The Tourist

George was lost and found himself within the haunting depths of a dark forest. As he looked up, he could see the towering trees reaching endlessly into the sky, yet he couldn’t glimpse the heavens above—the thick, oppressive foliage concealed it completely. He shifted his gaze slightly to the right, then spun around to the left, his eyes searching behind him, but nothing stirred—no signs of life, no whisper of insects or rustling leaves, not even the faint breeze that usually animates a forest.

It was at that moment that he heard a distant sound—a faint, mysterious noise beckoning from afar. His head snapped sharply toward the direction he believed it came from, and he resolved to uncover its source. As George threaded his way through the dark thicket, twigs and branches crunched beneath his steps; the sound grew more distinct. It was no longer mere rustling; it was a flowing, liquid murmur, accompanied by a soft, slow, steady breathing—calm, soothing, almost hypnotic—a gentle exhale as if something long asleep rested nearby.

Finally, he caught a glimpse through the trees into a vast field beyond. Though still some distance away, he could see the tree line drawing closer, urging him onward. He moved cautiously, step by tentative step, striving for silence as he edged toward the open space. He knew nothing of this place here—how he arrived or what awaited beyond the shadows.

As the sky beyond the trees became visible—an expanse unbroken by further woodland—his breath caught. He was standing in a meadow of rolling hills, stretching endlessly, descending into a distant valley. He inhaled the crisp, pure night air. Around him, only grass, the woods, and an enveloping silence—no signs of life, no moonlit ripples of insects.

Climbing the hill to peer into the valley, he felt that gentle, calming breath grow louder—more tangible, almost alive. It told him that he was nearing whatever creature exhaled it.

When he crested the hill and stepped into the valley, the meadow unfurled before him like a boundless sea of darkness and starlight. There, bathed in the moon’s silver glow, he saw it—an awe-inspiring creature resting peacefully. A dragon.

A magnificent pearl-white beast, luminous and radiant, its iridescent scales shimmered with a soft, pearlescent glow, shifting subtly to reveal hints of pale rainbow hues that danced as it moved, embodying otherworldly beauty. Then, it sat up, turned its head, and looked at him. Its hue was a luminous, creamy white, regal and commanding. With a long, serpentine neck and a powerful, coiled body, it sat in a noble, seated posture, gazing slightly to the left, full of sharp intelligence and tranquil calm.

Its noble, draconic head sported a long snout, crested horns, and piercing blue eyes that shone with ancient wisdom. It sat there, mouth closed—no menace, only majesty. Unlike traditional dragons, it lacked wings but possessed formidable, ivory-tipped claws on its forelegs and hind legs.

Against the swirling, mist-shrouded night sky, the scene radiated mythic grandeur. This creature embodied ancient power and timeless grace—beauty beyond compare, a silent testament to eternal majesty.

The magnificent dragon closed its eyes, nodded slowly, then continued to fix its gaze upon him. “Where did you come from? How are you here?" George demanded, his voice trembling.

The dragon merely shook its head and began to rise, taking a few deliberate steps toward him before settling down and crossing its legs in front of it. It lowered its massive head, resting the powerful chin on its forelegs, the calm breathing mesmerizing. George had no idea why fear wasn’t overwhelming him; all he could do was stand there, spellbound.

Suddenly, a voice echoing inside Georges' mind pierced the silence: "Greetings." He spun around, scanning the meadow—nothing in sight. No one to be seen on either side. Then he looked up at the dragon, realizing the voice was coming from within his own mind.

“Yes, it is I. This is how I communicate—telepathically—with sentient beings like you," the dragon explained, nostrils flaring.

"Who are you?” George asked, foolishly. It was the only question that escaped him.

“I am, Mother. Born in another time, from a world other than this one," she replied softly in his mind.

“How did you get here?” He asked, raising his arms in confusion, glancing around the meadow.

“I have always been here. I belong here. You, on the other hand, are the one out of place," she said, her gaze semi-blank.

"What do you mean, ‘I am out of place?’" He demanded.

"Eons have passed since I arrived on this world," she began. "Though I have seen your kind before, your species has never been on this world, does not exist in it, and cannot travel to it." She shifted her body slightly, the soft ripples of her scaled skin dancing like a hypnotic, beautiful tide.

Turning his gaze back to her, he pressed, “If you’ve been here for eons, and I’m the one out of place, then how did I get here?"

"I do not know," she admitted softly. "This is strange. It has never happened before. I have never heard of or seen anything like it. Yet here you stand—a human from another realm and probably another time—trapped in a place where you should not be." She tilted her head, much like a dog might when listening to its master. "Tell me, what do you remember just before you arrived here?”

“My wife and I were on vacation, traveling through Northern California. We were just tourists, exploring the coast.” He began. “We had made our way up to Sea Ranch and were staying in one of the charming bungalows there. One day, we wandered down to the beach to watch the seals swimming and basking on the rocks."

As George had been walking and standing most of the day, he sank onto the soft grass to sit. "It wasn’t really the season for the seals, but we were there, had some time to kill, and stood on the beach skimming rocks out in the ocean. We laughed and enjoyed ourselves—simply two people having a good time.” George ran his finger through his hair and brushed it to the side, and continued. “Suddenly, a loud pop echoed around us, and a strange ozone smell filled the air, though I couldn’t tell where it came from."

“My wife began searching along the beach, while I headed in the opposite direction to find the source. As the ozone scent started to fade, I paused, turned around, and scanned for her. She was nowhere in sight, so I called her name—but received no response. I called again, but still, silence.”

Running up the beach toward where she had been, calling her name again and again, I noticed the ozone smell grew stronger. I slowed my pace, looked around, but couldn't find any explanation for the strange aroma.” Frustration and curiosity gnawed at George as he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to recall what happened as best as he could.

“Suddenly, I caught sight of her up the beach. From afar, it seemed she was too far for her to hear me, yet she saw me and started calling my name, running toward me. Just as I moved to meet her, the air around me thickened with ozone. I could feel a static charge prickling in the air, and then the loud pop rang out again—the very air shimmering around me—before everything changed.”

“In that instant, I found myself in the forest.” George pointed towards the forest he had just come from. “I felt a wave of dizziness wash over me, and as I steadied my senses and shook off the vertigo, it became clear: I was no longer on the beach, and my wife was nowhere in sight.”

“I heard,” George paused, stroking his chin, “no, I felt your breathing, followed what I believed to be the direction of that feeling, passed into the meadow, and found you—here.”

Mother shifted her weight, breathing deeply, absorbing the story's weight. “You say there was a popping sound and you saw the air shimmering as well? Did you step through the shimmering air, or did it move towards you?”

“I don’t really recall. It’s still a little vague. But I remember the smell, and I do remember the sound, and I remember seeing the air shimmer between my wife and me.” George said, trying to piece it together. “I just can’t seem to recall exactly what happened. It’s frustrating.” He rubbed his temples in frustration.

Mother spoke again, her voice steady and commanding. “I know what you experienced was a world portal. It’s an opening in time and space I am capable of creating. It produces a pop when it opens—a loud crack, a shockwave spreading out smoothly ahead of the portal. When that shockwave passes over you, you hear a sudden, powerful boom—often described as a loud pop, crack, or thunderclap.”

She paused, ensuring he was following her explanation. “The shimmering air is what one sees when it stands open. That is the event horizon of the portal. It is neither one realm nor the other, but exists in both simultaneously.”

“You created that portal?” George asked, his voice betrayed his frustration. “Why would you do that? Send me back? I’m sure my wife is worried about me, and as you said, I don’t belong here.”

Mother tilted her head, her gaze steady and knowing. “I was not the one who created the world portal that brought you here. I can create them, travel through them to many different worlds, but I did not create the one that brought you here, George. That was not my doing.” She used his name for emphasis, her voice calm yet commanding.

“I don’t know what world you came from,” she continued, “but I sense it was another time—far into the future. Without knowing those two crucial variables, I cannot send you back.”

Frustration bubbled within George, threatening to overflow. He normally would channel that into something creative or productive, but now he struggled to maintain control. “There has to be a way.”

“I know of only one other entity capable of creating a world portal,” she said softly. “The Archetype. I spent a millennium with it after I gained self-awareness. It helped teach me the ways of the world portals, helped me become more attuned to their flows and eddies.”

A faint hope flickered in George’s eyes. “Then let’s go find it and get me home.”

Disappointment shadowed Mother's elegant face. “That’s the problem,” she said gently. “We would have to search, for I do not know where to find it.”

She paused, thoughtful. Seeing George‘s frown deepen, she continued calmly, “I can put my current quest on hold—help you, George, if you wish.”

Elated, George nodded eagerly. “Yes, please. If you can help me get home, I’d be in your debt. I’ll find a way to reciprocate.”

“There is no need,” she said softly. “I must help you; I need to help you. That’s what the Archetype impressed upon me. Help those in need, seek the safety for others.” She smiled gently at him, and George returned her smile.

"Climb up onto my back," she said kindly, "and we will take flight immediately to find the Archetype, so we can get you home to your loved ones.”

With George securely mounted on Mother's back, she leapt into the air, gliding smoothly through the sky with graceful elegance. All George could think of was how astonishing it was that she was able to do that—without wings.