Grandad was dead.
It wasn't that surprising, he'd been in a hospice for the past 6 months. We hadn't seen each other in years. Not since he'd moved out to Emmarine. Flying halfway across the world wasn't exactly the kind of thing you got to do on a BigBuy Financial Services call centre employee budget.
And yet...
I'd just gotten off the phone with dad. Our family was inheriting Grandad's property in Emmarine, which meant someone was going to have to go take care of the place. I looked around my small, one-bedroom apartment. It wasn't terrible, but it WAS spartan. Like most people my age, I was renting. Mum and dad weren't going to want to move out to some farmhouse in the backwoods, but I really didn't have anything keeping me here. The possibility that I might be able to take the place over, maybe having a place that I could call my own? It was worth checking out...
Mum and dad were open to the possibility of my taking it over, if I wanted to be the one to go out to Emmarine and deal with the property. I had a bit of money saved up - not a ton, but enough for a plane ticket — and could afford to take some time off work. If nothing else it would be a chance to say goodbye, and an opportunity to start a new life.
Three days later, I was boarding a plane to Emmarine.
I'd never been to Emmarine, but I knew the history. 103 years before, there had been a catastrophic earthquake, felt the world over. As the world recovered, a realization was made. Two whole continents - Norcona and Loacia - were simply gone. Near to where they both had disappeared, there was a new one, which we would later learn was called "Emmarine''. The first airplanes sent to survey the new continent were attacked. In their frantic maydays, the pilots described their attackers as something impossible: dragons.
This was how we first learned about the inhabitants of the Emmarine - through war. Both sides thought the other was responsible for the disappearance of half of their known world. When armed soldiers from Garnaca landed on the beaches near Severna, they found a culture whose technology was something like the early European renaissance, but whose warriors were something entirely impossible: minotaurs, elves, faeries... For all the advantages our soldiers had in firearms and technology, they were matched almost equally by magic and monstrosity. The War of Appearance wasn't a long war, but proved incredibly bloody until everyone sat down together, figured out a common language, and realised it was all a big misunderstanding. Some scientists have suggested that what happened was our universe slammed into another, each smudging some of themselves on the other where they met, like two wet paintings rubbing against each other, and that somewhere in the multiverse, Norcona and Loacia were now part of the version of our planet that Emmarine was from, but at this point it's impossible to know for sure.
And so now, stepping off the airplane, it felt like stepping into another world. In the hundred-plus years since Arrival, some of the Emmarians had emigrated to places like Garnaca, my home, and so in most of the large cities it wasn't unusual to occasionally run into a family of minotaurs or trolls or the like, but here, I was the outsider. I spotted a few humans through the airport, rushing to get to one place or another, but mostly I was just getting annoyed looks as busy people with places to be pushed past. I gathered my luggage and made for the exit
I stepped out into the evening air, as a gust of unfamiliar flora and coastal humidity washed over me. In spite of the late hour, it was still beautifully warm, and the sun was setting over the city of Severna, brilliant shades of pink and oranges painting the sky over steeply-peaked wooden roofs. I jumped in a cab from among those waiting for fares at the airport, and gave him the address to my Grandad's property. The driver didn't speak Garnese, and I didn't speak much Emmarian, so the 45-minute drive was mostly spent in silence, as we left paved highways within the city for rougher dirt roads, eventually driving into copse of trees, with a barely-defined road sending the vehicle lurching from side to side, with my driver, a stout orcish man whose licence named "Grut", cursing beneath his breath each time the vehicle bottomed out.
Just as I was beginning to worry that either Grut was lost in the now totally dark woods, lights started to appear outside. Small lanterns, flickering blue, were now lining the path. Shortly after, we stopped, Grut proclaiming the name of our destination: "Valsa". He tapped the fare counter. I took out a number of unfamiliar coins, local currency I'd bought before my trip, inspected them under the cabin light of the cab, and handed him his fare. He grunted, apparently satisfied, and helped me move my bag from the trunk. The dim lights of the flickering lanterns were only just barely enough to make out the house by, and I retrieved the key I'd gotten from my parents. I felt the key turn in the lock as the lock released, and a small ball of nervousness I hadn't realised I'd been holding on to evaporated as I finally was able to confirm that yes, this was the right place.
After almost 11 hours in the air, plus a few more on layovers and waiting time, I was ready to collapse. I hadn't slept in almost 30 hours by now. I closed and locked the door behind me. I didn't know what the state of the bedroom was, but I wasn't terribly interested in sleeping in dirty old sheets that may not have been changed in 6 months, so I collapsed on the couch. Almost immediately, I was asleep.
I woke to the sound of rapid knocking at the door. A beaming face peeked in the living room window, waved, and then quickly started waving again. I rose, groggily, and looked at the clock on the wall. 8a.m.
"Hey! I have breakfast!"
The voice was almost without a trace of Emmarian accent, and though it wasn't familiar, the prospect of breakfast sounded incredible. I opened the door and was promptly greeted by the same beaming face as before. A beautiful woman, little more than 1.5m tall stood there, seeming to exude energy just standing there. She had nut-brown skin and flowing green hair that tumbled like vines down to her shoulders. Impossibly green eyes met mine, before she bent down and grabbed the paper bag that sat at her feet. As she moved I noted on her arms faint patterns like wood grain. She was in a loose white top and denim overalls, and she happily handed me the bag.
"I don't know what you like, so I just brought you some of Mik's favourites. Y'know, as a way to welcome you to the neighbourhood!" As I accepted the bag, she walked past me into the cabin. "Are you Dafyd, then?"
I peeked into the bag. The food was a mystery wrapped in foil, but the smell that rose from the beverage was undeniably coffee. I set the bag on the table and started pulling the items out.
"Nah, that's my dad. I'm Mik's grandson Jev." It was weird to call my Grandad by his name. I pulled out the foil wrapped food item and unwrapped it. There was only the one drink and food item within. "Nothing for you?"
Her eyes narrowed and she took on a serious mien.
"Oh, I don't drink... Coffee..." She let the sentence hang like that for a second before giggling. "I'm a dryad. We get our nutrients from our host tree. I guess you could say I rent property from your grandfather. I live in the big oak out there."
The beaming smile dropped as she realised what she'd said.
"I guess it's 'rented' now..."
