The last thing Kieran remembered was the sound.
It wasn't the sound of the impact, or the horn, or even his own embarrassingly high-pitched "oops, that's not good." It was the specific sound of his rideshare app announcing, "Your ride has been cancelled."
Well, that's going to torpedo my acceptance rate, he thought, just as the world dissolved into a kaleidoscope of shattered glass and deploying airbags.
Then, nothing. He saw no tunnel of light, and no what people in internet said: life flashing before his eyes. It was a sudden, jarring cessation of motion, replaced by the overwhelming smell of pollen and damp earth.
Kieran groaned, his senses rebooting like a cheap laptop. The smell was the first clue. His taxi had smelled of stale coffee, industrial-strength air freshener, and the lingering regret of a passenger who'd tried to eat seafood in the back seat. But this smelled like a medieval-themed botanical garden.
He opened his eyes.
He was lying on a bed of moss so green it looked radioactive. Above him, a canopy of enormous, violet-leafed trees swayed against a sky painted with two — count 'em, two — moons.
"Okay," Kieran mumbled, patting himself down. There's no blood in my body. It seemed no broken bones either. His clothes — a faded 'World's Ogkayest Driver' t-shirt and jeans — were intact and surprisingly clean. "This is one hell of a concussion. Note to myself: if I survive this, definitely sue that truck driver. And maybe the airbag company."
He sat up, the world spinning for a moment before settling. He was in a forest, but it was tidy. The path in front of him was made of smooth, gray cobblestones, and it was illuminated not by streetlights, but by softball-sized orbs of light bobbing gently in the air like captive fireflies.
He fumbled for his phone. Right pocket, empty. Other pocket, also empty.
"Right. Of course. Phone's probably embedded in the dashboard." He pushed himself to his feet, brushing moss off his pants. "Alright, Chat," he said to the empty forest, his voice echoing slightly. It was a habit from his short-lived, deeply unsuccessful attempt at vlogging his taxi life. "So, we're in the concussion dimension. Let's review a little bit. The scenery's a solid eight out of ten. Originality? Probably low. I've seen this exact level in at least three different RPGs. Let's find the save point. Or, you know, a hospital."
He followed the cobblestone path. The air was warm, and aside from the distant hoot of, something, it was silent. He walked for what felt like ten minutes before the trees parted, revealing a town nestled in a valley.
It was all there: the steep-timber-framed roofs, the gently smoking chimneys, and the random tower that looked structurally impossible. People milled about. People with... okay, yeah. Pointy ears. A few folks who were abnormally tall. One guy who appeared to be made of polished rock.
"Full-blown fantasy fever dream, huh. Got it." Kieran sighed. He was also, he realized with a pang, incredibly hungry.
A wooden sign hanging from a wrought-iron bracket caught his eye. It depicted a stylized wheel and a horse.
THE ASTERVEIL COACHING GUILD
Drivers Wanted. All Auras Considered.
(Lunch Provided)
Kieran's stomach gurgled, making the decision for him. Lunch provided. Those were the two most beautiful words in any language. Concussion-dream or not, a man had to eat.
He pushed open the heavy oak door.
The inside wasn't a rustic stable. It was a bureaucratic nightmare that had collided with a wizard's study. Filing cabinets lined one wall, but the drawers occasionally slid open on their own, spitting out pieces of parchment that would float to a central desk. A quill pen was scribbling furiously on a ledger.
Behind the desk sat the most perfectly and painfully normal person Kieran had ever seen, if you ignored the gently tapered points of her ears.
She was a half-elf, or at least that's what the RPGs would call her. She had dark hair pulled into a severe bun, wore the fantasy equivalent of a beige pantsuit, and was looking at him over a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles with an expression of profound, terminal boredom.
"Name?" she asked, her voice flat.
"Kieran. Uh, Kieran Miller. I'm, uh, I saw the sign?"
"Experience?" She tapped the ledger with a long fingernail. The quill paused.
"Driving. Lots of it. I have five years with an online service. 4.8-star rating. Would have been 4.9, but this one lady, Brenda, gave me one star for 'aggressive merging' when she was the one who put the wrong destination. Sed."
The half-elf, Lirien, if the small wooden plaque on her desk was to be believed, just stared at him. It wasn't a hostile stare. It was the stare of someone waiting for a progress bar to load.
She squinted. "You have strong wheel energy."
Kieran blinked. "Uhhh, is that like... 'Big Dick Energy,' but for driving? Because I'll take it. I'm very reliable, you know. Great at small talk. And I only play podcasts if the passenger is cool with it."
Lirien seemed to accept this. She slid a single piece of parchment toward him. "This is a standard Ethereal Employment Contract. Probationary period of three cycles. Lunch is stew. You can start now."
"Wait, 'ethereal'?" Kieran scanned the contract. It was written in a language he couldn't read, like the board earlier, but as he looked at it, the swirling script seemed to shimmer and resolve into English. 'The party of the first part (hereafter 'Driver') agrees to transport any and all manifested clients...' '...liability for accidental soul-splintering...' '...does not guarantee return from Umbral fares...'"
He looked up. "This seems... comprehensive. What's an 'Umbral fare'?"
"A district," Lirien said dismissively. "It has bad roads. But you'll be fine. Sign at the bottom, please."
The quill floated over and offered itself to him, nib-first.
This was, objectively, the most insane moment of Kieran's life, including the one just before it where he'd been T-boned by a semi. But the smell of stew was wafting from a back room; a rich, savory smell of root vegetables and slow-cooked meat. His stomach roared.
"You know what?" Kieran said, taking the quill. "Why not. My last job had worse benefits."
He signed his name. The ink flashed once, a soft-golden light that felt warm against his skin, and then the parchment rolled itself up and zipped into a filing cabinet.
"Welcome to the Asterveil Coaching Guild, Driver Miller," Lirien said, already looking back at her ledger. "Try not to die again. The paperwork is a nightmare."
"Wait, again?"
"Your coach is Number Four. Out back. The horses are already harnessed."
"Wait, horses? I'm licensed for a sedan. Maybe an SUV at a stretch. I'm not... I don't know how to horse."
"You'll figure it out," Lirien said, not looking up. "This is the map."
Kieran stood there for a second, then decided that arguing with the HR department of his fever dream was a losing battle. "Right. Stew. When's that happen?"
"After your first fare."
"...Right."
He walked out the back door into a sun-drenched stable yard. Coach Number Four was a simple, boxy wooden carriage. It looked fine. Used, but clean. The horses attached to it were enormous, placid creatures that looked like they hadn't moved in a decade.
Waiting patiently on a nearby bench was an old woman. She was dressed in layers of faded lavender lace and clutched a wicker basket in her lap.
"Okay, Kieran," he muttered. "Customer service mode. Activate."
He plastered on his 4.8-star smile. "Ma'am! Welcome to, uh, Asterveil Transport. I'm Kieran. Can I help you with your basket?"
"Oh, that's sweet of you, dear," the woman chirped. Her voice was like wind chimes. She stood up, and from the basket popped the head of a small, white cat.
Kieran, a dog person by nature but a professional by trade, dutifully prepared to compliment the animal. "Oh, what a pretty..."
He stopped.
The cat was hazy?
It wasn't just white. It was translucent. Kieran could clearly see the wicker pattern of the basket through the cat's head. It shimmered at the edges, like heat-haze on a highway.
The old woman, Madam Elara, didn't seem to notice. She cooed as the cat floated — not jumped, but floated! — from the basket and landed on the cobblestones without a sound.
Kieran stared.
Okay. Hallucination. Definitely a hallucination.
"He's a special breed," Kieran managed, his voice a little tight. "He's very, um, airy. What is that, a Mistfold? Super exotic, Ma'am. Must have cost a fortune."
"Oh, no, dear," Madam Elara chuckled, climbing into the coach. "Mittens has been with my family for generations. He just lingers."
"Linger... right. Cool." Kieran shut the door, his hand passing directly through the cat's tail, which was drifting like smoke. The sensation was like dipping his fingers in ice water.
He practically vaulted into the driver's seat, grabbing the reins. They felt like normal leather. The horses huffed.
"Where to, ma'am?" he called, trying to sound chipper.
"The Sunpetal District, if you please. 14 Dewdrop Lane."
"You got it! Sunpetal it is."
He quickly glanced at a creased paper map Lirien had shoved at him earlier, already blotched with something he hoped was just ink. "Okay, Sunpetal... Sunpetal... right. This would be so much easier with a nav screen," he muttered. "Why there's no traffic data? Where is my 'fastest route' option? What am I, a medieval cartographer?"
He gently snapped the reins. The horses, to his immense relief, started walking at a steady, unhurtful pace. The carriage rolled smoothly over the cobblestones.
"So," Kieran said, projecting his voice. This was the hard part of the old-timey taxi service: There's no rearview mirror for small talk. "Been in Asterveil long?"
"Oh, on and off," her voice drifted from the carriage. "I was born here, you know. But I haven't been back back in, oh, it must be two hundred years. It's changed so much! All these new lights."
"Two hundred... right." Kieran nodded to himself. "Yeah, I hear you. My grandma says the same thing about her neighborhood. 'It's all condos now,' she says. 'No soul compared to back in the day.' Ummm, So, you're just visiting?"
"Just for a little while. I'm waiting for my grandson, Alistair. He's supposed to meet me here, but he's always running late, poor dear. He's been stuck in the Weeping Halls for ages."
"The Weeping Halls? It sounds damp. Is that like, a college dorm? My buddy's kid went to a place called 'Founders Hall' that had a black mold problem. Terrible."
"Something like that, dear," she said, her voice sounding fond.
The ride was quiet for a while. Kieran focused on the road. And it was actually peaceful. The two moons were brighter now, casting everything in a silver-and-amethyst glow. The floating lights bobbed ahead of them, illuminating the path. It was better than sitting in gridlock traffic on the I-5.
He glanced back. Through the small window, he could see Madam Elara looking out, her hand resting on her lap. The transparent cat was curled up on the seat beside her, purring. Kieran couldn't hear the purr, but he could see the air around the cat vibrating slightly.
"Weirdest fever dream ever," he whispered.
They arrived at 14 Dewdrop Lane. It was a lovely little cottage with a garden full of glowing blue flowers.
Kieran hopped down and opened the door. "Here we are, ma'am. Sunpetal District."
"Oh, thank you, young man," she said, stepping out. She looked at the house, her eyes filling with a light he mistook for nostalgia. "You were lovely to talk to. Most drivers are so dense."
"Happy to help! It's all part of the service."
She reached into her lace purse and pulled out a coin. It was large and silver, stamped with the profile of a queen he didn't recognize. She pressed it into his palm.
It was cold. So cold it was like holding a piece of dry ice.
"Uh," Kieran said, juggling the coin. "Thanks. Is this, are you sure? This looks valuable. Or, uh, not legal tender. We mostly just, I don't know what we take, actually. I should have asked Lirien."
"It's all I have, dear," Madam Elara said with a gentle smile. "You have a very kind aura. Very receptive."
"Right. Receptive. That's me."
She and her shimmering cat walked up the path. As she reached the front door, she didn't knock. She just walked through it. The cat floated through the wall beside her.
Kieran stared at the solid oak door. He stared at the cold coin in his hand. He stared at the empty space where his passengers had been.
"...Okay. So. Animatronics, advanced genetic engineering, and now a phasing tech. This hallucination is fully loaded. Definitely a premium package."
He climbed back onto the coach, the horses already turning around. He looked at the coin again. It was already starting to look a little less solid.
By the time he got back to the stable, the stew was waiting for him. And, as promised, it was a ten out of ten.
He sat on a hay bale, eating directly from the bowl, in his carriage that already parked. The stable was empty.
He held his spoon up like a microphone.
"Alright, Chat. End-of-day-one vlog. Quick recap."
He took a bite of stew. "So, I'm pretty sure I'm in a coma, but hear me out: the benefits are solid. The management's a little stiff, but I think I can win her over. The new gig is interesting. Analog and super retro. But I can dig it."
"Oh and I got my first passenger! She was eccentric," he continued, swirling his spoon. "A sweet old lady. A little confused about how long she's been 'visiting,' but, you know, dementia's a hell of a thing. And she had this wild cat. Like, see-through. Probably some high-fantasy genetic engineering. Super quiet, though. Easy five-star ride."
He held up the coin. It was now almost completely transparent, like a disc of clear glass. "Local currency is sketchy. Seems to have a built-in expiration date. Very 'mission impossible.' And so, I'm giving this new world a B-plus. Good stability, great food, but the tech is, um, meh."
He took one last spoonful. "Anyway, thanks for tuning in. Don't forget to like, comment, and, uh, subscribe to my continued existence. Catch you guys on the flip side."
Kieran lowered his spoon, letting out a satisfied sigh. The stable was silent, save for the soft munching of the horses.
He didn't see the two small, shimmering orbs of light that had materialized in the rafters above him, flickering with interest. He didn't see the shadowy figure in the far corner of the stable nod slowly before fading away.
And he definitely didn't hear the chorus of faint, overlapping whispers that drifted through the hay, too faint for a living ear to catch.
"...Subscribed..."
"...Rated five stars..."
"...Very receptive aura..."