The scent of freshly cut grass and campfire smoke teased my senses, pulling me out of what felt like a very deep sleep. Bright light pressed against my eyelids, but I tried my best to ignore it. I deserved to sleep in once and a while after how hard I worked.
But something wasn''t right. I hated camping...didn''t I?
My memories felt hazy, like a fog had settled in my mind. I obviously wasn''t in my bed, but I didn''t remember going out either. What was the last thing I did remember? Something about...pie? No. Pretty sure I was getting yelled at by my boss actually. No matter how hard I worked, it was never good enough.
I rubbed sleep out of my eyes as the sound of a crackling fire mixed with other sounds that weren''t quite so cozy, like the growl of a very large dog and hissing snakes.
My eyes snapped open. I was lying at the edge of a small clearing surrounded by fog so thick I couldn''t see anything beyond it. A mountain stood at the other side of the clearing, with glowing symbols carved into what looked like a door.
Okay, I was definitely not at home or work, but that wasn''t even the weirdest part.
That honor was left to the small animal pens filled with what I could only describe as monsters from some kind of fantasy movie. Wolves with horns, three-headed snakes, giant bugs, and a bright blue bouncy thing that I couldn''t identify.
"What the hell is going on?" I lurched to my feet, but my body felt like jello, all weak and wobbly.
"Oh, hello, I''m glad you''re awake," a man''s voice said, pulling my attention to his unusual appearance. Horns jutted from his head, curling through his fluffy brown hair, and his feet were actually...no, that couldn''t be right. They were hooves, like what you''d see on a goat! "Welcome to the Dungeon of Eternal Embers."
My pulse raced, pounding in my ears like I was standing at the edge of a cliff. Everything about this place was so very, very wrong, but the worst part was that I couldn''t remember what was right. My mind was blank.
"Welcome to the what...?" I asked, needing to grasp onto something, anything that would slow the panic racing through my mind. "And what are you?"
"I''m a satyr, half-man, half-goat, and I''m here to welcome you to the Dungeon of Eternal Embers," he said, smiling warmly. "Take a deep breath, calm down, and then we can get started."
A crazed laugh threatened to bubble up at the idea of a mythical goat-man welcoming me to a dungeon. This had to be a dream. But my chest hurt too much for it to really feel like a dream. My breathing was uneven and my heart just wouldn''t stop pounding, like my body thought it was in fight or flight mode.
How did I get here?
I put my hand against my chest, my fingers brushing over the silver buttons of a double-breasted white coat that felt like a uniform, but I couldn''t remember what for. My long brown hair hung over my shoulder in a tight braid and an apron was tied around my waist.
The apron''s fabric was soft and well-worn, with specks of flour right where my hands would go if I were to wipe them off. This was my apron, something I wore often.
"Good, you look calmer now," the satyr said. "What''s your name and age?"
"I''m Hazel and I''m 25 years old." The words came out without even thinking about them, as if remembering simple things like that was easier than how I got here. "I think I''m a...baker?"
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The word settled into the back of my mind, comforting me. Yes. My name was Hazel and I was a baker.
The satyr jotted that down in a notebook and smiled again. "Okay then, Hazel, please choose a weapon."
"What?"
He motioned toward a table full of swords, daggers, bows, and lots of books. Suddenly the whole dungeon and monsters thing was making more sense. I had to be playing a game, one that was far too lifelike for my liking.
I laughed nervously, fiddling with the edge of my braid. "Is this some kind of virtual reality game?"
"This is no game," the satyr said, "but many prefer to treat it like one. It helps make sense of their new world. Now please, choose a weapon."
New world? My eyes widened. So this wasn''t a dream or a game, but a new world? And I needed a weapon for it? Weapons meant violence and pain, neither of which I enjoyed. Whatever was going on, I wanted no part of it.
"I think you''ve got the wrong person," I said, backing up until the damp fog clung to my skin. "I''m just a baker."
The satyr kept smiling, almost eerily, as the smoke from the campfire thickened, making the air hazy and clouding my mind. What was I doing? If he said I needed a weapon, then I should choose one...right? Doing something was better than floundering around in a panic.
I stumbled over to the table of weapons, searching for something that felt right to me.
Maybe the books? They seemed safe enough, but when I reached out to one, the air around it felt electrically charged, zapping against my skin. Were they magical books? That was kind of cool, but magic sounded like a lot of work and often blew up in people''s faces.
Wasn''t there anything simple here? Anything that felt like me?
My gaze settled on a sandwich at the edge of the table with a bite taken out of it, as if the person had gotten distracted mid-meal. I couldn''t remember much about my life, but every little flash was about food. My entire life apparently revolved around it, so why stop now?
I reached for the sandwich, which looked like a grilled cheese, as if drawn to it. "I choose this sandwich."
"What?" The satyr''s eyes widened. "No, that''s not a weapon. It''s my lunch."
"Well, then you shouldn''t have put it on the weapons'' table." I shrugged, holding the grilled cheese out like a sword. Maybe if I chose the most ridiculous option, he''d send me back home and forget about this whole new world thing. "This grilled cheese sandwich, in all its cheesy glory, is now my weapon."
A light-blue message box appeared in the air in front of me, asking me to confirm my choice of making [Dave''s Lunch] my weapon.
"Don''t even think about it," the satyr, who was apparently named Dave, said. "You won''t win with a sandwich for a weapon."
I pressed my lips together to avoid laughing at the absurdity of all this. What kind of name was Dave for a mystical satyr?
"Who said anything about winning?" I asked. "You claimed this wasn''t a game, so I''m going with my gut and that''s leading me to food."
The message box that said [Yes] glowed brighter and then disappeared before another message popped up.
[Dave''s Lunch has been assigned to Hazel]
[New Quest: Defeat one monster]
"Defeat one monster?” My gaze fell on the monster pens. I guess he had said this was a dungeon, but fighting was not part of my get sent home as a failure plan. "No way, I''m not hurting any of them. If that''s why I''m here, you might as well send me back."
"You can''t go back," Dave said solemnly, "not yet, at least. You have to enter the dungeon and level up by killing monsters."
[New Quest: Escape the dungeon by defeating the boss on floor 100]
This was going from bad to worse if the only way I could go home was to kill things. It didn''t matter how strange those monsters looked, they were still just animals in my mind, and hurting them would make me the monster.
"Isn''t there any other way to get home?" I asked, clutching my apron. "Something that doesn''t involve fighting or hurting anyone? I mean, if you were using the monsters for food, maybe I could understand. Everyone needs to eat. But killing them just so I can get home? No way."
"You''re fighting them to gain experience and new skills," Dave said with a tone that made it seem like that should be impressive and exciting instead of horrible sounding. "The more monsters you defeat, the higher your level will rise until eventually you can fight the boss on the lowest floor. Then you can leave just like you wanted."
"That simple, huh?" A bitter laugh escaped my lips. There was no way I could fight through 100 floors of monsters and beat some epic boss. Especially not with a sandwich.
Was I going to be stuck here forever?