The Gate Traveler-Chapter 1: Wait, What?

I trudged through the Black Forest in Germany, hands shoved deep into my pockets. Every step was heavier than the last, and my body ached. A pounding headache pulsed behind my eyes, and exhaustion clung to me like a lead weight. I was beyond tired—so drained that my thoughts moved like sludge—but sleep was a distant dream.

The hiking trail twisted left and right, but I barely noticed. Pain coiled tight in my chest, a constant, sharp reminder of everything I’d lost. I rubbed the spot again, the skin raw, the sting keeping me tethered to the moment even as my mind tried to drift. I let out a slow breath and shook my head.

Snap out of it! You’re here to get out of your head, not drown in it.

I sighed and continued walking. It was the beginning of September, and the leaves were changing—gold and orange breaking through the green. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, highlighting the dust motes in the air. Birds chirped all around, their sounds bouncing off the trees. The forest was so peaceful, but it didn’t ease the vise crushing my chest.

I squeezed my eyes shut to stop the tears. Swallowing, I forced myself to focus on specific things to anchor myself in the present: the sound of the gravel under my boots; clean air filling my lungs; moisture clinging to my skin; the smell of the woods—evergreens, wet soil, and moss; birdsong; and the colors. But it didn’t help. It never helped. Every step was heavier than the last, dragging me back into painful memories.

A breeze stirred the branches, sending leaves spiraling to the ground. My tears fell with them as I gritted my teeth. The forest was beautiful but couldn’t pull me out of my head. In the last months, I traveled through Europe, losing myself among the crowds in the cities and taking long hikes, hoping nature would force me out of my grief. Or at least make it more bearable.

Each step pressed me deeper into the earth. Leaning against a tree, I breathed in ragged gasps as the tightening in my chest refused to ease. The forest was quiet, except for the soft rustle of the leaves, the birds and hikers in the distance.

“I miss you,” I whispered to the wind. “I was so lost before I met you, and now I’m lost again.”

I pushed off the tree and kept walking, hoping the ache would stay buried. But grief never played by my rules. At 37 years old, my life was crumbling before my eyes. I didn’t belong—not in this world or my skin. I always stood out: too small, too strong, too fast, and looking ten years younger than my actual age. But she had never flinched or cared about how people stared or whispered behind my back. She saw past all of it, saw me. Without her, the world had lost its warmth, a place where I no longer fit. Each step and breath only deepened the sense that I was drifting through someone else’s life, a stranger in my own skin, adrift and disconnected from humanity.

Three tall blond guys walked past me, chatting in German. They gave me startled looks. How did I look at that moment to make them look at me like that? A head shake dislodged the disconnected thought, and my mind drifted back to the hospital. It was just another building now, cold and empty. I kicked a loose stone off the path, watching it tumble into the underbrush. I’d stayed there so she could patch things up with her father after our marriage wrecked their relationship. But now, it was just four walls filled with memories I didn’t want to revisit.

My steps slowed, and I ran a hand over my chest, the raw skin stinging. I loved medicine. Loved being a doctor. Not the people—I never really trusted them—but the work. Fixing someone and seeing them walk out healthier because of me. That made sense. It made me valuable. It validated my existence and gave it meaning.

I stopped to tighten the strap on my backpack, thinking of the money. Maybe it was more important than it should’ve been, but growing up in foster care did that to you. You needed something solid, something you could count on. Money is something tangible, something you can point at and say: What I do has value; here is the proof.

But even that was slipping away. Every email I sent came back with a polite rejection, and whenever I got close, someone dropped my name like a poison pill. My father-in-law’s reach was wider than I ever imagined. His network stretched across the country, and he used it to cut me off, to ensure I had no place in the field I’d worked so hard to be part of.

Maybe I should move to Europe or Australia? I heard they needed doctors. I want, NO, I need a fresh start somewhere without the weight of the past.

Suddenly, an awareness, yanked at me. There was no sight or sound to announce it, but it still called to me. A subtle force—like an invisible thread winding through the air, tugging me gently toward an unseen place just beyond the edges of my perception. I froze mid-step, my breath catching as I scanned the surrounding forest. The sounds of the Black Forest filled the air—birds chirping, leaves rustling in the breeze—but nothing stood out. Nothing was around, just the dense trees and distant hikers further up the trail, laughing. Yet, the feeling was persistent, refusing to be ignored. It almost shouted at me to pay attention.

I closed my eyes and shook my head, but it was like a soft hum that wouldn’t fade, a connection to something at the periphery of my awareness. After standing still, debating with myself, I gave in. I couldn’t ignore it anymore. My feet moved before I consciously decided, pulling me off the trail. A glance over my shoulder showed I had walked farther from town than I’d realized, lost in my thoughts. But I wasn’t too far—I could hear the faint voices of other hikers behind me or further ahead.

The feeling came from my right, deep in the woods. I hesitated, glancing at the dense underbrush. It wasn’t too thick, but still challenging to navigate. Yeah, I could push through. With one last look at the trail, I stepped off it and into the trees.

Twenty minutes of fighting through tangled roots, bushes, and low-hanging branches brought me to an area that looked exactly like any other part of the forest: tall trees, underbrush thick with ferns, and two huge boulders on a slight incline. Yet, the sensation here was stronger. Pulling me. Urging me to act. Almost shouting at me without sound. It was the place, no doubt about it, but there was nothing there.

The pull grew more insistent, pulling me forward. Moving slowly, I ducked under a low-hanging branch and approached the larger of the two boulders. It was just a big stone stuck in the earth, rough and cold to the touch. I walked around it to investigate, and the sensation became weaker, like a shout decreasing in volume. I paused, frowned, and continued around the rock. The further I walked, the weaker the feeling became.

I walked a few steps back, and the sensation intensified again. My brow furrowed in confusion. There was something here, but what?

Curious, I returned in front of the boulders, and the feeling returned in full force. The same thing happened when I walked around the left-hand boulder—the feeling got weaker and then returned when I retraced my steps.

What the hell am I doing?

I sighed with a huff and turned to leave, but the feeling got stronger—like an urgent call. It stopped me in my tracks. I looked at the boulders again and did one last test: I walked between them. It felt like I walked through an invisible barrier, an energy field that I felt on my skin. The surrounding air was charged, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I got goosebumps all over and froze, trying to make sense of the sensation.

A scream ripped from my throat as I collapsed to my knees. The world tilted on its axis as a ball of fire detonated in my skull. My head shattered—no, exploded—while my brain roasted alive inside the burning shell of my skull. I couldn’t draw in a breath. My vision swam. Spots danced in front of my eyes. My hands, my entire body, shook uncontrollably. The fire raged, devouring every part of me, as if it had doused my soul in flames.

And then it got worse. A line of flame went down from my head to my diaphragm. A second ball of fire exploded. This one was much worse. The pain was sharper, burning me in two places at once. I writhed on the ground, unable to even muster the strength to scream. Every bit of energy I had went into one desperate task: staying alive. But it didn’t stop. Another line of fire snaked lower, trailing to my abdomen before exploding in another eruption of lava. I burned.

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I changed my mind. Please let me die.

That would be better—anything would be better. But the fire only grew hotter, stronger, pushing outward like it wanted to consume every inch of me.

Lines of fire shot down my arms and legs, each one an explosion of searing agony, as if my blood itself had turned to liquid flames. Lines of fire ignited in every finger, every toe. My eyes, nose, mouth, and ears burned. My existence turned into nothing but fire. I wasn’t just in pain anymore—I was pain. An inferno. A volcano. A living embodiment of agony.

I blacked out.

I came to with a start, curled in the fetal position, hugging my midriff. A sharp intake of breath brought the potent smell of earth to my nose. Anticipating the return of pain, I lay still, bracing for the fire to rush through me again. But the pain was gone—completely gone.

My body felt… good. Too good. No fire, no pain. The aches I had carried for years—gone. Slowly, I stretched, half-expecting something to hurt, but nothing happened. I felt different, whole. It was a shock—is this real? I hadn’t felt whole in years. Slowly, I shifted, sliding off my backpack and rolling onto my back. My breath came out in a whoosh as I stretched. I relished the absence of pain, the unfamiliar wellness all over me. It was like having a new body.

I quit my job to take care of my wife in her last days, too afraid to sleep in case she needed me. After she was gone, insomnia and nightmares kept me awake. I tried staying in our home, but every object dragged me deeper into memories, amplifying the grief until I drowned in it. Old, buried memories from my childhood floated back up, adding to the pain and nightmares. I was emotionally battered and exhausted, with no way out. Sleep became a distant wish I could never fulfill.

Now, I felt completely rejuvenated—like all the past year’s sleepless nights and the physical and emotional weight had been wiped away. Erased by the flames. I felt good. Like I’d slept for days.

When I opened my eyes, it was night but not dark. Above me, an enormous moon hung low in the sky. Its pale light bathed everything in a soft glow, making the world look ethereal.

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Wow!

I looked left and saw a smaller moon.

Wait, what?

I sat up in shock, staring left and right between the two moons. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and noticed something blinking—a red light pulsing in the corner of my vision, like a warning signal. I opened my eyes again—two moons. Closed them—blinking light. Shook my head vigorously. Still two moons and a blinking light. Pinching myself didn’t help either.

I’m losing my mind, I thought, rubbing my face.

I opened my eyes again, and the two moons were still there, but now I noticed the red light, even with my eyes open, pulsing just at the edge of my vision. I reached out, trying to touch it, but my fingers touched nothing but air. The light didn’t shift or react. It stayed where it was, only moving when I moved my head—always in the same spot in my field of vision, like it was attached to me somehow.

I focused on it and tried to nudge it mentally. Words appeared before my eyes almost immediately, like a virtual display coming to life.

Innate trait detected [Gate Traveler]

Huh?!

The text disappeared, and a new line appeared.

No Class or Profession detected

“What do you mean, no profession detected?” I shouted at the text box. “I’m a doctor, dammit! I heal people!”

New Class Unlocked

Gate Traveler

Would you like to take the Class [Gate Traveler]?

Y/N

I’m definitely losing my mind.

But what the hell—since I had nothing to lose, I mentally tapped YES. Almost instantly, an immense pressure built in my head, like a balloon about to explode from too much water. Before I could react, everything went black.

When I came to this time, it was light. I squinted and rubbed my eyes, closed them again, and breathed. When I opened them for the second time, the light hurt less.

Morning?

I sat up slowly and looked at the sky—one sun.

Good! No more shocks.

I examined myself, expecting some change again, but there was none. Physically, I felt the same: no aches, pain, or exhaustion, just a strange sense of calm. My head also felt the same. The overfull balloon feeling disappeared entirely.

So what happened the second time I blacked out?

I closed my eyes and listened to my body. Something inside me did change! There was a new awareness, a new feeling inside of me. As though I had connected to a part of myself that had always been there but concealed. Now, it revealed itself. It hummed softly, not with sound but with sensations. A quiet energy spread through me, filling every nook, cranny, cell, and vein, making me whole.

For as long as I could remember, I had a feeling of emptiness inside me, as if a part of me was missing. It ate me up and made me feel inferior, useless, empty, disconnected, and broken. It made me feel untethered—like some part of me was floating in a void. I’d tried to fill it in so many ways. I studied to be a doctor to help people and fill the emptiness with benevolence. It didn’t help. I read, listened to music, and even resorted to smoking pot, hoping it would ease that emptiness. But nothing ever worked. I was a hollow shell—missing an integral part of my being. For a fleeting moment, I even entertained the notion that I was missing a soul, but my being alive put that worry to rest, at least partially.

I’d always assumed it was because of my past—growing up without a father, losing my mom when I was young, bouncing around foster homes that never wanted me, and being different in a lot of small ways that together were a big enough difference to be noticed. But now I realized that emptiness wasn’t about family or anything else. It was about this. Whatever this thing was, it had been the missing piece all along. The feeling of emptiness I had carried with me all my life was gone. A pleasant presence was in its place—like an embrace from within that enveloped me with inner warmth and peace. I had finally found my place in the world, the anchor that connected me to the here and now. Complete for the first time.

I sat there, savoring the sensation. The world around me was quieter, brighter, and more connected to me. I finally fit in. I belonged. No more drifting through life like a leaf in a river. I was firmly planted in the here and now and had a place in it. A place that no one could shake or take away.

The red blinking light was there again at the corner of my eye, pulling me from my thoughts. With a mental nudge, I tapped it, and a new text scrolled across my vision:

Class: Gate Traveler Level 0

Gates to the next level (1/1)

Level up

+1 to all Traits, +5 free points, +1 ability point

Class: Gate Traveler Level 1

Free Points: 5

Ability Points: 1

Gates to the next level (0/3)

I stared at the text, trying to process it. My mouth hung open, and words tumbled in my head, but none made sense. Gate Traveler? I opened my mouth again, but nothing came out.

What does it even mean?

My stomach growled, and my mouth was dry. I rummaged through my backpack, relieved to find everything still there: two granola bars, a bottle of water, a book, my dead phone, and a jacket. No matter how many times I pressed the power button or shook the phone, it wouldn’t power on. Dead as a doornail. With a sigh, I focused on what I could control, eating one of the granola bars and washing it down with water. The simple act of eating grounded me and pulled me out of the mental spiral.

As I sat there, my mind drifted back to what the text had said—Gate Traveler. It had to be connected to the stones I’d passed through. I glanced over my shoulder. Two massive boulders with flat tops stood behind me, like tree stumps made of stone. A shiver ran down my spine as the strange pull that had led me here popped back into my mind. The feeling was still present. It was fainter now, but still there, like an invisible connection to the stones. But this time, there wasn’t a pull or urgency—just a quiet sense of “it’s here.”

Can I go back?

Standing, I hesitated momentarily before reaching out to touch the nearest stone. It was cool and rough beneath my fingers. Like before, text appeared in front of my eyes:

Traveler’s Gate #468217258

Destination: Earth/Gaia/Terra

Status: Unintegrated

Mana level: 3

Technology level: Low

Threat level: Humans—moderate. Other beings—very high.

I dropped on my butt, staring at the text as my mind spun. A portal? To another world? No, back to Earth. My thoughts raced, jumping from one revelation to the next.

Mana level? What is that?

Technology level low? Why low? Did that mean this place had a lower technology level than Earth? Or was Earth the one with the lower tech compared to here? Or relative to somewhere else entirely?

Then the last line hit me—other beings. My chest tightened, my heart pounding in my ears. Aliens! I could barely wrap my head around it. Aliens are real? My breathing quickened; panic crept in and threatened to overwhelm me.

No, no, no! Not now. I’m not going to lose it.

Before I could spiral into hyperventilation, I sprang to my feet, grabbed my backpack, and raced through the Gate back to Earth. Whatever this place was, I wasn’t ready for it. I needed time to process and think.