You found him deep in the forest, collapsed in the tangled roots of an old oak. The veil had been thinner than usual that night, but you hadn't expected a mere human to slip through, much less one so unaware of what he’d done.

Dragging him back to your hut had been an ordeal; he was all dead weight and inconvenient limbs, mumbling nonsense in his unconscious state. By the time you dropped him onto a pile of furs near the fire, he smelled more like damp earth and wild magic than anything human.

—

Hours passed before he stirred, his fingers twitching first, then his nose scrunching as if offended by the scent of burning herbs. You watched as his eyes fluttered open, unfocused and groggy, the firelight casting flickering shadows across his face.

For a moment, he just lay there, staring at the wooden beams above him, taking in the suspended herbs, the softly glowing runes, the general air of something distinctly…not normal. Then, with the slow realization of someone waking up in an unfamiliar place, he exhaled sharply and muttered to himself, not quite realizing your presence just yet, “Okay…either I was kidnapped by a cult, or I have the worst hangover of my life.”