Chapter 1 – Two Beds, Two Worlds
The sirens outside never really stopped.
They just got quieter when you were too tired to care.
Ten-year-old Eli Carter lay curled on the couch beneath a thin blanket, the flicker of streetlights striping his face through cracked blinds. His mom had already gone to work—she always did before the sun. The air smelled faintly of bleach and the neighbor’s fried onions, the usual perfume of their third-floor walk-up in the Bronx.
He shut his eyes, wishing the ceiling didn’t leak light from the hallway, wishing tomorrow might be easier than today. And then, as if someone turned a page—he wasn’t there anymore.
He woke to the soft rustle of curtains and the low hum of a harp string still vibrating in the morning air. Golden light poured through tall windows into a room too beautiful to describe. The sheets were silk. The bed was enormous. And across from him stood a man in long robes trimmed with silver.
“Good morning, Your Highness,” the man said with a deep bow. “Your tutor awaits. Shall I bring breakfast first?”
Eli sat up. His heart raced. “Uh… sure?”
Moments later, servants entered with trays of warm bread, honey, roasted meats, fruit that sparkled like jewels. He ate as if starving—and maybe he was. Everything tasted real: the sweet tang of berries, the buttery crust of bread, the salt on roasted pheasant.
He listened to his tutor explain how words could build nations and numbers could measure the heavens. Eli asked questions—dozens of them—and the man answered each with patience and respect, as though Eli’s thoughts mattered.
But when night fell in the castle, and the prince yawned into his velvet pillow, he awoke once more to the buzz of an alarm clock, the smell of the city, and the chill of the couch.
His stomach felt full, oddly satisfied. He could still taste honey and hear the tutor’s voice echoing in his mind.
Chapter 2 – The Breakfast Table
The school cafeteria smelled like sour milk and mop water. Eli stood in line, tray in hand, as the lunch lady slopped cereal into his bowl. He sat at an empty table. That’s when Trevor, a boy twice his size with a permanent smirk, swaggered up.
“Hand it over,” Trevor said.
Eli looked down at the grayish milk. It didn’t even smell good. He slid the tray across the table without a word.
Trevor snorted and walked off.
Eli felt something strange—anger, but also… pride. The food here didn’t matter anymore. He wasn’t hungry for it. Somewhere inside, he could still taste roasted pheasant and honey-glazed bread. Somewhere, he was still a prince.
Chapter 3 – Words and Distances
As the bell rang, Eli shuffled toward his classroom. The hall smelled faintly of disinfectant and pencil shavings. His teacher, Mrs. Talbot, shot him a scowl the moment he crossed the threshold.
“Hang up your jacket and stow your backpack under your chair,” she barked. “We’re starting the day with a writing exercise—‘Why reading and writing are important.’”
The class groaned.
But Eli didn’t.
He remembered his tutor’s calm voice from the other world: “The right words can end wars—or start them. Use them carefully, young prince.”
He took out his pen and paper, the cheap kind that bled through if you pressed too hard, and began to write. The ideas flowed as though someone else guided his hand. He wrote about words that built bridges between enemies, about reading as the inheritance of kings, and how language gave shape to thought itself.
When he finished, he looked down to find three full sheets, front and back, filled with his careful handwriting. He turned them in and caught Mrs. Talbot staring—stunned. What she’d intended as a half-hearted chore to keep restless kids busy had become something luminous in the hands of a boy she barely noticed.
The rest of the class filed out to gym, but Eli’s mind was still humming with ideas.
The locker room smelled of sweat and disinfectant. As Eli laced up his shoes, Trevor loomed over him, blocking the light.
“Got any cash for a donation?” Trevor sneered.
Eli swallowed hard. “Not today. My mom’s poor—we don’t keep money around.”
He lied, knowing full well the folded five-dollar bill tucked under the foam pad in his shoe—the “accident insurance” money his mother had given him weeks ago.
Trevor grunted and turned to richer prey. Being twelve in a ten-year-old’s world had its advantages, and Trevor used every one of them.
Eli hurried out to the gym. Miss Anderson, the PE teacher, was explaining four square. She called off numbers, dividing the class into groups of four. Eli listened closely and did the math. Trevor was number six… if he stayed quiet and timed his step forward just right, he’d land at eleven—far from danger.
Mathematics, his tutor had said, was “the art of measurement. Every number marks a distance—to or from your target.”
Eli smiled to himself. Today, I’m eleven.
The game began. The ball thudded rhythmically against the gym floor. Laughter echoed—until a sharp smack split the air. A boy fell backward, sprawled on the linoleum.
Timothy.
Of course.
Trevor had served the ball.
Miss Anderson sprinted over, whistle blaring. The nurse was called, smelling salts fetched. Timothy didn’t come back to school for a week.
The next day, the whole class was on edge. Most of the boys changed back into their clothes right over their gym shorts, anxious to vanish before Trevor could reappear after his “talk” with Principal Henry.
Eli understood the unspoken law of survival now: run faster, think quicker, stay invisible. He wasn’t the fittest, but he was learning to calculate his odds.
When the final bell rang, he gripped his backpack straps and bolted for the door—running like the wind through the city streets, determined to make it home before the predator returned to the hunt.
Chapter 4 – The Lesson of Standing
It was 4:00 P.M. when Eli slammed the apartment door behind him. The sound echoed off the thin walls of the small kitchen.
A note hung crooked on the refrigerator:
Sorry dear, I picked up another shift at Mercy Hospital, so I won’t be home until ten. Dinner’s in the fridge—warm it up in the microwave. Love, Mom.
Eli’s shoulders sank. He tossed his backpack under the kitchen table and poured a glass of milk, grabbing two cookies from the jar his mom kept on the counter. The sweetness helped a little, but not much.
He knew studying was important—his mother had made that clear—so he sat at the table, opened his books, and started his homework. But no matter how hard he tried to focus, his mind kept wandering back to Trevor.
Was Trevor an enemy? A threat? Or just a lonely boy who didn’t know any other way to exist?
The thought lingered like a puzzle he couldn’t solve.
By the time his assignments were done, the light outside had faded. Eli reheated the plate from the fridge and ate it alone on the couch. He flipped through TV channels—nothing worth watching—and decided to sleep early. Most nights, he drifted off to the sound of sitcoms. Tonight, he wanted quiet.
He turned off the lights, pulled the comforter up over his thin frame, and fell quickly into a deep, heavy sleep.
The sounds of the city faded.
Then came birdsong. Sunlight. Warmth.
He awoke in a bed large enough for three people, the sheets silk, the pillows soft as clouds. Three doors framed the room: one glass, one oak, and one ornate with brass hinges. Through the glass, he saw a terrace draped in morning light.
The oak door opened, and a man in a butler’s uniform stepped in.
“Your Majesty, you’re awake. How did you sleep?”
Eli blinked. “Very well… though I had the strangest dream.”
The butler smiled faintly. “A dream? Then it must have been a good one, my prince. Come now—your bath is ready.”
Eli rose, still dazed. Moments ago, he had been in New York. Now he was in a castle. And both felt real.
After bathing, he returned to find his bed made, a neat outfit laid out, and breakfast waiting in the adjoining room. There were platters of bread, eggs, fruits, meats, and four different drinks—fruit nectar, milk, water, and hot cocoa. He ate slowly, savoring every bite.
Then came his tutor—a tall man with sharp eyes and the patience of a saint.
“Good morning, Your Majesty. I hear you had a dream.”
Eli nodded, feeling oddly safe with him. “Yes. I lived in a city called New York. I was poor. My mother worked as a nurse.”
The tutor tilted his head. “Poor? How curious. And your father?”
“I didn’t have one.”
“But your mother?”
Eli hesitated. A memory struck—quick and painful. His mother had died when he was two.
“Yes,” he said softly. “In my dream, I had a mother. She was beautiful, with long brown hair she tied up in a bun.”
The tutor listened, fascinated. “And this… city, it had tall buildings?”
“Hundreds of people lived in one,” Eli said. “Five floors high.”
The tutor laughed gently. “Five floors? Remarkable. And they teach everyone to read?”
“Even women,” Eli replied.
That seemed to stun the man. But when Eli mentioned Trevor—the bully and his fear—the tutor’s expression changed. He stood abruptly.
“Your Majesty, dreams often reveal what your heart desires. Perhaps yours is telling us you wish to defend yourself and others. It is fortunate—today you begin lessons with the Captain of the Guard.”
The castle’s training yard lay behind the stables, surrounded by stone walls and open sky. Captain John Arlett was a mountain of a man—six foot two, broad-shouldered, a scar running down his cheek. His voice carried like thunder.
“Men,” he barked, “today we begin teaching our prince how to stand among us. He may be small, but he is one of you now.”
The soldiers cheered.
The captain handed Eli a set of soft training clothes—leather at the elbows and knees. When Eli stepped out of the stall, he looked like one of them, just shorter.
“Today,” said the captain, “we learn the first rule of battle: standing.”
He called two older boys forward. The first stood straight as a board. “Push,” commanded the captain. The second boy shoved him to the ground.
“Standing,” the captain said, “means balance. Take your stance again.”
This time the boy placed one foot forward, braced his weight. When pushed again, he held firm.
The captain turned to Eli. “Your Majesty, would you try?”
A smaller boy stepped up beside him. “This is my son, Bill. He’ll be your partner.”
Bill pushed. Eli stood his ground.
The men cheered.
The day went on with throws, blocks, and laughter. Eli was hit, tripped, and thrown—but he always got back up. By the time the sun dipped low, he and Bill were grinning, bruised, and fast friends.
That evening, his tutor found him again. “You learned quickly today,” he said. “You’re not the same boy I first met. You’re growing into a man.”
After dinner, the butler escorted him to his chambers.
“When will Father return?” Eli asked as he changed into his nightshirt.
“Soon, Your Majesty,” the butler said softly. “He’s away on royal business. Perhaps a few weeks yet.”
The last candle flickered out. Eli sank into the bed’s feathered warmth.
And then—
Horns. Sirens. Engines.
He opened his eyes to the familiar cracks in the ceiling, the smell of city dust, the faint hum of traffic.
Back on the couch.
Back in New York.
Chapter 5 – The Bruise
It was 7:00 A.M. when Eli rolled off the couch and rubbed his eyes.
“Mom?” he called softly. “You home?”
No answer.
He cracked open her bedroom door and saw her still asleep, one arm draped across her face. She’d worked a double shift again. Even in sleep, she looked exhausted.
Eli dressed quietly, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and slipped out the door into the cool morning air.
The cafeteria smelled like sour milk and toast. Eli grabbed a tray, accepted his portion of dry cereal and a small carton of milk from the lunch lady, and sat with the boys his age.
Trevor was nowhere in sight. The table buzzed with relief.
“I heard Trevor got kicked out,” one boy said.
“Can’t be,” another replied. “My brother says his mom’s suing the school. He’ll be back. Bet on it.”
The words hung like a curse—and then, as if summoned, Trevor entered the cafeteria with Principal Henry right behind him. The two passed through the food line together. The principal, though a grown man, barely matched Trevor’s size.
Trevor was big.
Trevor was mean.
But for now, he followed the principal back to the office, and the boys breathed again.
Classes went by smoothly. In English, Mrs. Talbot called Eli to the front.
“Everyone, take your seats. Eli—come here, please.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said nervously.
She held up his paper. “I read your essay, and it’s excellent work. I’d like your permission to submit it to a national writing contest for middle schoolers.”
Eli blinked. “Really?”
“Really. Do I have your permission?”
He nodded, a grin spreading across his face. “Of course. Yes. Thank you!”
When he turned to head back to his seat, he saw the red “A+” scrawled across the top of his pages. The next stack of papers beside it began with a “B–.”
Mrs. Talbot resumed her lecture. “I expected more effort from most of you. Only one of you exceeded expectations.”
She didn’t say his name, but everyone knew.
Eli sat down, heart pounding. Was he really something more? Was he the son of a king—or just a boy dreaming too hard?
That question clung to him all day.
Science was about motion and speed.
History covered the American War of Independence.
In shop class, he worked on a cutting board for his mom.
It was a good day. Maybe the best yet.
And no Trevor.
Eli let his guard down.
When the final bell rang, he stopped by the corner bodega instead of heading straight home. He’d fished the five-dollar bill from his shoe that morning and tucked it into his pocket.
The bell over the door jingled as he stepped inside.
Then came that voice.
“So what’s up, pipsqueak? Forget your protection money?” said Trevor.
Eli turned slowly, instinct kicking in. He took the stance he’d learned in the training pit—one foot forward, weight balanced, steady.
Something in his eyes must have changed, because Trevor hesitated. For the first time, the bully took a step back.
“Cool down, little dude,” Trevor muttered. “Just kidding.”
A voice from behind the counter boomed, “Trevor! Stop pestering customers. Get in the back and unpack those boxes.”
“Yes, Uncle Hank,” Trevor mumbled and disappeared through the door.
The big man at the counter sighed. “Sorry about that, kid. My nephew’s got some learning problems. Watches too much TV. He’s… been through a lot. His folks died young. I’m all he’s got.”
Eli managed a polite smile. “It’s okay.”
He grabbed a bag of chips and a drink, paid, and left. So this was Trevor’s nerve—the one place where he wasn’t king.
When Eli got home, his mom was at the kitchen table surrounded by bills.
“Hey, honey,” she said, looking up with a tired smile. “How was school?”
“It was good.”
“I heard from your English teacher,” she said, eyes lighting up. “She told me about your essay! She thinks you’re going to win.”
Eli froze. His teacher hadn’t said that to him—but his mother’s joy was too real to challenge.
He shrugged off his jacket, and that’s when she saw it.
A bruise, dark and round, blooming on his arm.
Her face drained of color. “Eli—what happened? Who hit you?”
The truth slipped out before he could stop it. “It was Bill—”
He caught himself. Bill wasn’t real. Bill was from the other world.
“I mean… no one. I fell off the couch this morning.”
She knelt so their eyes met. “Promise me something. If anyone ever hits you, you tell me. Right away. I know about Trevor—Timmy’s mom told me what he did.”
Eli swallowed hard. “Well… Trevor’s going through a lot right now.”
Her tone sharpened. “Don’t ever make excuses for a bully.”
And that was the end of it.
They ate dinner quietly and watched a little TV before his mom said she had to be up by five.
When her bedroom door closed, Eli turned off the television and sat in the glow of the streetlight filtering through the blinds.
He rubbed his arm, tracing the bruise that shouldn’t exist.
What’s real? he wondered.
The castle—or the couch?
The prince—or the boy?
The city murmured outside, but Eli barely heard it.
Sleep tugged at him again, and somewhere between thought and dream, he felt the weight of the crown on his brow.
Chapter 6 – The Secret of Aryana
Weeks passed.
In one world, Eli was a ten-year-old boy navigating the noise and grit of New York City.
In the other, he was a ten-year-old prince learning the laws of command, the art of swordplay, and the weight of words that could move nations.
Each sunrise and sunset, one life gave way to the other. The two worlds turned like gears in the same mysterious clock.
One morning in Aryana, the kingdom of his dreams, Eli sat across from his tutor at a long oak table piled high with books and scrolls. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, turning the dust motes to gold.
“Teacher,” Eli began, “what exactly is our kingdom?”
The tutor’s quill froze mid-stroke. “We have not discussed that, Your Highness. Your father asked that I avoid the subject.”
Eli tilted his head. He could tell he’d touched a nerve. “My father isn’t here,” he said carefully. “This isn’t a test. I really want to know the history of this land.”
The old man sighed, setting down his pen. “Very well.” He hesitated, then continued softly, “The kingdom is called Aryana, named for your mother.”
Eli’s heart skipped. “My mother’s name… was Aryana… is Aryana.”
The tutor nodded. “Your father built this land from nothing—gathered men, trained them, and raised this city from the soil. He named it for the one he loved most.”
Eli frowned. “Why didn’t I know this?”
The tutor’s eyes dimmed with memory. “Because you were asleep for nearly eight years after she disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
The tutor leaned back, staring into the fire. “I knew your mother well, my boy. She was like a daughter to me. But she was not of this world.”
Eli’s breath caught.
“She came from another land entirely,” the man said. “When she was ten years old—just your age—I found her sleeping in my barn, wrapped in hay, wearing nothing but confusion and innocence. My wife and I took her in. We had no children of our own, and the land was harsh and loveless in those days. We also cared for my nephew, Richard—your father. He was close in age to Aryana, and they grew up side by side, working the fields, feeding the animals, dreaming of better days.”
A gentle smile crossed the tutor’s face. “She taught him to read, to write, to lead. And he built this kingdom with her at his side. When they married, he swore the land would bear her name forever.”
Eli listened in silence, a storm of questions brewing.
“When Aryana turned eighteen,” the old man continued, “you were born—the first prince of Aryana. There was peace in the land until her twenty-first birthday. People came from far and wide to celebrate her life. But among the crowd was a witch, an old woman filled with hatred for your father. She had once ruled this valley before your parents freed it. And she cursed your mother, casting her back to her own world.”
Eli’s chest tightened. “To New York,” he whispered.
The tutor nodded. “Yes. You were only two years old. When she vanished, your cries would not stop. Your father’s heart broke. The witch was captured, and he offered her mercy in exchange for a spell—one that would bind you to your mother. He asked that you might sleep in one world and awaken in the other, living both lives, though never remembering the passage between them. It was the only way you could be with her again.”
Eli’s eyes widened. “So it’s true… all of it. I really am living in both places.”
“Yes,” said the tutor gently. “And when you spoke of New York on your birthday, I knew the spell had finally awakened. You began where your mother left off.”
He leaned forward. “Your mother used to tell me stories of her world—its great towers, its endless lights, its people rushing as if time itself might end. I never believed her until you began describing the same things.”
Eli’s mind reeled. “That means… you’re my grandfather.”
The old man smiled sadly. “In a way. I adopted your mother as my own. Your father was like the son I never had. So yes, my boy—by love, not blood—you are my grandson.”
It made sense now. All of it.
“But why do I remember?” Eli asked. “Why can I see between the two worlds when she couldn’t?”
“That,” said his grandfather, “is the mystery yet unsolved. Your mother belonged fully to whichever world she awoke in. But you—somehow you walk with one foot in each. Perhaps that is the witch’s gift… or her curse.”
Eli nodded slowly. “I think I love you, Grandfather.”
The old man smiled, eyes glistening. “And I you, my boy.”
They spent the rest of the day in study—writing, science, mathematics—and in conversation about both worlds. Eli spoke of New York, of school, and of Trevor.
“He lives with his uncle,” Eli said. “His parents are gone. He’s angry all the time.”
“Ah,” the old man said softly. “Anger is often the armor of grief.”
“I feel sorry for him,” Eli admitted. “I’d give him my food if it would make him happy.”
“Your father would approve,” his grandfather said. “He’s on a quest driven by that same compassion.”
Eli looked up. “A quest?”
The tutor nodded. “He searches for the witch who cast your mother away.”
Eli’s eyes went wide. “Why would he do that?”
The old man’s gaze turned to the horizon beyond the window, where the sun dipped into gold and crimson.
“To find her,” he said quietly, “is to find your mother.”
Chapter 7 – The Witch’s Daughter
The road to the outer provinces was long and bitter.
Richard, High King of Aryana, rode at the head of his men through the wastes where the wind spoke like ghosts. Each mile carried him farther from the marble towers of his kingdom and closer to the shadow of the one who had shattered his life.
For years he had searched for the witch who had torn Aryana—his beloved wife—away from him and their infant son. Every rumor, every whisper of dark magic, had led him deeper into lands where no map dared mark the borders.
At last, after weeks of riding, they came upon a hut perched on a ridge of black stone, smoke curling thinly from its crooked chimney. The air itself seemed to hold its breath.
Richard signaled his men to halt. “This is the place.”
He approached the door alone. When he pushed it open, instead of some ancient crone, he found a young girl—no more than nine—sitting by the hearth, brushing the tangles from her long golden hair. Her eyes, wide and frightened, darted to the sword at his side.
“Peace, little one,” Richard said gently. “I mean you no harm. Where is your mother?”
“She’s away,” the girl answered. “She gathers herbs in the valley.”
Richard studied her. The child radiated a strange purity, a warmth that made the dark hut seem almost bright. “Do you know who your mother truly is?”
The girl hesitated. “She says she is a healer. But sometimes the people call her a witch.”
“She is more than that,” Richard said softly. “Once, she cast a spell that tore a queen from her husband, and a child from his mother. That queen was my wife.”
The girl’s small hands trembled. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because,” Richard said, kneeling to meet her eyes, “you may be the only one who can reach her heart. Tell her that the king she wronged seeks not vengeance, only mercy. Tell her that love still remembers her, and begs her to undo what she has done.”
The child nodded slowly. “I will try.”
Richard left gold on the table—an offering of peace—and withdrew with his men into the forest beyond the ridge, where they could watch unseen.
At dusk, the witch returned. She was older than rumor had painted her, her hair gray and eyes like smoke. The girl ran to her, words spilling out—pleas for compassion, for forgiveness, for release.
The witch’s face twisted in fury. “Who taught you these lies?” she hissed.
“No one,” the girl cried. “I only wish to see good done, Mother.”
“Do not call me that!” The witch’s voice cracked like thunder. “You are no daughter of mine!”
With a shriek, she thrust the child from the hut and slammed the door. The girl stumbled into the night, sobbing.
From the shadows, Richard stepped forward and caught her before she fell. “You are safe, little one.”
Behind them, the door burst open. The witch emerged, eyes blazing, staff in hand. “You dare touch what is mine?”
“She is not yours,” Richard said coldly. “You just confessed it.”
The witch laughed—a sound like glass breaking. “You think killing me will bring back what you lost?”
Her staff rose, black fire swirling at its tip. Richard’s men charged, shields raised. The blast struck the nearest soldier, sending him sprawling, but before she could cast again, Richard’s sword flashed, and the witch’s laughter ended in silence.
The night was suddenly still. Smoke from the dying fire drifted toward the stars.
Richard sank to his knees, staring at his blade. “It is done,” he whispered, but there was no triumph in his voice. Only the ache of a wound that would not heal.
He looked toward the horizon, toward the unseen walls of Aryana, and knew that though the curse was broken, his queen would never return. The worlds had parted too long ago.
He covered his face with his hands, and grief poured out of him like rain.
The young girl knelt beside him, resting a small hand on his arm. “I am sorry,” she said softly. “I do not know who I am or where I belong.”
Richard looked at her through tears. “Then perhaps,” he said, “you will let Aryana be your home. A child cast out deserves a father as much as a father who has lost everything deserves a child.”
The girl nodded, tears glinting like dew.
In the distance, a faint wind stirred—the same wind that carried across the veil between worlds—and somewhere far away, a ten-year-old boy named Eli awoke, his heart pounding with memories that no longer belonged only to dreams.
Chapter 8 – The Girl and the Book
Eli woke to the steady hum of cars and voices—the restless pulse of the city that never sleeps. Gray morning light spilled across the couch, soft and colorless after the jeweled dawns of Aryana. For a moment he didn’t know which world he belonged to.
In the kitchen, his mother stood over a skillet flipping chocolate-chip pancakes. The warm sweetness filled the tiny apartment.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” she said without turning. “I made your favorite.”
Eli shot off the couch and wrapped his arms around her waist. “I love you.”
She froze, surprised. “Well… good morning to you too. Did you sleep okay?”
“I dreamed about my grandfather,” Eli said, swallowing hard.
Her hand stopped mid-turn. “What did you say?”
He told her everything—his tutor, the farm, the kingdom of Aryana, the witch, the king who loved her. Every detail poured out of him like water from a broken dam.
When he finished, his mother sat down heavily.
“It’s all true,” she whispered.
“When I was nine,” she began, “I found an old book at an antique shop—The Kingdom of Aryana. Leather-bound. Gold letters. It practically hummed in my hands.”
She looked toward the window, remembering.
“But the first times I fell asleep with it… I didn’t end up in the same place twice. One night I woke in a valley with no buildings. Another, in a half-burned barn that wouldn’t exist for another hundred years. Once I appeared beside a river that wasn’t dug yet in your grandfather’s time.
They weren’t dreams. They were real.
But they were not in order.”
Eli leaned closer.
“The book didn’t know where to place me,” she said softly. “Because I didn’t belong anywhere yet. I hadn’t entered their story. I had no family there, no anchor. Every jump was like flipping to a random page in someone else’s life.”
Her voice softened.
“But then I met her.”
“One night,” she continued, “I woke in a forest near a crooked little hut. An old woman lived there. Stern, sharp-tongued… but not cruel. Not then.”
“She taught me herb craft, simple potions, how to read the sky. She gave me cloaks to wear so I wouldn’t wander naked through the wilderness. For a time… she was a mother to me.”
Her eyes darkened.
“Then one day, while she was away, a king arrived. Your father. I hid, but I listened. His voice was full of grief. He spoke of a queen stolen away by magic. He left gold on the table—more wealth than I’d ever seen—and begged the woman to undo what she had done.”
“When she returned, I pleaded with her. I told her love that strong shouldn’t be punished.”
Her tone trembled.
“She snapped. Tore the cloaks from my shoulders. Screamed that I was not her daughter. Then she shoved me out into the cold and barred the door.”
“I ran until I fell. I thought I would die there.”
“Then I saw torches. Your father and his men. They covered me in a soldier’s cloak, shielded me as the witch came after them. She attacked. They defended him. And he struck her down.”
Her voice softened to a whisper.
“That was the last thing I remember before everything changed.”
“The next time I fell asleep here,” she continued, “I woke in a hayloft. The smell of straw and sunlight… and I realized I had no clothing again. I screamed. A kind woman found me and wrapped me in a blanket. She called for her husband.”
Her face warmed with the memory.
“They couldn’t have children. They took me in as their daughter. And their nephew, Richard, worked the farm. He was shy, gentle. We grew up side by side. And I loved him even then.”
She squeezed Eli’s hand.
“That was the first time the world placed me exactly where I belonged. From that moment on, every time I woke in Aryana, I wasn’t thrown around in time anymore. My life moved forward normally. I had a family. I had a home. And I finally had a place in the story.”
Two Lives, One Sleeper
“Years passed,” she said softly. “And each night, when I slept in one world, I woke in the other. I went to school here—while teaching your father everything I learned there. When I graduated high school here, I married him there. When I went to nursing school here, I raised you there.”
Her voice trembled.
“I lived two lives, Eli.
And both were real.”
Eli couldn’t speak. He simply held her hand, knowing everything made sense now—finally.
Outside, the city churned and rattled, a world of noise and neon.
But somewhere far away, in a land born of love and grief and swords of shining steel, a young king led a rescued girl toward a destiny she had not yet grown old enough to understand.
And Eli felt the truth settle into him like a heartbeat:
The story wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.
Chapter 9 – The Book and the Bridge
“So why did you buy the book?” Eli asked.
His mother smiled faintly as she flipped another pancake onto his plate.
“It had my name on it,” she said. “Imagine walking through a shop full of mugs and keychains with everyone else’s name on them—except yours. Then suddenly there it is, your name written in gold. I couldn’t walk away.”
Eli nodded. He understood that kind of longing.
He took another bite, savoring the chocolate chips. “So, Mom… when you fell asleep there, would you wake up here?”
She paused, eyes drifting toward the kitchen window as if looking through time itself.
“At first, no,” she said. “The first few times I fell asleep reading the book, I’d wake up in Aryana—but time didn’t move here at all. It was like both worlds were frozen except the one I opened my eyes in.”
She folded her hands on the table.
“But the night I woke up in the hayloft—when your grandparents found me—that changed everything. That was the night I finally fit somewhere in Aryana’s story. From then on, whenever I slept there, I woke up here… and when I slept here, I woke up there. It locked the timelines together.”
Eli leaned forward, fascinated. “So what connected them? The book? Or something else?”
His mother gave a small, wry smile.
“Maybe love,” she said. “I know it sounds silly. But when I finally had a family in Aryana—parents who claimed me, a boy I loved—I think the story finally knew where to put me.”
Eli considered that. Around them the apartment hummed with the morning traffic, but their little kitchen felt like its own world.
“So you went to school here,” he said, “while teaching Father there?”
She nodded. “Your dad was hungry to learn. I’d teach him whatever I learned that day—math, science, reading. I finished high school here, and he mastered everything over there. When I graduated, I married him in Aryana… and went to college here.”
“That’s strange,” Eli murmured.
“Oh, it gets stranger,” she said with a soft laugh. “I was pregnant with you there, but every time I woke up here, I wasn’t. I’d hold you in Aryana, fall asleep in a rocking chair, and wake up in my dorm room with empty arms.”
She swallowed hard.
“When I finished nursing school, I started working crazy shifts. Every nap, every strange sleep schedule would send me back to Aryana. And you were always a baby there.”
Eli listened, silent and still.
“But when the celebration happened—the one that went wrong—that’s when you came into this world for good,” she said. “It was just before I started my first hospital job. I found a kind woman to help watch you while I worked.”
Her voice softened.
“After that… I couldn’t go back. I assumed you were just here with me permanently. I never imagined you were still living in both worlds.”
Eli nodded slowly. “Father asked the witch to make me forget everything so I wouldn’t be torn between worlds. But something happened. When I turned ten, the spell unraveled. I started remembering both places.”
His mother gazed at him with wonder. “You broke the spell.”
“Maybe,” Eli said, staring at the syrup spirals on his plate. “Or maybe the spell broke itself.”
They fell into a quiet stillness—the kind that wraps itself around important truths. Outside, the city murmured on, unaware that a kingdom far away waited for its prince to return.
Eli looked up suddenly. “Mom… do you still have the book?”
Her expression changed at once. The light in her eyes dimmed.
“No,” she whispered. “It was stolen. In college.”
“By who?”
“My roommate,” she said, bitterness and grief tangled in her voice. “I trusted her. I told her everything—too much. Then one night, while I was asleep, she took the book and read it.”
Her hands tightened around her coffee mug.
“But the book doesn’t treat every reader the same. When she opened it… she arrived in Aryana as an old woman. Twisted. Hardened. Bitter.”
Eli felt the cold realization hit his stomach. “The witch…”
“Yes,” his mother said. “Though it took me time to recognize her.”
She stared past him, lost in memory.
“I was at the market when she approached me. Her face was different, but her voice… the way she said my name… I knew. She told me she’d been drawn into the world I dreamed about, but she hadn’t come as a queen or a princess—just another common woman.”
There was sorrow in her eyes. “I pitied her. I let her into my court. Gave her a place. Even made her my maid of honor. I thought kindness would soften her.”
She shook her head. “It didn’t. It made her jealous. She wanted my life. My crown. My Richard.”
A tear slid down her cheek. “I never imagined love could twist someone like that.”
Eli waited quietly.
“We fought—here, in this world,” she said. “I told her I didn’t want to see her again. She ran out. But that night, while I slept… she came back, stole the book from my desk, and vanished. By morning, she had moved out. I never saw her again.”
Eli swallowed. “And that’s when she became the witch?”
“Yes,” his mother answered. “Her jealousy consumed her. The book magnified what was already inside her. It gave her power, but it also aged her—on the outside and inside. She’s the one who cast the curse that tore me from Richard… and tore you from him.”
She reached across the table and took Eli’s hand.
“The book isn’t evil, Eli. People bring their own hearts to it. Melody brought a broken one.”
Eli’s voice was soft. “She wasn’t just a villain. She was someone who wanted the life you had.”
His mother nodded. “And trying to take it destroyed her.”
The apartment went quiet, the city rumbling somewhere far beneath the moment.
Eli squeezed her hand. “Maybe the book isn’t gone,” he said. “Maybe it’s just waiting to be found again.”
His mother gave a small, hopeful smile.
“If it is… we’ll have to be ready.”
And somewhere—perhaps in a dusty attic, or on the shelf of a forgotten store—the old leather-bound book stirred faintly, its pages whispering like breath between two worlds.
Chapter 10 – The Book Returns
Eli awoke with a sense of purpose burning in his chest.
He was no longer just a boy.
He was a prince in one world, a student in another, and a bridge between both.
As he walked to school, the morning air crisp against his cheeks, he noticed things he had never bothered to see before—the cracked sidewalk, the smell of hot steam rising from subway vents, a woman shouting at a distant taxi. This city wasn’t clean or kind, but it pulsed with life. And now, Eli felt that pulse differently.
The world wasn’t divided neatly into good and evil.
Most people lived somewhere in the foggy middle—shadows shaped by their wounds, their fears, their choices. Some embraced darkness. Others pushed against it. But everyone carried its weight.
He was lost in these thoughts when a sudden tug wrenched him backward.
A rough hand seized his backpack and dragged him into a narrow alley behind a dumpster, where the city’s hum faded into dripping pipes and the stink of rot. Eli twisted around to find Trevor glowering at him, fists clenched.
“Yo, punk,” Trevor snarled. “You got me in a lotta trouble. And I think I might wanna hurt you the way you hurt me.”
Eli met his gaze—and didn’t flinch.
He saw the anger.
But beneath it, the fear.
And under the fear, the unmistakable ache of someone who had been abandoned by life itself.
Slowly, Eli dropped his backpack to the ground and took the stance he’d learned from watching soldiers in Aryana—balanced, ready, controlled.
Trevor scoffed. “You think you’re tough now?”
He lunged.
Eli moved like flowing water. A pivot, a twist of momentum—and Trevor hit the wall with a grunt. Shock flared in his eyes, quickly replaced by raw rage. He charged again.
Again, Eli turned his force against him. Trevor hit the opposite wall and crumpled to the ground, stunned. For the first time, he saw Eli not as prey—but as someone he couldn’t touch.
Eli remained poised, but his voice was calm.
“Trevor… I know your life is hard. But you don’t have to take it out on me. I’m smaller than you. I’m younger. I’m not your enemy.”
Trevor stayed where he was, shoulders sagging, breath shaking in and out.
“You don’t understand…” he muttered, voice cracking.
“Then help me understand,” Eli said gently, though his stance remained firm.
Trevor’s defenses crumbled. His face twisted, not with anger—but with grief.
“I don’t have anybody,” he whispered. “No dad. My mom… she wasn’t good to me. Not to anybody. She got hooked on stuff. She died when I was eight—overdose. We lived in a place with rats, roaches… the whole thing.”
He swallowed hard.
“The only thing she cared about was this stupid old book.”
Eli’s heart clenched. “What book?”
Trevor wiped his nose with his sleeve. “It’s at my uncle’s. It’s the only thing I got left from her. It’s called The Kingdom of Aryana.”
The world tilted under Eli’s feet.
He lowered his guard completely.
Trevor curled against the dumpster, a trembling boy who’d tried to be a monster because he didn’t know how else to survive.
Eli stepped forward and offered his hand.
“Trevor, there’s no war between us. You’re not my enemy. If you’ll let me… you can be my friend. My ally.”
Trevor stared at the offered hand as if he’d never seen such a thing before.
Slowly, he took it.
Eli pulled him up, and they dusted themselves off. Together they picked up the backpack and walked out of the alley—side by side.
For the first time since school began, Trevor didn’t walk like a predator.
He walked like a boy who didn’t want to be alone anymore.
Something changed at school.
Trevor didn’t shove anyone in the hallway.
He didn’t scowl through class.
In gym, he even passed the ball to Eli—twice.
The class watched Trevor with wide, suspicious eyes, waiting for him to explode.
But he didn’t.
And for the first time in three weeks, no one ended gym class with a bloody nose or crying on the floor.
Peace wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic.
It was quiet, fragile—like the first flame of a candle in a dark room.
But Eli felt it.
And so did Trevor.
After school, Eli turned to Trevor. “Can I see the book?”
Trevor nodded. “Yeah. You can have it. Honestly… I don’t even want it anymore.”
They walked to the corner store, the bell above the door jingling as they entered. Uncle Hank looked up from behind the counter and raised his brows.
“Well, I’ll be,” he said with a chuckle. “Trevor and his new friend. Miracles do happen.”
Trevor blushed. “Yeah, Uncle Hank. We’re… good now.”
They climbed the stairs to the apartment above the store. It smelled of old wood and the soft dust of forgotten years. Trevor crossed to a shelf, moved a box, and pulled out the book.
A blue leather cover.
Gold lettering that shimmered faintly even in dim light.
Eli’s breath caught.
The air seemed to hum, like a distant chord struck on a harp.
Magic pulsed from it—eager, waiting.
He reached out instinctively—but before his fingers touched the leather, a warmth pushed his hand away, like static repelling a magnet.
He withdrew sharply.
Trevor frowned. “Go ahead, man. It’s just a book.”
Eli shook his head. “Not for me.”
Trevor let out a troubled sigh. “It messed up everything for my mom. It’s all she cared about. Wouldn’t even let me look at it.”
He set it on the bed roughly. “I always hated it. Thought it cursed us both. This morning… I don’t know. After you stood up to me? I realized I don’t want the old stuff anymore. I wanna be better. Like you.”
Eli’s expression softened.
“Trevor,” he said gently, “if I take the book, you can’t hand it to me. You have to put it inside my backpack. It’s… complicated. But trust me.”
Trevor shrugged. “Whatever you need.”
He lifted the book and placed it carefully into Eli’s backpack.
A faint glow pulsed once—just a heartbeat of light—and faded.
Eli zipped the bag closed. “Thank you, Trevor. This means more than you know.”
Trevor managed a hopeful smile. “Guess that means I’m not cursed anymore?”
Eli shook his head. “No. It means you’re free.”
He turned toward the door, the backpack heavy on his shoulders, but not with burden—with destiny.
“There’s something important I have to do,” he said quietly.
And as he stepped out into the fading glow of the city, Eli felt the call of another world echo through his bones.
The kingdom was stirring.
Waiting.
Awakening.
And its prince was finally coming home.
Chapter 11 – The Reunion
The apartment was silent when Eli walked in. His mother wouldn’t be home until ten.
He set his backpack on the kitchen table and, using a wooden spoon, carefully poured out the contents. The blue leather-bound book slid free and thudded softly on the wood. He didn’t dare touch it.
Holding his breath, he nudged the cover open with the spoon. The first page crackled, the old paper alive with faint light. He began to read.
The words drew him in—descriptions of a green valley, a crystal river, the walls of a shining city. He turned another page and found a hand-drawn map, the same lands he’d seen in his dreams. Excitement fluttered in his chest. If Mom could see this again…
He flipped the book shut with the spoon.
A crack of energy filled the room—like static after lightning—and the air shimmered.
When the flash cleared, a girl about his age stood on the other side of the table, wrapped in a soldier’s tunic and the flag of Aryana.
Eli gasped. “Oh—”
The girl blinked, equally startled. “Who are you? Where did you come from?”
Her brown hair was tangled, her cheeks streaked with dirt, yet her face was familiar—achingly so.
“I was walking with a soldier and his knights,” she said breathlessly, “and there was a flash of light… and now I’m here.”
Eli swallowed. “Did you come from the Kingdom of Aryana?”
The girl frowned, then smiled with a trace of pride. “I’m Aryana. I was in the wilderness. And that—” she pointed at the book—“that’s my book!”
Eli froze. Aryana… His mother’s name. The child version of her.
When she reached for the book, a surge of energy pushed her hand back.
“Ow! Why can’t I touch it?”
Eli nodded. “Same thing happens to me.”
Her eyes darted around the apartment, the strange lights and humming refrigerator. “Where am I?”
“New York City,” Eli said quietly. “And I’m Eli… your son.”
She stumbled backward. “My what? I’m ten!”
“I know. But one day you’ll grow up—you’ll marry the king, and you’ll have me. Somehow the timelines crossed.”
Before she could answer, Eli’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He answered.
“Hello? Is this Eli?”
“Yes.”
“This is Maggie, the nurse supervisor at Mercy Hospital. Your mother slipped and hit her head. She’s unconscious. Is there an adult with you?”
Eli’s mind raced. “Uh—yeah. My uncle Hank. We’ll come right away.”
He hung up and looked across the table. His mother—ten years old—was standing there, wrapped in a flag.
“We have to fix this,” he said.
“Fix what?” she asked blankly. “I need clothes.”
He winced. “Right… yeah.”
He brought her a stack of his own clothes and left her to change in his mother’s room. Aryana searched the dresser drawers for something more feminine, finding only adult-sized things. On the dresser top she noticed a sketchbook—open to a charcoal portrait of a handsome young man in armor.
“Eli,” she called through the door, “these drawings… they’re of him. The king who rescued me!”
“She drew them,” Eli said softly. “They’re my mom’s.”
Aryana smiled, her heart twisting with memory.
When she finally emerged, she wore jeans, a T-shirt, and socks. “You know,” she said innocently, “the underwear you gave me is broken—it’s got a hole in the front.”
Eli turned scarlet. “They’ll work. Sorry—no girls my size around here.”
She shrugged and glanced in the mirror. Standing side by side, they could have been twins.
He handed her sneakers, a jacket, and a baseball cap. “Let’s go.”
The bell above the bodega door jingled as they stepped inside. The air smelled of coffee and warm bread. Uncle Hank looked up from the counter.
“Well, if it isn’t my two favorite customers,” he said with a grin. “Where’s Trevor?”
Eli took a breath. “Actually, Uncle Hank, I need your help.”
Trevor appeared from the back, stopping short when he saw the girl. “Whoa, I didn’t know you had a sister, Eli.”
“Long story,” Eli said quickly. “My mom’s in the hospital. They’ll ask about family, and if they think I’m alone, they’ll put me in foster care.”
Hank nodded, all business now. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell ’em I’m your dad’s brother.”
He locked up the shop, and the four of them—Hank, Trevor, Eli, and the girl—walked the three blocks to Mercy Hospital.
At the reception desk, Eli asked for Aryana.
Maggie met them in the waiting area. “Oh, Eli—you must be his sister,” she said kindly to the young Aryana.
Aryana just smiled and squeezed Eli’s hand.
Maggie led them to the ward. The beeping of monitors echoed softly in the sterile room. His mother lay pale and still, a web of tubes and sensors tracing her heartbeat.
“I’ll give you two a few minutes,” Maggie said. “Don’t touch anything.”
When the door closed, Aryana whispered, “What do we do now?”
“I don’t know,” Eli said. “Maybe the book can fix it.”
He emptied his backpack onto the bed. The blue leather cover gleamed under the fluorescent light.
Nothing happened.
“It’s magic,” Aryana murmured. “She has to touch it.”
Eli nodded and gently lifted his mother’s hand onto the book without touching it himself.
Still nothing.
He frowned. “Wait… we both have to touch it—together.”
Aryana circled to the other side of the bed. She looked at him seriously. “Before we do this,” she said quietly, “I want to tell you something. I think you’re cute. And if I weren’t… well, you know… your mom in the future, I’d probably like to date you when I’m old enough.”
Eli’s ears burned. “Uh… thanks. Let’s just—do this.”
He took a breath. “On three. One… two… three.”
Both children touched the book.
A blinding flash filled the room. The little girl vanished, leaving a pile of clothes on the floor.
Eli’s hand still rested on the book—over another, smaller hand. His mother’s.
The monitors beeped steadily. Her eyelids fluttered.
Then, slowly, she opened her eyes. “Eli…” she whispered.
Chapter 12 – The Dream Restored
About a minute later, the door opened. Maggie stepped back into the room to find Eli talking softly to his mother.
Aryana was awake.
On her lap lay the blue leather-bound book, and Eli’s hand rested gently over hers.
But the little girl was gone.
Maggie frowned. “Where’s your sister?”
Eli froze. His eyes darted toward the pile of clothes on the floor—the jeans, the T-shirt, the sneakers. What could he say?
Before he could answer, Aryana spoke smoothly. “She went out to get her Uncle Hank.”
Eli’s eyes widened. How could she possibly know that?
Aryana only smiled faintly, a knowing light behind her eyes. She remembered. She had been that child; she had stood in that room only moments—or perhaps decades—before.
“Thanks, Maggie,” Aryana said, sitting up carefully. “I think I just fainted. I’ve been working too much and eating too little.”
Maggie sighed in relief. “We love you, Aryana. Why don’t you take tomorrow off? We’ve got new traveling nurses starting—let them carry the load for a day.”
An hour later, Aryana was discharged. She, Eli, Hank, and Trevor walked home together through the cooling city evening.
“Thanks, Hank, for helping Eli when he needed it,” Aryana said.
“Anytime for my favorite customers,” Hank replied with a grin.
Trevor, still trying to piece it all together, frowned. “Wait—what about your sister?”
Hank chuckled and patted his nephew’s shoulder. “Ever read that blue book?”
Trevor blinked. “No.”
“Maybe you should,” Hank said quietly. The two of them turned toward the shop, their voices fading into the night—Hank talking, Trevor listening.
Eli and his mother climbed the stairs to their apartment. Aryana still held the book, its edges glinting softly in the lamplight.
“Thank you, Eli,” she said as they stepped inside. “For rescuing me today. The memories… they’re so vivid now. I’m actually looking forward to sleep.”
Eli looked at her, still bewildered. “Wait, Mom—what did happen? I found the book, brought it here, and then…”
Aryana smiled wistfully. “Then I remembered the part of the story I never told you. I relived it. When your father found me in the woods and his men killed the witch, I was cold and frightened. They gave me a soldier’s tunic and wrapped me in a flag to keep me warm.
“We started back toward the castle, and your father let me ride in front of him. We’d gone only a few miles when there was a flash of light—and suddenly I was standing in front of you at the kitchen table as a child. I didn’t remember being grown, or being your mother. I was simply that little girl again.”
Eli nodded slowly, understanding at last.
“When you and I both touched the book,” she continued, “I woke up thinking of that memory—every detail of it. I saw the pile of clothes on the floor and realized what had happened. I remembered touching the book as a girl and waking up in my own bed, in my own time.”
She looked down at the blue cover in her lap, her eyes soft with wonder. “But where did you get my book?”
“Trevor’s mom,” Eli said quietly.
Aryana’s breath caught. “Melody,” she whispered. “My old roommate. She once told me she had a little boy—two years old, living with her mother. She was my friend. I loved her, even after she betrayed me and banished me from the world I built.”
Her voice trembled with both sorrow and forgiveness.
Eli could see she was exhausted. “Mom, can we sleep in your bed tonight? You don’t have to work tomorrow.”
She smiled. “Only if you let me read my book to you.”
He grinned and climbed into bed beside her. The city lights flickered beyond the blinds as she opened the old book and began to read aloud.
But before either could finish the first paragraph, their eyes grew heavy.
They didn’t really fall asleep.
They awakened.
Side by side, they lay beneath silk sheets in the vast bed of the royal chamber—the prince and the queen—together again in the Kingdom of Aryana, where love had conquered the boundaries of time itself.
