get some answers –"

Then, the older man cut him off, "You can either come willingly or by force. The choice is yours."

Alexander swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat. He couldn't afford to die here. At least not before even knowing what had, or rather was, happening to him.

Alexander finally nodded, "…fine. I'll follow you."

Owen then approached him. He was sticking close so Alexander wouldn't get any ideas about running from them. Not that he would, Alexander didn't even know where he was, so why would he run? If he did that, he was far more likely to die, as he nearly had earlier, had these men not shown up when they did. As they walked, Alexander got a better look at his new companion.

Owen had long pale blonde hair that barely stood out against the white of the snow. It was kept neatly pulled back into a ponytail. The man was attractive, even with his tawny-colored ashen skin, which went well with his oddly colored violet eyes. He was well built but still retained a slim stature and walked with an almost elegant stride. As if he came from money.

Even in this dense forest, the group walked as if they already knew where they were going. They did not hesitate or feel lost at all, unlike Alexander. If he had been here alone, he was sure he would have already gotten himself turned around.

The trees were tall and barren of any green due to the snow. He could only imagine how it must look in the summer when the branches were full. Right now, Alexander couldn't hear much. It was mainly just the branches creaking overhead as the wind whistled through the trees, and as they trudged through the icy snow, he could hear it crunch beneath their feet.

Alexander thought the songbird's tunes from the trees sounded eerie and reminded him of a horror story. Thanks to the cold winter, the only things Alexander could smell right now were the stale and dry scents on the wind from nearby. Which made his nose sting, and he felt like sneezing.

Approaching a secluded camp, Alexander's unease grew, the stark isolation of their surroundings amplifying his sense of displacement.

Owen led Alexander to a cabin towards the camp center, "You'll share with me so I can keep an eye on you. Don't get any ideas, got it?"

Alexander nodded, "Yes, sir." He stated, unsure how formal he should be or how formalities even worked here.

Once inside, Owen told him to ask anything he needed to, understanding how confused Alexander was at that moment.

He nodded, "Well, can you tell me where I am?" he asked. A simple question, sure, but it was certainly one that needed to be asked.

Owen answered quickly since it was such an easy question, "The eastern woods are about thirty-eight miles from the Capital city of Celecia."

Alexander shook his head. Owen had misunderstood his question.

"No, I mean, where, as in, this world? Just earlier, I was taking a walk from my house when I turned and wasn't there anymore. I don't understand what happened."

Owen nodded. "It sounds like someone transported you here, then. Better hope it wasn't for anything terrible. This world is called Ellond. Right now, you're in the Elven territory and are close to our border with the human kingdom. Hence why the commander presumed initially that that's where you had come from."

Alexander took a moment to let this information sink in. He really was in another world. Now the question was, how would he get home?

When Alexander voiced that question, Owen couldn't give him a good answer. There were apparently many ways to pass between the worlds. Owen didn't know about any of them personally since he had never been interested in such a thing.

However, Owen did tell him of his sister, who could likely help more than he could. After that, Alexander had a few more questions answered before Owen said it was time for him to go on watch and that Alexander should get some sleep.

So, what Alexander knew at this point was that he wasn't on Earth any longer. That someone very likely brought him here, though the reason was unclear. That he was in the Elven territory and heading to meet their leaders. He shouldn't step out of line because their commander had a short temper and would likely kill him on the spot, and finally, he felt different here.

The last one wasn't anything he had asked Owen about. It wasn't something he wanted to voice yet because he wasn't sure what it meant. He was worried that whoever had sent him here had done something to him.

Engulfed by swirling doubts and unfamiliar sensations, Alexander surrendered to exhaustion, sleep offering temporary reprieve from his bewildering reality. As he drifted into an uneasy slumber, uncertainty loomed, his journey into the unknown unfolding with each passing moment.