Breathe in. Breathe out.
Time—five seconds.
I need to be faster.
That's all that runs through my head as I train for my very first triathlon. I'm Sienna Kane—a lovely librarian on weekdays and a full-time thrill seeker the moment Friday hits. People hear librarian and assume I crochet bookmarks in silence and sleep at 9 p.m.
Wrong.
I was born fearless. Adventurous. Stubborn enough to try anything that makes my heart race—from rock climbing to white-water rafting. So joining a triathlon? Naturally the next step. Except running is proving to be a lot harder than I expected. My pacing is off. My time is awful. And my pride is bruised.
"Sienna, it's getting late already! You heading home?" Jenna calls out as the last of our newbie triathlete group starts packing up on this abandoned old track.
"You guys go ahead—I'll do one more lap. Quick one!" I shout back.
"Alright! We'll wait in the parking lot!"
I take off again.
The cold air whips my face, my shoes pound against the cracked track, and the floodlights flicker like they want to die. My watch beeps.
Ten seconds slower.
"What?! Are you kidding me?"
Frustration sours in my stomach. Maybe I need to rest. I grab my water bottle, take a sip—when a sudden rustle snaps through the grass behind me.
I freeze.
It's probably nothing. I'm not alone—my friends are literally shouting in the distance. Still… I grab a nearby wooden stick like I'm about to fight off a raccoon.
"Hello?" I call out. "Is anyone there?"
No response.
A flicker of movement. A small shadow.
Was that a cat?
I follow it, but when I reach the spot, there's nothing. No cat. No movement. Not even the lingering feeling that something was there.
Fine. Time to head back.
I turn around—
and my entire world tilts.
The track is gone.
The lights.
The chain-link fence.
The faint voices of my friends.
Vanished.
In their place rises a dense jungle—towering trees twisting upward like ancient pillars, vines drooping low and brushing my shoulders. The air is heavy, humid, thick with the scent of earth.
My pulse spikes.
Did I pass out? Am I dreaming? Did I overdose on pre-workout and hallucinate myself into Jumanji?
I walk the path I think I came from, but every direction looks exactly the same—trees, shadows, vines. My breath starts to stutter. Panic tightening my chest.
Sienna, pull yourself together.
There must be a logical explanation.
Right?
A sudden low shuffle stops me cold.
I turn—
and my stomach drops.
A pack of hyenas emerges from the brush.
Hyenas.
Real. Massive. Salivating.
On a track five minutes ago… now I'm staring at creatures that belong in a documentary narrated by David Attenborough.
I step back—snap a twig.
The pack lifts their heads in unison.
"Oh no. No, no, no—"
I run.
Branches whip my legs, my lungs burn, but I run anyway despite knowing I can't outrun them. Is this really how I die? As a midnight snack?
I glance back—they're gone.
I look forward—
They're already surrounding me.
Their yellow eyes glow. Their teeth glisten. And then—
They begin to morph.
Their bodies stretch, shift, reshape into something human-like.
"What—no. NO. Wake up, Sienna. Wake up!"
My knees buckle, and I collapse into the dirt. I scramble backward, searching blindly for a rock, a stick—anything to defend myself. Nothing. They inch closer.
"I don't want to die. I haven't even joined the stupid triathlon yet!"
"HELP!"
I scream until my throat tears.
Just as they pounce—
Silence.
Stillness.
A sudden rush of wind.
I open my eyes.
A man stands in front of me—tall, broad, and breathtakingly built. Bare chested, wearing loose neutral harem pants and a thick fur wrap around his waist. Sunlight filters through the canopy, catching on his sculpted arms and chiseled torso as if even the light wants to worship him.
All the hyenas lie dead around us.
He turns slowly, eyes locking on mine—fierce, golden, and impossibly intense. I hug myself instinctively, my whole body trembling.
He crouches down, close enough that I feel the heat of him, and… starts sniffing me.
Like an actual animal.
"W-Wait—!" I scoot back, but he grabs my ankle effortlessly.
"Where are you going?" he asks, voice low, deep, husky.
"I—I don't know. Please don't hurt me. I'm lost. I don't know where I am." Tears stream down my face as panic cracks my voice.
He leans in again, inhaling as if committing my scent to memory. Then, to my absolute horror—
he licks my neck.
His breath is hot against my skin, sending a shock down my spine.
"What are you doing in this area?" he mutters. "You are not from here… are you a traveler?"
"I said I don't know!" I cry. "I was at an abandoned race track training. I heard a noise, walked a little—and suddenly I'm in this jungle. I'm so sorry if I trespassed. I swear I didn't mean to!"
He stares blankly, confusion knitting his brows, like he understood zero percent of what I just said.
"Where… am I?" I try again.
"You stand in the forbidden grounds of the Jungle Kingdom of Juno," he says firmly. "Only lost, corrupted beast souls wander here."
"Juno?"
I blink. Hard.
I've never heard of such a place.
I can't run fast enough to teleport into another country, let alone another world.
A laugh bursts out of me—too loud, too sharp—maybe panic, maybe hysteria.
"This can't be real," I mutter. "I have a triathlon to train for. I have work tomorrow. And I'm literally in a sports bra and shorts."
This must be a dream.
I slap myself. Hard.
He jerks back. "What are you doing?!"
I go to slap myself again—he catches my wrist gently but firmly.
"If that is how your tribe introduces themselves, you may stop. Do not hurt yourself—it seems painful," he says with complete seriousness.
He thinks…
My slap is a cultural greeting.
I can't even process that.
I force myself to stand. "Look, thank you—for saving me from… whatever those things were. But can you please just show me the way out?"
He laughs, a booming thunderous sound that echoes through the jungle.
"Did you not hear me? You are in Juno territory. The only way out… is through me." His expression softens, though. "But my senses tell me you are not corrupted. Come with me. Perhaps we can help you return to your land."
He extends his hand.
I hesitate—then take it.
"Gideon," he says, offering a warm, almost gentle smile.
"Sienna."
We walk through the vast jungle—strangely, nothing attacks us, nothing stirs, nothing threatens us along the way. It's as if the entire forest bows to him.
When we finally reach the edge of the trees, Gideon tilts his head back and releases a booming howl that shakes the ground beneath us.
Suddenly—
The colossal wooden gates ahead rumble open.
Dozens—no, packs—of wolves burst from the forest behind us, shifting into human forms as they gather.
Gasps, murmurs, cheers.
"The King and his men are back!" someone shouts.
My breath catches. Terrified, I grip Gideon's arm.
The wolves bow.
If Gideon is the king…
Then what does that make me?