The morning mist clung softly to the fields as Hassan walked toward the old family compound, a place he hadn't visited since his youth. The walls, though weathered, held memories of laughter, lessons, and long-forgotten secrets. Today, those secrets were about to resurface.
His mother, Nana Mahamat, greeted him at the door, her eyes sharp but warm. "You've done well, Hassan. The farm... the Rift… everything."
Hassan nodded, feeling the weight of her words. "But there's still so much I don't understand about our family—and the magic we carry."
Inside, the room was filled with ancient scrolls, faded photographs, and old farming tools, some etched with runes that hummed softly in the quiet. Nana sat him down and began to speak of their ancestors, men and women who had tended land touched by spirits long before the Rift appeared.
"These aren't just stories," she said. "Our family is bound to the Rift in ways you've only begun to grasp. The magic you've learned comes from blood, from a pact forged generations ago."
Hassan listened intently as Nana revealed a hidden journal, its pages brittle but filled with knowledge about rituals, spirit contracts, and warnings about the Rift's dangers.
"Your father tried to protect the farm from outside forces," she said, "but he never faced what's coming."
As Hassan absorbed the history, he realized his fight was larger than crops and seasons—it was about legacy, protection, and the future of all who depended on the Rift.
With renewed purpose, Hassan vowed to honor his family's past while preparing for the challenges ahead. The farm was not just his—it was the heart of a lineage intertwined with magic, responsibility, and hope.