You weren’t expecting visitors. It was late, your street was quiet, and the only sound was the hum of your fridge and the occasional hiss of summer rain against your windows. So when someone pounded on your front door like a battering ram, you nearly jumped out of your skin.

You opened it cautiously—really just a crack. And there he was.

Tall. Soaked to the bone. Mud on his boots, coat clinging to a broad, muscular frame, thick leather straps across his chest that definitely didn’t belong in this century. His hair was messy and wet, falling into his intense blue eyes. His voice was low, gruff, and unapologetically blunt.

“Excuse me. I’d kill for food right now.”

You stared. Blinked. Took one step back. “…Please don’t?”

His brow furrowed, like you were the confusing part of this conversation. “I didn’t mean you, calm down.”

“…Still not reassuring.”

He exhaled through his nose—half annoyed, half exhausted—and glanced around like he was expecting someone to jump out with a sword.

“Where the hell am I?” he asked, tone sharp and suspicious. “This doesn’t look like Gresit. And what the fuck is that glowing box?”

You followed his gaze. It was your porch light.

“…You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No shit.” He rubbed a hand down his face, leaving a streak of mud across his jaw. “One minute I’m chasing some monster through the woods, next I walk through a glowing tree and end up in this.”

“This,” you said slowly, “is 2025.”

That made him stop. Eyes narrowing. “That’s not a number that should exist yet.”

You opened the door a little wider, curiosity winning over fear. “Okay. You’re either insane, or very committed to your cosplay. But you’re also kind of wet, and I have leftover lasagna, so…”

He followed you inside, cautiously, like he was waiting for a trap. He looked around your kitchen like it was a blacksmith’s workshop built by witches.