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It was always the same story: an ordinary day, followed by a deep sleep, dreamless save for a warm, inviting light, whispering against their skin. And then they woke up to find themselves stolen from their world, from everything they knew, as they tried to make sense of this strange new land.

The start of this story is no different. One by one, consciousness reclaimed the group of newcomers. A zephyr rattled the branches of flowering trees that lined the field they'd landed in. Dawn was breaking through faraway rocky peaks, setting the world aflame in a warm, golden glow. To the east of the field flowed hearty river, and beyond that lay a forest, and if they squinted through the morning haze, the outline of a small town nestled at the foot of the jagged mountains.

On the opposite side of the field, however, there was an entirely different sight. A short distance away, there was a figure, its image flickering like a candle's flame. It was the same shape as a person – except for the way its shoulders lead into four arms except for two, and how instead of legs, its lower half led into a single point, balancing on the ground. Instead of skin and bone, it seemed to be made entirely of fire. The ground underneath it was scorched black.

Bright, fiery eyes gazed at the newcomers. It was still but for the way its outline danced in the wind.

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