The hut stood still, as though it held its breath with her. Only the faint sound of Sarenya's footsteps heading toward the river and the soft rustle of leaves outside broke the silence. Moments later, Sarenia disappeared among the trees, leaving her alone with the stillness.
She stood quietly, her eyes scanning the small room, searching for answers she hadn't found since the moment she arrived in this strange world.
For a while, she tried to ignore the rising curiosity, resisting the urge that pushed her to search the hut. But patience had run dry. Something in this place was hiding secrets that weren't meant to stay buried.
She began to search.
The small drawers: bottles of herbs, pouches of brown powder, flasks sealed with wax. All carefully arranged. All... meaningless.
Then a wooden box near the door: old kitchen tools, stacked fabrics, clay plates with chipped edges.
Tall shelves covered in dust, woven baskets, jars whose contents were unknown.
She moved quietly, inspecting everything without leaving a trace. She was cautious... Sarenia could return at any moment. She couldn't afford to be caught.
But nothing. Nothing at all.
She stopped in the center of the room, her gaze drifting in futility.
She whispered, as if to the empty air:
"There's nothing... Really? She said she was a witch... There has to be something. Something that could bring me back to my world, or at least explain this hell I've fallen into."
She stared at the walls, the floor's corners, the cracked ceiling. That silent voice inside her kept urging her to go on, even as despair crept in.
Then... she saw it.
A small rug by the hearth, its corner slightly lifted, as if someone had pulled it and forgotten to put it back.
She approached slowly. Knelt down and pulled the rug away.
There it was — a small rectangular wooden door with a cold metal handle.
She glanced toward the outer door. No one.
She reached out and pulled the handle.
A soft creak. The door opened to reveal a dark hole. The scent of damp soil and aged wood rose as if to greet her.
She stepped back. Her heart pounded.
Then she remembered the candle.
She went to fetch a small one from the shelf, lit it using the dying embers in the hearth, and returned to the hatch.
She descended the wooden steps, one at a time. Each rung gave a faint groan, as if weighed down by ancient secrets.
The air below was heavier. Dust danced in the candlelight, and the stench was thick — a mixture of mold and dead time.
Wooden shelves lined the walls, holding old glass vials, some broken, others filled with thick dark liquids.
And in the corner... on a low stone pedestal... there was a book.
Large. Covered in dark leather. On its surface, a symbol carved with precision — the same symbol as her pendant.
She stepped closer, set down the candle, and touched the cover.
A chill ran up her skin. This wasn't ordinary leather. It felt like it was made of something that had lost its life centuries ago.
She opened the book.
The first pages were yellowed, their edges brittle, reeking of ash.
Spells written in different inks: "Blood Ward," "Eye of Night," "Word of Binding"... Magic circles, twisted symbols, inscriptions that looked like veins — writhing if stared at too long.
She flipped carefully. Then something within her made her stop at a page completely unlike the others.
Almost blank. No decorations. No symbols. And in the center, one line of dark ink:
> "He who places the pendant in its mark and offers a drop of blood, shall see their wish fulfilled when the hope is true."
She read the line slowly. Then read it again.
Her eyes fell on the pendant resting against her chest. Still. Not glowing. Not pulsing.
She held it, murmuring:
"That's why Sarenia wanted it... This pendant hides more than it shows. What does that woman know? Why won't she speak?"
She removed the pendant, studied it, then noticed the shallow groove on the page — perfectly round, matching the pendant's shape.
She placed it in. It settled in smoothly, like it had returned home.
But... nothing.
She looked at her hand. There was still an old wound that hadn't healed.
She drew a small blade and gently cut her finger.
A drop of blood. Red. Warm. It fell onto the pendant.
She waited.
...
Nothing.
The book lay still. The air unmoving. The candle dripped.
She sat down, buried her head in her hands.
She whispered, her voice cracked:
> "Who am I? Why am I here? What have I done?"
Tears welled in her eyes. She hadn't cried since waking on that beach. Now, she couldn't hold it back.
Suddenly, she screamed — from the deepest part of her:
> "ANSWER ME!?!"
Her voice echoed. But no reply came.
She stood, slammed the book shut, and hurled it at the wall.
It struck stone. Pages flew. Dust trembled.
She collapsed again. Tears fell without end.
"WHY ME? WHO STOLE MY LIFE? WHY WON'T ANYONE TELL ME ANYTHING?!"
Then, just as she was about to pull the pendant away—
Light appeared.
A faint glow rose from the page, expanding.
The walls began to shine. The book quivered. Pages turned on their own.
Then the apparition emerged.
A woman with a pale face, hair tied back, and eyes like ancient mirrors.
She looked like her... but wasn't her.
And her voice — it didn't come from her mouth, but straight into her mind:
"My name is Eirelyn. I lived in a town called Nemora. I sold herbs... practiced white magic in secret. This pendant... is dangerous. It holds secrets that must not fall into the wrong hands."
She paused, then continued:
"I've set a small test for whoever finds this pendant. If you answer correctly, the forbidden spells will open to you. If you fail... the pendant will seal itself forever and shatter."
The page glowed.
Three magical sentences appeared before her, each igniting on its own:
> 1. What is the power that no magic can overcome?
2. What must be sacrificed to gain forbidden knowledge?
3. Why must power be hidden, even from the good-hearted?
Her face paled. Her heart raced.
Then she whispered, softly but firmly:
> "Death."
The symbol trembled.
> "Memory."
Brighter light.
> "Because goodness without wisdom... destroys more than it saves."
A moment of silence.
Then... the book trembled. The ground beneath her shook. The pendant pulsed with a gentle glow.
The spirit's voice returned:
"You answered correctly. The pendant is now yours. Open it when you need to — but beware: some answers kill."
She paused again, then whispered:
"This magical recording will now be sent to Kailon of the Guardians' Guild. If you are one of mine, he will help you. If you're not... he'll know what to do."
Then, slowly, she faded, as if she had never been.
"I hope... the one who finds this pendant doesn't betray me."
Darkness.
Silence.
The book calmed. The light vanished.
Then... footsteps above.
She jumped. Wiped her tears. Replaced the pendant around her neck. Picked up the book, returned it, closed the cellar door, pulled the rug over it.
She climbed back up. Sat on the bed.
The door opened.
Sarenya stepped in, holding a small basket. She looked at her for a long moment... said nothing.
And neither did she.
But the pendant on her chest felt heavier.
And in her heart... the first page of a secret that would never sleep had been turned.