THE FOUR REALMS
By Eschroed - bronze member
Submitted on September 13, 2026
Eleven years earlier
Everyone tells you fairy tales are made up.
They’re wrong.
The real question isn’t if magic is real, it’s if you're brave enough to admit it.
The boy had chubby cheeks, his brown hair was curled at the tips and his eyes just shone enough color to look green. I smirked at his soft features and bundled myself tighter into the blanket.
The boy in question was my brother, he was eight and I was the ripe age of six. We huddled together under a quilted blanket my mother had made. The fabric was patchy and wasn’t the most comfortable. But it felt safe, like my mother herself had her arms around me, and that was good enough, at least right then.
The fire was warm on my face as I waited for my father. I inched closer to the fireplace. It was warm and made me feel like melting away.
As I glanced at my brother's face, the soft glow of the fire made him look as if he himself was on fire.
Patiently we waited under the blanket, my eyes going from my brother to the woman who was in the kitchen cleaning the dishes.
Her brown hair was pulled tightly back into a bun at the very tip of her head. My mother was a sharp woman, the kind that demanded attention.
She always hummed while doing the dishes. The same soft sweet tune every single time.
The creak of the door and the tick of the clock marked his arrival.
The man that walked through the door was lean, his glasses balanced precariously at the tip of his crooked nose and his sandy blonde hair was almost long enough to cover his green eyes.
Almost, but not quite.
Quietly I slipped out from under the blanket and into his warm arms. His big hands scooped me up and wrapped me in a gentle embrace.
My eyes settled on his face that was just inches from mine, my little fingers reached up and I touched the tip of his nose, “Boop.”
His green eyes lit up as he carried me over and sat me down next to my brother.
My father walked over to the big leather chair and huffed down onto his seat.
Just as my father finished taking off his mud soaked boots my mother drifted from the kitchen and sat herself right on his lap.
He kissed her softly and out of the corner of my eye, my brother made a disgusted face, I did too.
My mother shifted in the chair until her and my father were hip to hip.
“Who’s ready to hear a tale?” My father asked, putting his hands on his knees as he leaned forward.
I shot my hand up real excited. “Me!” My hand wiggled in the air before lazily slapping down on to my side. The smile I wore stretched from ear to ear.
“And how about you mister?” My mother pouted, putting her hands on her hips.
Her foot stretched from the chair and nudged my brother in the side, causing him to giggle. He nodded sharply still wearing a smile.
“Well here we go then.” My father said, returning my crooked smile with a straight one.
He clapped his hands together sharply before leaning back to wrap an arm around my mother.
“Now my dear this story is a very old tale, it’s about a town, a town that is named Avonee. Avonee wasn’t a regular town, no it was filled with magic.” His eyes widened to emphasize the word magic.
“And one hundred years ago, everybody disappeared, people say it was an illness that drove them out, but I? I think they all disappeared because of the orange moon an-”
I cut him off. “An orange moon? That’s not possible.”
Parker challenged me, “Yes huh, Gwen now be quiet so dad can finish the story.”
My mouth widened in shock. “Shut it Parker, an orange moon is not something that could be real.”
He made a face, “Well according to daddy it’s real, so that means it’s definitely real”
I rolled my eyes and humphed.
My mothers eyes gave us a condescending look, “You two done there?” She said pointedly, it wasn’t a question, it was a statement. Her way of saying ‘you two are done, and there will be no more.’
My eyes rolled back into my head before I gave her a curt nod, and he continued on.
“Where was I? Oh! The orange moon, right. Now, Gwen, as you were saying people couldn’t just disappear from an orange moon, right?” His finger twitched slightly towards me and I returned his question with a clean and simple nod.
“Well the orange moon wasn’t all there was, legend says that the orange moon bore a powerful white smoke called mist and that’s what caused the people to all mysteriously disappear. But it remains a mystery.” His head tilted to the side as if to ask if we had any questions.
I did.
“That’s it?” Surely that wasn’t all. I anticipated more to the tale. More for my little brain to process, but no.
“Well dear, sometimes on nights like tonight you can see the tiniest hints of orange in the moon, and sometimes I think maybe this story is real.”
My eyes widened, real? I shared a look with my brother. I couldn’t quite decide if what I was listening to was real. I knew that ghost towns probably existed, but for forty seven people to just disappear with one clean poof, that was impossible.
“And dear one day I’m going to find out what happened to those people.” My mouth gaped open and just about as I was going to ask him how on earth he was going to do that my mother interfered.
“Alright kiddos, it's time for bed.”
I would’ve whined if I still weren’t in shock.
I leaned slightly over to my brother to whisper something in his ear. “You think he’s telling the truth?” All I got in response was a wide eyed nod.
I knew my father was a wanderer but even that seemed a little farfetched for him.
I mean back then I’d thought my father was just telling us bed time stories. I had no idea he was actually telling the truth.
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Ten years ago
The tall pine trees stood looming above like gravestones in an empty graveyard. No matter the time of day or night, no wind shook the branches, not once. Not ever.
That is until that day.
By the time morning came I could already tell something was off, for starters the sun was out, which it never was and second, it was hot, some would even go as far to say it was boiling.
In the town I lived in, the sun never came and the clouds never went. But as I hung the washing on the clothesline, the clouds parted and the wind blew.
Regardless of my concerns I couldn’t do anything about it, after all I was just a child.
…
The morning went and the afternoon came, boredom set in. It was much too hot to do anything outside and so I was left, my back sticking to the cold hard wood floor of my bedroom.
Visions of meadows and woodlands clouded my vision, as my little fingers ran through the holes on the bottom of my white ruffled blouse.
From the room over a door slammed. Which wasn’t a very polite thing to do.
Must be important.
My father was home earlier than usual, I could tell it was him by his voice, you could always tell by his voice.
But his usual sweet tone was replaced with something different, something urgent.
I guess I should figure out why.
My hands pushed up off the floor and I began to walk to the door.
A fiery light bore through the window.
At first I thought sunset had come early, the orange light made me think that but it was only around three so that couldn’t be possible.
I looked again.
Curling toward our house were flames the size of trees. I could feel the heat rising from them.
I inhaled sharply, my sharp gasp turned into more of a gag as bits of smoke and ash began to invade my lungs.
Black smoke coiled through the crease between the glass panel and the framing of the window. The flames reminded me of people pushing through a crowd. The heat rose as the fire curled closer and closer like runners racing to the finish line.
I realized quickly enough that I should be running too.
Frantically, I opened the door to my room and shot out into the sitting room.
There my father stood holding my mothers hand, his other resting gently on the small bump on her stomach.
My heart pounded against my small ribcage as I looked between the two of them, something was missing.
“Gwen good, let's go.” My father let go of my mother and swooped me up in one smooth movement. My head pounded, What was going on?
“What about Parker?” I heard myself ask in a small voice.
My brother had been told to go collect twigs from the woods for the night’s
Bonfire. A bonfire that I didn’t know would never happen.
That’s what was missing, he was the one missing.
A look of concern. Then horror struck my father’s face.
All of his color drained from his red-flushed face.
“Parker.”
He muttered something else just barely out of reach to my ears.
In a heartbeat my father dropped me and burst through the door running directly in through the flames.
“Daddy.” I screamed in a strangled voice.
My mothers strong arms pulled me towards her body.
Had they really forgotten about Parker?
“Come on honey lets keep moving.” Her voice faltered.
I nodded sharply, my hand squeezed hers softly. “Okay momma.” I managed to stutter out.
Before making our great escape I grabbed something, the quilted blanket where my brother and I had listened to endless tales. My heart yanked at me. I couldn’t leave it, I just couldn’t.
I carefully draped it over my shoulders, hugging the excess in front to secure it from the flames.
Then we ran.
We ran, the little cabin with the olive roof was already beginning to dwindle under the harsh reality that engulfed it. The smoke made me breath heavy and I had to keep gulping down breaths to keep me from suffocating.
My mother didn’t run fast, not with her baby bump. But luckily with my short legs and her bump we kept the same pace as we burst through the trees heading toward town square.
But as we ran I pulled ahead of my mother. Glance after glance at her swollen feet, I could tell she ached.
My eyelids creased to see through the hazy air, I saw my mother pull the upper part of her lilac coloured dress above her nose and I did the same.
I wondered if the smoke would hurt the baby in her tummy, but it wasn’t the right time to ask.
My ruffled blouse didn’t serve as a great filter, not with the holes, not with the coat of ash that covered it, but it worked. Good enough at least.
The flames were on our heels, and the heat could’ve burned us alive but still we moved on. There was a faint ringing in my ears that told me the fire brigade was on their way.
I hoped they hurried. But I think everybody else did too.
A loud crackling filled through the air and I whipped around just in time to see a tree making its downfall.
The tall timbering piece of wood landed three feet away from where I was standing and caused the ground to rise and fall around me.
As I stood there a burnt boot emerged through the flames then two, then his pants. His muscles shone through his charred white t-shirt and in his arms lay a charred limp body.
It took me a minute to realise who that body was. The limp hand, the familiar blue on the sleeve of the shirt.
Then I saw the look of distress on my mothers face as she stopped to get a closer look at the boy.
It couldn’t be him.
He was supposed to be collecting twigs.
He wasn’t supposed to be lying in my fathers arms, not like that.
Parker the burnt alive boy in my fathers arms was Parker.
I shook my head, I refused to believe it, he wasn’t gone, he wasn’t dead, he wasn-
“WAKE UP PARKER, wake up-”
Tears began to burn in my eyes along with the ashes that felt like pricks of a rubber band to the skin.
I halted and ran towards the flames, towards Parker, the boy who would forever be asleep.
An arm grasped me before I could see any more, that same arm spun me around and forcibly pushed me onwards through the tumbling trees.
No, no, no.
“Go Gwen all the way.” My mother hollered through the smoke.
She didn’t want me to see the gruesome look at a burnt boy, and neither did I.
I choked out a rough sob and turned away.
I did as she said, I ran all the way to the town center as people, trucks, and animals whizzed past me. The choking smell of smoke faded away and the air filled with the piercing smell of fresh air.
That’s when the burning tears started to fill my eyes, and I couldn’t be able to tell you when they stopped.
All around me people gawked and stared at the collapsed and burnt little girl crumpled in the middle of the town square.
But I didn’t care not even in the slightest because the boy that I’d called my brother for nine years was now dead to me, and all the world.
And for forever I wouldn’t get the look of that boy in my fathers arms out of my head.
The boy that was sent into the woods to get twigs, the boy whose face I would never see clearly again, and the boy who went into the woods alive came out dead.
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four years ago
My fingers had gone numb hours ago, but I had no option to let go.
If I let go I would fall and I didn’t really want to fall. Who would?
The air was cool against my face, I lifted one hand to warm my iced face while the other stayed firmly at the fork in the branches. The wind whipped my hair into my face, as the moon shone high and bright in the sky. I shivered slightly but made sure I kept enough control so I didn’t fall.
My father sat higher above me in the tree, looking for star patterns. His job was an astronomer, a self appointed job really. But one day he said that when he made his big discovery, we wouldn’t have to live in such disappointment with ourselves .
That’s what he said at least, I didn’t necessarily think living in a poor town was a disappointment, I mean it wasn’t great, but it wasn’t all that disappointing either.
I was aged thirteen by then. Parker had been gone for almost half my life. With the memory of the boy also came the tales, those faded too.
It had been five and a half years since my sister was born, and now it seemed like my brother was nothing but a distant smile and a boy with rosy cheeks. And she was the one who replaced him.
The wind blew stronger, slapping me back to reality.
“How much longer?” My little sister whined from below. I could see her thin legs squirming through the material of my mothers quilted blanket.
My father didn’t answer. Ever since Parker had died he had been distant, more involved in his work than his family. I didn’t really care honestly, at least he was there.
“Just a little while longer.” I answered yelling down over the howling wind.
I didn’t really know how much longer it would actually take but saying ‘A little while longer.’ would keep her content for, well a little while longer.
I heard a short gasp from up above and soon enough my fathers gangly body scurrying down the tree came into eyesight.
His mouth was open and the clipboard in his hand faltered. “I made it.” He gaped out. A mix of disorientation and anxiety seeped into my mind. What?
“What do you mean you made it?”
“Gwen, do you believe in magic?”
“No,” I answered firmly. And it was true I didn’t.
Believing in something that didn’t exist gave me false hope, false hope that I couldn’t afford to have.
He shot me a dazed look through the gleam of his glasses, “You better start then dear.”
And just like that he skittered down the tree. My fathers lean figure was made for climbing and as he frantically climbed down the tree I realized he was fast, faster than I ever would be.
I dropped down beside him, but he was already running back to the cottage leaving me and my sister behind.
Quickly, I scooped up my sister and began to chase after him.
“Dad?”
He didn’t answer.
“Dad, what did you see?”
“Dad come on, this isn’t funny.”
No response was formed so I just kept running.
He never looked back.
When we got back to the cottage just at the edge of the woods, I could see my father through the window in his study calculating something.
I knew it was serious because the creases on his eyebrows were deep enough that you could fit pools of water in them, and he would never have left us in the woods purposefully if it weren’t truly important.
My mother was out working at the hospital, so it was just us three. I walked inside, pulled my shoes off and directed my sister to go clean herself up for dinner.
I knocked on my fathers study door which was always kept locked. “Dad, what’s going on?” he didn’t answer and that usually meant he was not interested in talking right then.
“Daddy?’ My voice faltered.
I just barely restrained myself from knocking again.
My hand froze and dragged sadly down the wooden door, my eyes fell to the cracks in the floor. “Alright dad, um.”
I took in a sharp breath.
“I love you.” I muttered softly into the door.
And then I left him.
He stayed locked in there all night but as I went to bed I could’ve sworn I saw something, maybe it was the tiredness that clouded my sight but as I walked past the window, the moon had just the slightest hint of orange.
I had just shrugged it off but maybe, maybe I shouldn’t have.
…
I woke up to a sniffling sound coming from downstairs. My sister lay in my arms, sound asleep, not even a fire could wake her. I winced at the thought, a flash of the charred boy filled my head, not even a fire could wake him from his neverending sleep.
My hands roughly ran through my matted hair.
I gently moved from under the weight of my sister and slipped out of bed, my nightgown falling to my knees.
Sleepily, I walked down the dust-covered staircase and towards the room, the one the sniffling came from.
It was the little things I noticed first, the door to his study had been left open, he always locked it. I walked towards the door that had always frightened me.
I pushed the scarlett door open, the bottom of it scuffing the ground.
Papers scattered the floor, ink splattered the walls.
My mother sat there on the floor in a crumpled heap. Her hands were pressed firmly into her mascara soaked eyelids. And pressed between her knees the tiniest piece of paper was just barely visible.
“Mom, what’s going on?” I asked, the tiniest sense of warning in my voice.
“What happened to dad?”
I didn’t get a reply, I wouldn’t ever get a reply. Not with words anyway. The only reply I got was a tear soaked, crumpled up letter.
The letter from him.
My dearest daughters and wife,
As you know I have been looking for a way out of here for the past few years.
And how I do hate to leave you. I think it’s for the best if I take this adventure on my own.
As always, listen to your mother, be kind and never stop believing in magic.
If you achieve these three things I know you both will accomplish great things.
—From your father.
P.S. I love you too.
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Comments for the Entire Story
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Hi, I was just wandering if anybody had any advice for this, I am on my third draft of this book so far there are only 337 pages and I needed some beta readers and I was directed here, if anyone has any advice for this book I'd love to hear.
Comment by Eschroed on September 13, 2026Liked by 2 -
I love your story so far! Your descriptions are wonderful - vibrant and alive - with just the right amount of suspense, and it pulls be in right away. I would love to see the rest of it your story and can more detailed give feedback on it! I think 337 pages is a lot - excited to see more!!
Comment by rose on September 16, 2026Liked by 1
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