The Gate Traveler

When I crossed over, it was twilight, so I stayed in the ruin. It was still the middle of the day for me, so sleeping was not an option. After lighting an oil lamp, I took one songbook out and learned a song on the guitar and another and another. I played until the middle of the night, learned five songs, and finally could go to sleep.

In the morning, I examined the Map. This world had one giant continent with a small grouping of islands near the southern tip and another much smaller continent far away in the east. Maybe there was more, but it didn't show on the Map. What surprised me was that there were very few Gates—only seven on this continent and another on the small one. On Earth, there were over a hundred.

The mana levels here are higher. Shouldn't there be more?

I was in the southeastern part of the continent, close to the center. Cities, distinguished by a crown in a circle, were scattered in every direction. Capitals? Without a scale, I couldn't judge the distance. Despite my efforts, I couldn't access Earth's Map to compare size and estimate distances. When I took out my compass, it seemed to work as expected, or at least I thought so. I headed north; it was a good direction as any.

I found myself in a forest with towering trees and sparse underbrush, making walking a breeze. The forest was beautiful; the trees were as immense as redwoods, with big, dense leaves that filtered the sunlight into a soft, golden glow. Everything was so green and vibrant, the kind of green that seemed to pulse with life and energy. The leaves above formed a thick canopy, creating a natural umbrella that shielded me from the occasional rain.

When it did rain, the drops were gentle and melodious, tapping lightly on the leaves overhead. The only water that reached me was the occasional drop that fell from the leaves, landing softly on my skin with a cool, refreshing touch. Thin rivulets of water flowed gracefully down the trunks, shimmering in the dappled light, but the ground remained surprisingly dry. Soft moss and fallen leaves carpeted the forest floor, creating a plush, springy path beneath my feet.

It was very peaceful. The melodious chirping of birds filled the air, with each song weaving into a harmonious symphony. I could hear the gentle buzz of insects going about their day, a constant hum that added to the serenity of the forest. The fresh smell of wet soil and rain mingled with the earthy scent of the trees, creating an intoxicating aroma that filled my lungs with every breath. It was a scent that spoke of life and growth, of nature in its purest form.

From a distance, I occasionally spotted animals moving gracefully through the underbrush. Their movements were quick and elusive, giving me only fleeting glimpses. Whether they were herbivores or predators, I couldn't tell, but their presence added to the sense of mystery and wonder that enveloped the forest. Deer-like creatures with sleek coats and delicate limbs leaped through the shadows, while birds with vibrant plumage flitted from branch to branch.

As I walked, I felt an incredible sense of peace and tranquility. Amidst the rustling leaves, the towering trees appeared to whisper ancient secrets, their language conveying timeless wisdom. The light filtering through the canopy created ever-changing patterns on the forest floor, a dance of shadows and light that mesmerized and soothed my spirit. The occasional rays of sunlight that pierced the canopy bathed the forest in a warm, golden hue, highlighting the vivid greens and the rich browns of the tree trunks.

I took my time savoring every moment, sight, and sound. The forest was alive, a vibrant, breathing entity that welcomed me into its embrace. It felt like a sanctuary where time stood still, and the world's worries melted away. After walking for several hours, I took a quick break for lunch and rest before continuing my journey. When the sun began to set, I found a suitable spot to make camp.

When I checked on the Map, my location seemed unchanged.

The following day, I ate breakfast and continued walking. About an hour after my lunch break, I came out of the forest and saw a wide valley with faraway mountains on both sides and more in the distance. There was a big herd on my far right. I stood there and just looked; it was peaceful and beautiful. I checked my compass and continued walking.

At some point during my trek, I began to talk with Sophie in my mind and then out loud. I never told her how I felt during her illness; she had enough to deal with. But now I told her about my grief even before her death, my anger, my feeling of helplessness. Describing the depth of my emotions, I shared with her how seeing her in immense pain was something I couldn't bear, how every trip to the hospital felt like a dagger stabbing into my heart. I confessed that, at some point, when I came to terms that there was no cure, I felt like I was killing her because I stopped fighting. The guilt I felt for feeling relieved when the treatments stopped because it meant she would suffer less. I made camp for the night and continued talking with her. I talked and talked until I fell asleep.

The following day, I kept walking and talking, but now I remembered the good things. Small anecdotes from our life together came to my mind, so I told her about them. I remembered our first meeting. I had assumed she was a spoiled, stuck-up brat, but she proved to be a fantastic person once I got to know her. As I recalled our first date, I couldn't help but laugh at how gracefully she handled spilling wine on her dress and laughed it off. I reminded her of our spontaneous road trip to the mountains, where we got lost but found a hidden lake where we spent the entire day swimming and talking about our dreams.

I told her about the memory of when she surprised me on my birthday with tickets to that concert I thought was sold out. We danced like there was no tomorrow and sang along to every song. I remembered our first home, that tiny apartment with the leaky faucet. The apartment was cramped and noisy, but it was ours, and we were happy. I laughed and cried with the memories and told her everything I had never told her before. I shared how I cherished the quiet mornings we spent sipping coffee and reading the paper together. Those were the moments I felt most at peace.

Conveying my deep gratitude to her, I expressed how much I admired her strength throughout her illness and how her unwavering courage was my source of inspiration when I felt like collapsing. I thanked her for loving me, choosing me to be her life partner, and making every moment with her a precious memory. I spoke about how her love helped me overcome the pain from my childhood, from the years spent in foster care, feeling abandoned and alone. The profound effect of her unwavering belief in me, how it aided in my healing from the traumas of foster care, and how her kindness and compassion reignited my faith in people.

I remembered how she held me when I had nightmares about those dark times, how she whispered words of comfort that made me feel safe. I thanked her for showing me love's true meaning and teaching me I deserved happiness and kindness. As I walked, I felt her presence with me, comforting me, and for the first time in a long while, I felt a sense of peace. I knew she was listening.

That night, sitting by my campfire, I was utterly at peace. I even had a smile on my face. My laughter wasn't because of incredulity, disbelief, shock or hysterics. It had been a long, long time since I had smiled, really smiled. With a deep breath, I sensed a release from the heaviness of grief and sorrow that had weighed me down. Every step I took relieved me of a small piece of the burden, allowing me to stand tall. I wasn't well yet, but I had started my journey to recovery. It felt good.

I gazed into the flames, their warm glow flickering and dancing, reflecting the myriad of emotions coursing through me. I felt Sophie's presence in the gentle rustling of the leaves and the soft whispers of the wind. It was as if she was there, sharing this quiet moment with me. I spoke to her again, this time with a lighter heart. I thanked her for all the joy she had brought into my life, for the laughter and the tears, for the ordinary days and the extraordinary ones.

In our late-night talks, we used to stay up and discuss everything from our favorite books to our deepest fears. I told her how those conversations had been my lifeline, especially during the darkest periods of my life. I reminisced about our travels, the adventures we had, and the way she made even the simplest trips feel like grand escapades. Laughing, I recalled the time we got caught in a sudden downpour during our visit to Washington, and instead of running for cover, she pulled me into the rain, and we danced on the empty streets, soaked to the bone but deliriously happy.

As I sat there, I felt a profound sense of gratitude for the time we had together. I acknowledged the pain of her loss, but I also embraced the beauty of the memories we had created. I realized that her love had woven a tapestry of strength and resilience within me. Her faith in me had given me the courage to face my past and find healing. I whispered my love to her, knowing she could hear me, and I promised to always carry her spirit with me.

When I finally fell asleep, I felt lighter than I had in months. The stars above seemed to shine brighter, and the night air was filled with a soothing tranquility. I knew the road ahead was still long, but for the first time, I felt a sense of hope. I understood that grief would always be a part of me, but it no longer had to define me. With Sophie's love as my guide, I could find my way back to joy and peace. As I drifted to sleep, a smile lingered on my lips, and I felt a warmth in my heart that assured me I was not alone.

In the morning, I was sitting and drinking coffee, enjoying the peace and quiet, when it dawned on me for the first time, "I'm in another world!

I'M IN ANOTHER WORLD!!

I left Earth!

No more chasing my career or worrying about mortgage or credit card payments.

Shit!!"

I facepalmed. I remembered what I had forgotten! While I drained my account, I neglected to settle my credit card debt. And with all the charges for flights, hotels, and car rentals, it was a hefty bill. A strong sense of guilt washed over me. I even considered returning and handling it, but I shook my head and decided not to be an idiot. Sending my mental apology to the person who would have to handle this mess, I continued my trek.

In the afternoon of the next day, I saw a wide river previously invisible in the distance. I changed course toward it; traveling by water was faster. By evening, I arrived at the river and set up my camp. Some animals came to drink, and some even looked like predators, but they minded their own business, and I minded mine. With a batch of kindling and wood, I collected on my way, I started a fire. Tonight, just in case, I'd sleep in the camper instead of the tent. I didn't want to come across as an enticing steak, waiting for someone to bite.

The following day, I removed the inflatable kayak and inflated it with the leg pump. I'd travel on the river for now. It looked like it was going northwest, so I'd still be in the same direction. Initially, I began paddling but stopped after five minutes. I was moving too fast. My desire was to linger and savor the scenery. I went with the river current and steered the kayak to the middle now and then with the paddle. The view was breathtaking.

After a few hours, the river became narrower and picked up speed, forcing me to use my paddle more to stay away from the banks. The speed just kept getting faster, and I started getting worried. Despite my attempts to paddle towards one shore, the current kept pushing me in the same direction. Then I heard an alarming noise; the river curved, and I saw only sky ahead. The current intensified, and I shot off the waterfall like a bullet.

The bow of my kayak tilted down, and I fell fast. With no time to spare, I took a deep breath and dove into the water until the kayak reached the bottom. The hit was jarring but not bad. Releasing the strap, I propelled myself upward with a kick. It wasn't really deep, so I quickly broke the surface. Swimming to the shore, I pulled myself out of the water and sat there for a few minutes, breathing deeply. It was scary, but I survived. When I looked, the kayak was floating in the lake's center. As I surveyed my surroundings, I discovered I was in a grotto. A narrow shore surrounded the lake, and high cliffs enclosed most of it, with trees leaning into the water. There was a passage visible on my far right.

I hope I can walk out on foot; I'm not sure I'm ready to paddle again.

Once the adrenaline crash hit me, I sat down until it passed. Then I swam and got the kayak. My paddle was nowhere in sight. It should've floated up, but I couldn't find it. Looking around, I realized this place was breathtaking. The bottom was visible in the water because it was so clear. As the trees filtered the light, it took on a dreamy quality, while the cliffs showcased layers of colors—yellow, orange, red, and brown. The noise from the waterfall was muted and barely audible.

I decided to spend a few days here; it was a slice of tranquil heaven.

Once I found a wider part of the shore, I set up one of my fancier tents, arranged a table and a fancy camping armchair with a leg rest, and indulged in Alfredo prawn pasta with a bottle of Brunello wine. It was that kind of ambiance.

For more than a week, I stayed in the grotto. During my vacation, I swam, indulged in delicious food, and savored wine and beer. I also caught and grilled fish, read two books purely for enjoyment, played the guitar, and had a great time overall. Behind the waterfall, I stumbled upon a serene cave with stone ledges perfect for sitting and dipping my feet in the water.

On my third day, I found my paddle stuck in one of the trees.

On my ninth day, I was floating in the cave, enjoying the moment, when I felt something unclench in me. There was a profound instant where my entire body let go and relaxed. It wasn't merely physical; it was mental but had an undeniable physical aspect. A powerful surge of energy coursed through me, as if I had been an empty cup before, and now I was brimming over. It was an unusual feeling, but not bad—just profoundly different.

My perspective underwent a radical transformation. Even during my busy preparations for my travels, I hadn't been genuinely excited about what was to come. There had been brief moments when something jarred or shocked me, pulling my attention to the present, but my focus inevitably shifted back to the past. Now, for the first time, I was experiencing the present moment with no weight from the past pressing me down. I was looking forward to the future.

I felt peaceful, calm, whole, and alive—really, truly alive for the first time in my entire life. The sensation was indescribable, a deep-seated joy and liberation that words couldn't adequately capture. I tried to express it internally, to find the right words in my head, but it was beyond language. It was something that could only be felt.

As I leisurely floated in the water, I allowed myself to experience it fully. The cool water enveloped me, the gentle ripples caressed my skin, and the echoing drips from the cave ceiling created a soothing symphony. Once a place of solitude, the cave now felt like a sanctuary, embracing me in its serene darkness. Every sense heightened as I experienced the scent of the mineral-rich water, the distant chirping of birds, and the soft hum of the earth itself.

When I went to sleep that night, I knew that something had fundamentally changed within me. My dreams were vivid and peaceful, filled with colors and sensations that felt more real than reality. As I drifted off, I felt a warmth in my chest, a glow that spread throughout my body. This wasn't just a fleeting feeling, but a transformation in my core.

I woke the following day with a sense of purpose and clarity I had never known before. The world looked different—brighter, more vibrant, filled with possibilities. The shadows of my past no longer haunted me. Instead, I felt a quiet confidence fill me and an eagerness to embrace whatever lay ahead. For the first time, I felt like I was living, not just existing. The journey before me was no longer a path of escape, but discovery and joy.