Chapter 2: Purple Haze
[story and art by Fin]
They landed in a heap. Again.
This time, it was not in a crypt, or in the swirling chaos between realms, but in a field.
A very green, very real field with wildflowers and trees and--
“What the actual fuck,” Aiden grunted, brushing grass out of his beard as he rolled off of Maika, who was muttering something in what might’ve been a curse, or possibly just poetry in Quenya. Either way, his dignity had not made the journey with him.
“I told you not to touch the bottle,” Maika hissed, sitting up with elven grace despite the indignity. “This is twice now, Aiden. Twice.”
“I didn’t touch the bottle,” Aiden growled, “I picked it up with purpose.”
Maika gave him a look that could have scalded wine. Before he could retort, a new voice interrupted.
“Whoa, man,” someone said dreamily. “Did you see that?”
They turned.
About ten paces away, a group of humans lounged around a van. It was painted in flowers, peace signs, and what looked suspiciously like a poorly rendered dragon. A thick cloud of smoke drifted lazily in the air, and sitting on a plaid blanket were at least six people, all in bright mismatched clothing, passing around a pipe like it was sacred.
One of them—tall, with a long auburn beard and hair down to his waist—nudged the woman beside him, who had matching auburn waves and a daisy chain in her hair.
“Lynda, babe,” he said, “Did we… did we call them?”
“I felt them coming,” Lynda breathed, eyes wide. “That portal thing? That wasn’t just peyote, man. I knew we were gonna break through to another frequency tonight.”
“We’re in the spirit realm,” said another hippie, nodding sagely.
“Or the Elves are finally talking to us again,” Jim whispered reverently.
“Do you think they’re guides?” Lynda whispered back.
Aiden looked at Maika. Maika looked at Aiden. Then they both looked at the humans, who were now waving at them like they were long-lost friends.
“I… don’t understand what they’re saying,” Maika admitted, brow furrowed. “It’s not Common. It sounds like gibberish.”
“Well, if they are from another plane, they might just be speaking nonsense,” Aiden offered helpfully.
Maika rolled his eyes, stepped back, and took a breath. “Stand back, this spell’s going to drain me.”
With a few whispered syllables and a glowing silver thread of magic woven in the air, Maika cast the incantation.
And promptly collapsed to his knees.
“Maika!” Aiden was at his side in a flash.
“I’m—fine,” Maika muttered, blinking slowly. “Just… gods, that language is chaotic.”
“You okay, man?” Jim asked, now crouching beside him, looking sincerely concerned.
Maika’s ears twitched. “I… yes. I can understand you now. That’s alarming.”
“You just spoke English,” Lynda gasped, eyes the size of moons. “They are from another dimension!”
“Technically,” Maika said, struggling to sit up, “we’re from a different age. This is… not where we were.”
“Or when,” Aiden added grimly.
“Far out,” said one of the others, solemnly.
“We’re headed to Woodstock,” Jim added, cheerily. “You guys wanna ride with us? There’s room in the van.”
Aiden raised an eyebrow. “What’s a Woodstock?”
Maika sighed. “I think we’re going to find out.”
This time, it was not in a crypt, or in the swirling chaos between realms, but in a field.
A very green, very real field with wildflowers and trees and--
“What the actual fuck,” Aiden grunted, brushing grass out of his beard as he rolled off of Maika, who was muttering something in what might’ve been a curse, or possibly just poetry in Quenya. Either way, his dignity had not made the journey with him.
“I told you not to touch the bottle,” Maika hissed, sitting up with elven grace despite the indignity. “This is twice now, Aiden. Twice.”
“I didn’t touch the bottle,” Aiden growled, “I picked it up with purpose.”
Maika gave him a look that could have scalded wine. Before he could retort, a new voice interrupted.
“Whoa, man,” someone said dreamily. “Did you see that?”
They turned.
About ten paces away, a group of humans lounged around a van. It was painted in flowers, peace signs, and what looked suspiciously like a poorly rendered dragon. A thick cloud of smoke drifted lazily in the air, and sitting on a plaid blanket were at least six people, all in bright mismatched clothing, passing around a pipe like it was sacred.
One of them—tall, with a long auburn beard and hair down to his waist—nudged the woman beside him, who had matching auburn waves and a daisy chain in her hair.
“Lynda, babe,” he said, “Did we… did we call them?”
“I felt them coming,” Lynda breathed, eyes wide. “That portal thing? That wasn’t just peyote, man. I knew we were gonna break through to another frequency tonight.”
“We’re in the spirit realm,” said another hippie, nodding sagely.
“Or the Elves are finally talking to us again,” Jim whispered reverently.
“Do you think they’re guides?” Lynda whispered back.
Aiden looked at Maika. Maika looked at Aiden. Then they both looked at the humans, who were now waving at them like they were long-lost friends.
“I… don’t understand what they’re saying,” Maika admitted, brow furrowed. “It’s not Common. It sounds like gibberish.”
“Well, if they are from another plane, they might just be speaking nonsense,” Aiden offered helpfully.
Maika rolled his eyes, stepped back, and took a breath. “Stand back, this spell’s going to drain me.”
With a few whispered syllables and a glowing silver thread of magic woven in the air, Maika cast the incantation.
And promptly collapsed to his knees.
“Maika!” Aiden was at his side in a flash.
“I’m—fine,” Maika muttered, blinking slowly. “Just… gods, that language is chaotic.”
“You okay, man?” Jim asked, now crouching beside him, looking sincerely concerned.
Maika’s ears twitched. “I… yes. I can understand you now. That’s alarming.”
“You just spoke English,” Lynda gasped, eyes the size of moons. “They are from another dimension!”
“Technically,” Maika said, struggling to sit up, “we’re from a different age. This is… not where we were.”
“Or when,” Aiden added grimly.
“Far out,” said one of the others, solemnly.
“We’re headed to Woodstock,” Jim added, cheerily. “You guys wanna ride with us? There’s room in the van.”
Aiden raised an eyebrow. “What’s a Woodstock?”
Maika sighed. “I think we’re going to find out.”
The van was loud. It rattled, squeaked, and made a sound like a dragon with lung problems. Maika sat in the back, leaning against Aiden, who refused to admit how much he liked being leaned on.
Jim drove with one hand and smoked with the other. Lynda sat in the passenger seat braiding beads into her hair. Someone in the back passed around another pipe—Aiden declined, but Maika took one puff and coughed so hard he almost cursed in Quenya again.
“It’s a rite of passage,” Lynda explained kindly, handing him a bottle of water and a brownie.
“That brownie tastes like sorrow,” Maika muttered, chewing.
“It tastes like freedom,” Aiden corrected, snatching half of it.
As they approached the festival grounds, Maika stared out the window at the growing crowd—thousands of humans, gathered to hear music, laugh, dance, and make love in tents and mud.
When the music began—real music, from distant speakers, echoing across the hills—Maika went still. His ears twitched. His fingers curled.
And when Jimi Hendrix took the stage later that evening, Maika’s eyes filled with tears.
“I didn’t know music like this could exist,” he whispered. “It’s… it’s like forging light with sound.”
Aiden just watched him quietly, arms crossed. “You’re beautiful when you’re overwhelmed.”
Maika elbowed him, but didn’t disagree.
They kissed once, surrounded by strangers dancing in joy. It was clumsy, hot, and full of tongue—Aiden tasted like chocolate and desire. Maika’s hands slid into his hair and tugged; Aiden guided Maika's hands lower, to the bulge forming in the strange pants the humans called jeans.
"You are a pervert," Maika said fondly.
“Your pervert,” Aiden said smugly.
Maika sighed. “Yes. You are.”
Jim drove with one hand and smoked with the other. Lynda sat in the passenger seat braiding beads into her hair. Someone in the back passed around another pipe—Aiden declined, but Maika took one puff and coughed so hard he almost cursed in Quenya again.
“It’s a rite of passage,” Lynda explained kindly, handing him a bottle of water and a brownie.
“That brownie tastes like sorrow,” Maika muttered, chewing.
“It tastes like freedom,” Aiden corrected, snatching half of it.
As they approached the festival grounds, Maika stared out the window at the growing crowd—thousands of humans, gathered to hear music, laugh, dance, and make love in tents and mud.
When the music began—real music, from distant speakers, echoing across the hills—Maika went still. His ears twitched. His fingers curled.
And when Jimi Hendrix took the stage later that evening, Maika’s eyes filled with tears.
“I didn’t know music like this could exist,” he whispered. “It’s… it’s like forging light with sound.”
Aiden just watched him quietly, arms crossed. “You’re beautiful when you’re overwhelmed.”
Maika elbowed him, but didn’t disagree.
They kissed once, surrounded by strangers dancing in joy. It was clumsy, hot, and full of tongue—Aiden tasted like chocolate and desire. Maika’s hands slid into his hair and tugged; Aiden guided Maika's hands lower, to the bulge forming in the strange pants the humans called jeans.
"You are a pervert," Maika said fondly.
“Your pervert,” Aiden said smugly.
Maika sighed. “Yes. You are.”
Later, as the sun dipped low, Maika wandered off to get them water—and froze.
Because sitting on a blanket with a half-circle of hippies, smoking a pipe, was a very familiar and very unwelcome figure.
“GROVOMIL.”
Aiden, several yards away, immediately shot up like a summoned spirit. “Oh no. No no no. Fin, WAIT—”
But it was too late. Maika, glowing with magical rage and Fëanorian fire, was already striding forward.
“You slimy, impudent, pipe-smoking pustule of a gnome!” Maika shouted. “YOU SENT US TO A PYRAMID!”
Grovomil looked up and smiled. “Oh, there you are. I was wondering when you'd catch up.”
One of the hippies clapped. “He’s got vibes, man.”
“I’LL SHOW YOU VIBES,” Maika screamed, summoning a crackling sphere of energy in one palm.
“Maika, no!” Aiden shouted, but even as he reached for him--
The spark passed between them. Empathic magic flared to life, and suddenly Aiden felt it. Maika’s rage. His confusion. His need to take control of something, anything, after days of chaos.
Aiden’s eyes began to glow too.
Grovomil blinked, sighed, and stood up. “Honestly, you two are so dramatic.”
He clapped his hands.
And the portal opened.
“No—!” Maika started.
“OH FUCKING HELL NOT AGAIN—” Aiden screamed.
And they were gone.
Just like that.
The portal closed.
The hippies blinked.
Lynda turned to Jim and said, “Do you think they were angels?”
Jim passed her the pipe. “Nah, babe. Aliens, definitely.”
