The night is quiet in the forest, but the silence is heavy, thick with the tension of everything we've discovered. Lorean and I sit by the stream, the soft ripple of water the only sound. The notebook lies on my lap, its leather cover warm against my thighs, almost pulsing like it knows what I'm about to do.
I trace the edge of the cover with my fingers, feeling the energy thrumming through it. Every page is a promise. Every word a responsibility. Every creation carries consequence.
And now… I need to do more than small, harmless things.
I glance at Lorean. "I think… it's time to test the notebook properly."
She frowns. "Properly? Wren… we barely know what it can do. What if something goes wrong?"
I swallow, forcing calm into my voice. "Then we fix it. Carefully. Slowly. But we need to see its real power. We can't just sit here waiting for him to come for us."
Her hand finds mine, trembling but resolute. "Okay… together."
I nod and open the notebook. The blank page seems to shimmer under the lamplight of the moon filtering through the trees. The pencil feels heavier in my hand than usual, as if it knows the weight of what I'm about to write.
I take a deep breath.
A protective safehouse appears in the forest, hidden and fortified, filled with supplies, maps, and clues about Mom and Dad's location.
The pencil scratches across the paper. The air thickens. The forest around us seems to lean in, watching, listening. Then, slowly, the space before us begins to shimmer. Light bends, and the ground trembles faintly. Trees shift, roots twisting as if rearranging themselves.
The notebook thrums like a heartbeat. I hold my breath.
Then, as the last word is written, the air clears. In the clearing ahead of us stands a small cabin, sturdy and untouched, perfectly hidden from view. Around it, glowing markers appear, pointing toward hidden paths, supplies neatly stacked inside, and faint magical wards that shimmer just enough to protect us.
Lorean gasps. "It… it worked. You made it real."
I nod, my hands shaking. "Yes. But…" I glance around nervously. "It also… alerted him. I can feel it. Every creation draws his attention."
The forest feels suddenly colder. The wind carries whispers, almost like the world itself warning me.
We step cautiously toward the cabin. Lorean clings to my arm, her trust both comforting and terrifying. The notebook is alive in my bag, humming faintly as if approving my work—or perhaps warning me.
Inside the cabin, everything is perfect. Maps of nearby forests, hidden paths, supplies we could use for weeks, and notes—some already written—that hint at the truth of our parents' disappearance. The air smells faintly of old parchment and pine, grounding us in a reality that is both created and real.
"This is incredible," Lorean whispers. "We… we can survive here. We can plan."
"Yes," I say, still cautious. "But it's also dangerous. The more I create, the more he knows. The more he feels us. And the closer he will come."
I sit at a small wooden table inside the cabin, notebook open again. My pencil hovers. I need information—something more concrete about Varek, about the other book, about the trap he set for our parents.
I write carefully:
A vision of Varek's plans appears, revealing weaknesses and traps in his universe.
The words shimmer and bend in the air. The walls of the cabin seem to melt away. A window opens into his universe, just enough for me to glimpse: the throne, the tower, the rivers of molten silver, and the dark city stretching into the crimson sky.
And there—twisting through the streets—are faint echoes of people. Captives. Like Mom and Dad.
I gasp. "They're alive… somewhere."
Lorean grips my shoulder. "We can save them."
"Yes," I whisper. "But every step we take… he will feel it. Every word I write, every creation I make… it will bring him closer."
The notebook hums softly, a warning and a promise.
And I realize that from this moment on, there is no turning back.
The notebook is no longer just a tool.
It is a weapon.
And a beacon.
And every move we make now will change everything.
Somewhere, in the shadows of his crimson city, Varek senses the stirrings of the Ledger. He smiles.
Because the game has begun.
And soon… he will come for us.