The library was quiet that morning, sunlight spilling across the long wooden table where Tristan and Taunie sat pressed close together. The old journal lay open between them, its pages yellowed and fragile, filled with the handwriting of Tristan’s mother.
Tristan flipped to a page marked with a faded ribbon. His eyes scanned the lines, his expression sharpening with every word he read.
Taunie leaned in, her voice soft.
“What does it say?”
Tristan exhaled slowly, tapping the page with his finger.
“Directions. Not spells. Not instructions to open anything. Just… how to get to the portal.”
Taunie’s heart thudded.
“The portal to the witches’ realm?”
He nodded.
“Yes. My mother wrote about a path deep in the forest. A stone arch covered in silver moss. A clearing that only appears u
