The next morning, Noah stood in the room he’d been loaned by Ciri and her family, inspecting his new clothes. They were simple but comfortable: a pair of brown cloth pants cinched at the waist with a black leather belt, a beige long-sleeved shirt, and his trusty arctic expedition boots. As he smoothed the shirt down with both hands, he replayed the previous night’s conversation in his mind, doing his best to reconcile it with the half-remembered stories of the Fae he’d absorbed growing up - from fairy tales, video games, and books.
Magic is real, he reminded himself. Still hard to believe.
He’d spoken with Ciri late into the night, telling her what amounted to his entire life story up until the moment she’d found him bleeding on the forest floor. Throughout it all, she’d taken copious notes, at one point stopping him so she could fetch a fresh pad of paper after filling the first. By the time her questions finally ran dry, it was well past midnight, and both of them had been stifling yawns.
Before they’d called it a night, he’d asked - somewhat awkwardly - if he could have his clothes back, hoping to preserve a shred of modesty in case nature called and he needed to leave his room. Unfortunately for him, most of them had been destroyed – and his trusty ice pick had been lost. Before he could dwell on that though, she demonstrated that she’d already anticipated the problem and came up with a solution. She’d opened the dresser to reveal it stocked with clothes in his size, then waited politely outside while he changed before showing him where the bathroom was.
To his considerable relief, the house had running hot water, indoor plumbing, and a hand razor for shaving – things he’d reflexively assumed a fantasy world wouldn’t have.
Except it runs on magic instead of electricity, he’d thought while examining the buttons and levers of the oddly designed toilet, shower, and sink. He’d lingered long enough that Ciri had eventually knocked on the door, concern evident in her voice.
Realizing now that he was stalling, Noah let his hands fall from his shirt and opened the door to the hallway. Instead of turning right toward the washroom, he went left, following the sound of voices. He passed several closed doors before entering an open kitchen, where appliance-like devices lined one wall, a staircase sat along the opposite wall, and a sturdy dining table occupied the center of the room.
The conversation died the instant he stepped inside. Several people turned to look at him expectantly.
Most were seated around the table. The only one he immediately recognized was Ciri, her rose-pink hair and tight green corset setting her apart from the others. To her left sat an elderly-looking Fae man with a bald spot surrounded by wisps of thin white hair. His face was deeply lined, but his posture remained ramrod straight, as though age had failed to bend him. His clothing wasn’t unlike Noah’s - beige shirt, brown pants, and a thin brown coat.
Across from them were two more Fae women, one with bright pink hair and the other chestnut brown. As they turned in their chairs, he noticed that both had green eyes like his own. They wore soft pink sleeping gowns and fuzzy slippers, smiling and waving in greeting but saying nothing.
Finally, the last occupant made herself known. The moment she turned away from a countertop device emitting small, controlled flames - clearly a stove - Noah recognized the green-haired woman from the previous night. She said something in her own language with a smile.
Unsure how to respond, he offered a tentative half-smile and a wave.
“Hi?” he ventured.
A moment later, his attention snapped back to Ciri. She’d torn another page from the book in front of her and held it aloft as it began to disintegrate. Glowing silver and gold characters hung briefly in the air before fading away, accompanied by a soft, chiming sound.
“There,” she said, nodding in satisfaction. “Now we can all speak to each other.”
“Thank you, Ciri,” the elderly Fae man said, his gaze never leaving Noah. “Welcome, traveller. My daughter tells me your name is Noah.”
So that’s Ciri’s father, Noah thought before nodding. “That’s right. It’s a pleasure to meet you - though I wish it were under different circumstances.”
The man smiled softly. “Sometimes Donn chooses for us to endure hard times. Come. Sit. You must be famished.”
Seeing no reason to refuse, Noah moved to the chair indicated at the end of the table and lowered himself into it. A moment later, the green-haired woman appeared at his side, sliding a plate onto the table. It held a generous portion of cooked meat, a thick slice of bread, and a handful of berries.
“Oh - thank you,” he said, nodding.
“You’re most welcome,” she replied. “It’s the least I can do after our little misunderstanding last night.”
“No harm done,” Noah said with a smile as she handed him a fork and knife.
He cut into the meat and took a bite. His eyes widened instantly, and he barely managed to suppress a groan at how good it tasted. A knowing smile spread across the woman’s face as he went in for a second bite, suddenly aware of just how hungry he was.
“I’m glad to see my wife’s cooking talents continue to impress,” the Fae man said, smiling as Noah shoveled another bite into his mouth.
“Sorry,” Noah mumbled, covering his mouth. “I’m probably being rude.”
“Not at all,” the man replied. “Though while you eat, introductions are in order. My name is Oubryaeth Kenael’thir Qoræthis - though you may call me Ken. You met my wife Aelyndra last night. These are my other two wives, Thalorien and Velmira. You may call them Aelya, Thala, and Vela.”
So polygyny is a thing here, Noah noted internally before swallowing and carefully repeating each name aloud. “Ken, Aelya, Thala, and Vela. It’s nice to meet you all.”
“I gather Ciri spent much of last night asking you questions,” Ken said, casting his daughter a mildly chastising look, “but she may not have answered many of yours. You’re welcome to ask anything now.”
Prepared for this, Noah started with what had been nagging him most. “There are stories about the Fae where I come from - rules you’re supposed to follow, things you’re not supposed to do. I don’t know them well - they’re treated like fiction - but maybe we could start there?”
“Fascinating,” Ciri murmured, already pulling out a fresh notebook. “The ancient Fae visited many realms before the Schism. That such stories persist speaks to the impression they must have made. Could you tell me - ”
“I think we should let Noah continue,” Ken interjected gently.
“Oh. Yes. Right,” Ciri said without looking up.
“Okay,” Noah continued. “First rule I remember: you’re not supposed to tell a Fae your name, because that gives them power over you. Is that true? Because I definitely told Ciri my name before I knew she was Fae.”
“Not true,” Ken said, shaking his head. “I have no power over you because you shared your name. Nor does Ciri, or anyone else here.”
“That belief may originate from practices of the ancient empire,” Ciri added, scribbling furiously. “Some masters were said to weave a person’s true name into spells capable of affecting the target across any distance. That would imply the existence of a unique rune for each individual, which I will need to research further…”
“Question answered,” Noah said quickly. “Next: Ciri mentioned rules of hospitality?”
“The laws of hospitality,” Aelya corrected gently. “Not mere rules.”
“They require us to assist those in need, speak no lies, and never attack unless attacked,” Ken explained. “In return, guests are expected to do the same.”
“That seems manageable,” Noah said. “I won’t lie or attack you, and I’ll help others if I can.”
“Good,” Ken said calmly. “Because the punishment for violating those laws is death.”
“Death?” Noah echoed.
“Death,” Ken confirmed.
“Duly noted,” Noah said, then hurried on. “There was something else. Promises? Gifts? Being indebted to a Fae?”
Ciri’s cheeks colored and she looked down as her parents exchanged amused looks. Vela answered, smiling. “A promise, pledge, oath, or even gift given in certain contexts without the expectation of repayment is traditionally viewed as an expression of romantic intent by the offeror. Accepting it means the offeree is interested.”
Noah froze as memory caught up with him - his insistence the night before that he was in Ciri’s debt. “I… see.”
“You should be careful with such offers,” Ken said, grinning as he glanced at his daughter. “Someone might accept.”
Noah took a few more bites of food in silence, allowing Ciri’s embarrassment to pass. As he did, he let his gaze wander around the room, taking in details he hadn’t noticed at first. The grey stone walls, floor, and ceiling were softened by half-height wooden cabinets topped with stone counters, woven rugs laid across the floor, and a sturdy door set into the far wall.
Sure, it’s a bit rustic, he thought, but aside from the magical appliances, this could pass for a kitchen on Earth.
He swallowed and spoke again. “What about glamour? What is it? It’s often referenced in human mythology as a kind of magic that makes Fae appear beautiful.”
“It’s not magic,” Ken said, shaking his head. “Glamour is a euphoria-inducing, sometimes hallucinogenic substance - one that was popular among the ancient Fae. Its use has declined, but it still exists in certain circles. Its effects are far more pronounced on humans, which may explain why your people remember us as unnaturally beautiful.”
“There is some disagreement on that point among scholars,” Ciri added, eager to rejoin the conversation. “Although records suggest the ancient Fae visited your realm during several different periods, a consistent observation was that human hygiene standards were… lacking. Comparatively well-kept Fae would likely have appeared exceptionally attractive to early humans.”
“Ciri,” Vela said sharply. “You’ll offend him.”
Ciri flushed, but Noah waved it off. “No offence taken. She’s right. Human hygiene hasn’t always been great.” He paused, frowning slightly. “Though that raises another question. You’ve mentioned the ancient Fae several times now. Who were they, exactly - and how are they different from… modern Fae?” He trailed off, unsure of the right term.
Ciri’s eyes lit up immediately, her blush vanishing as she locked eyes with Noah. “I can tell you! I can also show you!”
Chuckling, Ken nodded. “Go. Get your things. Just be sure to keep him safe - and be back before sundown.”
Ciri shot to her feet and raced into the hallway, flinging open a door the moment she reached it. Her enthusiasm drew amused looks from her mothers as they stood and began clearing Noah’s now-empty plate, carrying it to the sink set into the counter.
As they worked, Ken leaned forward toward Noah and lowered his voice.
“Noah. I have a request to make of you - one I would be happy to compensate you for.”
Noah raised an eyebrow. “What do you need?”
“As you may have noticed,” Ken said carefully, “my daughter is… different… from most. She has not had a true friend in some time - not since she came of age.”
Unsure how to respond, Noah nodded, prompting Ken to continue.
“I can already see that you are tolerant of her… personality quirks. If you would indulge her curiosity and become her friend, I would consider it a service rendered.”
“There’s no need for compensation,” Noah said quickly. “I’d be happy to be your daughter’s friend-”
He stopped abruptly.
“-Wait. No. Hang on. That’s not what I meant.” He grimaced. “I’m not romantically interested in you.”
Ken snorted with laughter.
“You will need to adapt to Fae societal norms quickly,” he said, still amused. “Nevertheless, I insist. You will likely require assistance in the future, and if it is within my power, I will provide it in exchange for this service.”
Noah exhaled, relieved. “Deal.”
“Are you ready?” Ciri called from down the hall.
She reappeared in the kitchen a moment later, already wearing her trench coat and boots, her excitement barely contained. Despite himself, Noah felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips as he rose from the chair, strangely eager to see what had the Fae woman so animated. Before leaving, he grabbed the last slice of meat from his plate with his hands, taking a bite as he followed her toward the door she was already opening.
Thankfully for him, Ciri’s parents were far too occupied with the fact that their daughter now had a friend to notice his poor table manners.
He continued chewing as he stepped out into the bright sunlight of what felt like a spring day. Above him, the sky was a clear, brilliant blue, and to his right the sun had climbed halfway toward its zenith. The temperature was far more hospitable than the Siberian winter he’d so recently escaped, a light breeze ruffling his clothes.
Glancing around, Noah found himself standing on a stone balcony overlooking a dirt road lined with houses built from wood and grey stone. In one direction, the houses ended at an open grass field that stretched to the edge of the forest, with a lone tower standing watch over the field of grass and several broken stone houses around it. In the other, the road led toward a denser cluster of larger, multi‑story buildings gathered where several dirt paths converged.
About a hundred buildings total, he estimated, squinting as his view disappeared behind rooftops.
“Are you coming?” Ciri called.
Turning, he saw that she’d already descended the stairs from the balcony and was waiting for him in the road below. The sight caused Noah to chuckle as he took another bite of his stolen breakfast and followed, his eyes darting everywhere, trying to take it all in. He saw several Fae children playing in the street, adults milling about and talking in front of their homes, and people generally going about the daily rhythms of their lives. Glancing to one side he saw that Ciri’s parents had a walk-out basement, with a door leading directly to the street.
As he stepped off the final stair, a blur of movement caught his eye.
A knee‑high black streak bolted from one of the houses the instant a Fae woman opened her door, making her shriek in surprise. Noah’s heart leapt — then quickly settled as he realized he wasn’t in danger. Instead, he jogged toward the slowing creature, stopping several meters away before crouching low.
In front of him stood what looked exactly like one of the dogs from the animal shelter where Noah volunteered — a rottweiler.
He smiled, holding out his hands to show he meant no harm. When the dog sniffed cautiously in his direction, Noah half‑turned toward Ciri.
“Hey,” he called. “If I give this little guy some of this meat, it won’t hurt his stomach, will it?”
“I… um…” Ciri hesitated, clearly thrown by the situation. “No.”
“Good.” Noah sat down on the dirt road and held the food out, lowering his voice into the calm, steady tone he’d used a hundred times before. “Come here, buddy. Want some food? I’m not going to hurt you.”
Still panting from its sprint, the dog crept closer — then froze when Noah tore off a piece of meat. He tossed it gently. The dog snapped it out of the air, chewing noisily before licking its lips.
When Noah repeated the action, the dog advanced again, stopping right beside him.
“It’s okay,” Noah murmured, hand‑feeding the last piece while scratching the dog’s back. “I’m a friend.”
“Careful!” the dog’s owner warned as she hurried over.
The dog responded by ramming its shoulder into Noah, then flopping onto its back in the dirt. Laughing openly, Noah rubbed its belly, scratched behind its ears and underneath the black leather collar it wore, then gently massaged its jowls.
Then he paused.
That shouldn’t be there.
“Hey,” he said softly, meeting the dog’s eyes. “You’ve got something stuck in your cheek. I need to get it out. It’s going to hurt a little, but it’ll feel better afterward. Okay?”
The dog stared at him for a long moment — then lowered its head, turning the injured cheek upward.
Carefully, Noah reached in and pinched a thin black sliver lodged beneath the skin. He took a breath and pulled.
The dog yelped and jerked upright.
“There we go,” Noah said immediately, soothing hands rubbing its side. “You did great. It’s gone now.”
“I never—” the woman behind him breathed. “No wonder he’s been acting up!”
“He was in pain,” Noah replied without looking back. “He should heal in a few days. If it turns green or starts to smell, you’ll want to see a vet.”
“A… vet?”
Noah froze, then straightened, suddenly remembering where he was. “Right. Sorry. An animal doctor? Do you have those?”
For the first time, he really looked at her. She was powerfully built, arms thick with muscle and bare to the elbow. Heavy black gloves covered her hands, and a soot‑stained apron hung over her clothes. Her shaved head and scarred skin spoke to hard, physical work.
“What is a doctor?” she asked slowly, “And why would an animal need a different one?”
She then turned to Ciri. “Did he hit his head?”
“He’s a traveller,” Ciri said.
“Another one?” The woman frowned. “After the last one stayed with me, I thought we were done with travellers for the next thousand years.”
Noah’s eyes widened. “Wait - he stayed with you?”
“Myself and my husband, yes. Why?”
“Noah thinks the other traveller might have been his brother,” Ciri said.