Bright blue eyes stared expectantly at the fire that burned on the hearth, at the kettle dangling above it. Steam slithered out the spout, mixing in with the smoke, through the dark tunnel, out the chimney.

    "Water's ready," announced the man, his voice loud enough to be heard all the way to the kitchen, where his five guests sat around the dining table in a silence of their own. An acoustic rock song began to play on the radio.

    Damien and Sander stirred. Jack's head rose up from his folded arms on the table. Max tapped on the pause symbol on his phone screen, and pulled the earbuds out of his ears. Lyn glanced away from her paperback copy of "The Bell Jar".

    The man walked over to the stove, set the kettle down on one of the burners. "Hope you all like tea," he said with a smile, pouring steaming water into a teapot. He opened the cupboard, pulled out a store-bought box of tea bags.

    Jack chuckled. "For a second there, I thought you were the all-organic, vegan kind of guy."

    "I do make my own tea," he said, setting down the teapot on its coaster. "Gather my own leaves and herbs in the backyard. I've got vegetables growing there, too. I just thought you wouldn't be so accustomed to it, so I bought tea instead. And I hope this makes things less uncomfortable."

    "Thanks for the hospitality, but I'm not a tea person," admitted Damien.

    "I know," said the man, calmly. "Lyn?"

    Lyn nodded, reached her teacup over to him when he motioned her to.

    He held the cup, poured water in. Then his hand hovered over the box of tea bags, and he looked at Lyn and said, "Chamomile's your favorite, isn't it?"

    Lyn nodded.

    "Helps you calm down, doesn't it?" said the man, pulling out a yellow packet. "Helps you sleep when those thoughts overwhelm you at night."

    "Uh, yeah. Yeah. Thank you," said Lyn, receiving her teacup. "How did you know?"

    "I just do." He smiled, looked at each one of them seated around the table. "I know all of you."

    Max's hand rose into the air. "Hey, uh, you said chamomile has this calming effect, right?"

    The man nodded. "Yes."

    "I'd want some of that, too," said Max, handing his teacup to the man.

    Sander hesitated, then, "Me, too."

    The man laughed, amused. "I know you're all nervous, scared even," he said, pouring water into Max's teacup. "And I know you want answers." He pulled out another yellow packet, dipped the tea bag into the water. "But as of now"—he handed Max his teacup, received Sander's—"why don't we take a moment to breathe? There is nothing to fear—"

    "Nothing to fear?" asked Jack, incredulously. "Nothing to freakin' fear? Look, those freaks chased us down last night. And I'm telling you, that wasn't the first. Damien and I—"

    "—were chased by those men the night Damien sneaked out of his mom's apartment to go with his friends to a party they were not supposed to even be in. And you made your way to the gym—without your phone, if I may add—and stayed there for hours after you threw that tantrum at your parents. Is that the night you speak of?" said the man, nonchalantly, giving Sander a smile as he handed him his teacup.

    Jack said nothing. But the look in his brown eyes gave it away.

    "As I was saying," the man went on, "there is nothing to fear as long as I'm around. You're safe with me."

    "And why's that?" questioned Damien. "What makes you so sure they can't sneak in here and knock you out and kidnap us? And more importantly, what can you prove to us to make us trust you?"

    The man chuckled, shook his head. "I think last night was enough to prove to you. Is it so hard for you to believe, to have a little faith? Max was right: this world has made you afraid, cynical—a tragic reality."

    "But I do."

    All eyes turned to Sander.

    "I mean I trust you. Not entirely, maybe not just yet, but a little more now," he went on to say. "And you're right about last night—what's more to prove? This is all real, and it's staring at us right in our faces. I can't deny what you did to my leg last night. And Max told us what you did, how you saved his family—there's no denying that, either. You saved me. You saved all of us. So thank you."

    The man nodded with a smile, sipped his tea. "My pleasure."

    Jack transferred his glance to Sander, a bewildered expression crossing his face. "Sander, you sure the tea isn't playing any mind tricks on you?"

    "Nope," said Lyn. "Nothing's changed. Not for me. I don't—" She hesitated, then, "Sorry to say this, really I am, but I don't trust you. Or anyone else really, with all this chaos happening. It's all too much to take in. And anything could be some lie or delusion or some sick joke."

    The man nodded. "I see. You three need time. No worries, we have plenty of that in the near future. We'll get to know each other, build a friendship even—trust." He sipped his tea. Then to Sander, "And what is it you were going to ask me, after you said your thanks?"

    Sander gulped in a breath, surprised he knew, and then said, "Is there a way for us to get out of this chaos, for things to go back to normal again? If you know who those men are, you probably know a whole lot more to this. And if you could heal my leg just like that, maybe you could get those men to leave us alone."

    The man sighed. "I wouldn't wish anything like this to happen to you, or to anyone. I'm sorry, Sander, but things that are bound to happen must come to pass. Your lives will never be as they once were."

    "So you're telling us we're stuck in this mess?" said Jack. "And you're telling us there's no way out?"

    The man nodded.

    For a moment, the cabin was dead quiet, save the crackling of the fire on the hearth.

    Jack sat still, but he felt this strange floating sensation from within, his head weightless, everything around him swaying slowly and strangely. Lack of decent sleep, coupled with this sudden revelation, wasn't doing him any good. Then he muttered, "What the actual—"

    "Why?" Sander questioned, his eyes glued to the man, who sipped on his tea, nonchalant. "Why us?"

    The man set his teacup down on the table, onto the coaster before him. "It was always meant to happen, written in stone before any of you were even born."

    "But did something happen before that?" asked Lyn. "Some condition for them to choose us?"

    The man said nothing.

    "So you're saying this is some just because happenstance?" said Damien.

    "Not quite," he replied. "Consequences of the past, none of which were any of your faults. But as of this moment, you wouldn't understand. Not now, but later. We'll need a bit more time, to get to know each other. Maybe then it'll all be clearer to you."

    Jack said, "So you're saying?"

    "I'm saying we spend some hours over the weekends together from now. Saturdays and Sundays, from two to five in the afternoon."

    "Look, sorry, Mister," said Damien. "I've got detention, even on weekends, so—"

    "You only have detention on Saturday mornings, from eight to twelve," stated the man. "And there's no excuse for you, too, Jack. Your basketball trainings are scheduled in the morning, six to ten precisely. And there are no training sessions on Sundays. Am I right?"

    Jack leaned back, let out an exasperated breath. "You really know how to freak us out, do you?" he said, with a nervous a chuckle. "You some psychic, some mindreader?"

    "I'm none of those," said the man. "I told you, I just know you, every one of you. And there's nothing to fear, as long as I'm around." He took another sip. "Now, let's talk about your training."

    Sander choked on his tea, managed to swallow it despite the scorching pain in his throat. "Training?" he questioned, his voice hoarse.

    "Training for what?" asked Jack.

    "I think it best that you know how to defend yourselves as well," said the man. "As long as I'm around, you're safe. But those men are still out there. And there are more of them in distant places, in search for you. More so in their world."

    "Hang on, hang on," said Max, holding two hands up. "You're telling us there's another world out there?"

    "Not just another world," said the man. "This world you call home is only one of many. There are thousands of worlds that coexist, unseen, unknown to your kind."

    "So I'm guessing you must be Gandalf," chuckled Damien. "Fans must've complained real bad for you to get rid of your staff and the old-white-man look to add diversity to this fantasy cliché, huh?"

    "This isn't a joke, Damien," said the man, solemnly. "You saw what those men can do. You know there's more to this than your own sense of reality. You've seen it yourself. So why do you hide your fear and your growing sense of belief beneath this mask of bad jokes and denial and unbelief?" He shook his head. "And to think you and Jack thought it wise to leave the party last night in order to escape those two men. Were you not aware that you were safer in the company of people, that to walk out of sight, out of earshot, in the shadows of the forest would put you in far greater danger? I may as well remind you that you made the same mistake twice."

    Damien averted his eyes away from the man, shifting his gaze over to nothing in particular. "Man, you got me," he muttered under his breath.

    The man chuckled. "I said I know you, didn't I?"

    Damien simply shrugged.

    "Well then," the man went on to say, "we start your training next Saturday. As of today and tomorrow, however, I suggest you all rest. Last night has left you exhausted."

    "Yeah, tell me about it," said Jack, leaning back, stretching his arms up into the air.

    "So," said Max, after sipping the last of his tea. "We're free to go?"

    "Yes."

    "Finally," exclaimed Jack, quickly rising from his seat.

    "Wait. Before we leave," said Sander, to Jack and Damien's unspoken disappointment, "we—um—if we want to get to know each other, don't you think we better introduce ourselves? A proper get-to-know, maybe?"

    "I don't think we need that," remarked Damien, standing next to Jack. "He said it himself, he knows us."

    "But we don't know him," said Sander. He turned back to the man, reached a hand over to him. "Hi. I'm Sander. And you are?"

    The man glanced down at the boy's hand, and smiled. "I am known by many names across different worlds, but"—he reached a hand forward, gave Sander's hand a firm shake—"you can call me the Teacher."

    Max reached out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Mister Bri—Teacher. Nice to meet you, Teacher—the Teacher—Sir."

    The man enclosed his hand round Max's, shook his hand. He chuckled, his eyes glowing with pleasant amusement. "You can also call me Mister Brighteyes, Max. I give you and your friends my permission."

    "You're serious?" asked Max, his eyes glinting with childlike euphoria. "No offense?"

    "I'm serious. And, yes, none taken. It's the truth, my eyes do give off a little of the light in me. I'm amused you both noticed," he said, glancing over at Sander.

    Max smiled wide. "You're actually kinda cool, Mister Brighteyes. No kidding."

    "Hey," said a voice, a couple fingers tapping on Damien's shoulder. Damien turned his attention to the raven-haired girl standing next to him. "So, about the English presentation on Monday . . . "

    "I'll come up with something," Damien said, simply. "A speech, a poem—I don't know. I'll start working on it tomorrow. You don't have to worry about it."

    Lyn nodded. "I'll come up with something, too."

    "Besides," said Damien, "we've known each other for so long, so what's the use if we meet up just to talk about ourselves?"

    Lyn looked away, shifting her sight over to Max talking animatedly with Mr. Brighteyes, Sander listening on with genuine interest. Then Mr. Brighteyes smiled, chuckled at something silly Max said. Max shook his head, eyes closed, saying, "Hold on, hold on, scratch that! Scratch that!" Sander laughed, then.

    "Yeah," was all she could say, despite the thoughts running through her mind. And just then she realized, that's what she was going to write about.