The safehouse feels unreal. The walls are sturdy, the supplies abundant, the glowing paths outside guiding us through the forest. Yet, despite the security, the notebook hums insistently in my bag, a constant reminder that power always comes at a cost.
Lorean and I sit at the table, poring over the maps and notes the notebook has created. Paths through the forests, hidden passages, faint markings that point to where Varek's captives—our parents among them—might be held. My heart races with hope, but beneath it lies the shadow of fear.
"We could go now," Lorean whispers, her eyes bright with determination. "We could follow the paths and try to save them."
I shake my head. "Not yet. It's too dangerous. I need to know more first—about him, about his traps, about the other book. One wrong move…" I trail off, the weight of the notebook pressing down on me.
She nods, but I can see the worry in her eyes. She trusts me, but the cost is clear to her too.
I open the notebook again. The pages glow faintly, as if sensing my hesitation. My pencil hovers. I need more information. I need to plan.
But then I hesitate.
I could write something dangerous… something that might save them immediately.
A sudden, reckless thought tempts me:
I could create a portal directly to their location and bring them here.
The idea makes my chest ache. The risk is immense. One wrong word, one misstep… and I could destroy them, or worse, draw Varek straight to us.
Lorean watches me, sensing my conflict. "Wren… you're thinking of doing it, aren't you?"
I swallow hard. "Yes. But I don't know if I can control it. The notebook… it's alive. It reacts. And I can feel him sensing us. The more I create, the closer he gets."
Her small hand slides into mine. "Then… maybe we wait. Maybe we use it carefully, step by step."
I nod, grateful for her steadiness. But my mind races.
After hours of planning, I decide to test the notebook carefully.
A vision of Mom and Dad appears, showing their exact location without opening a portal.
The pencil scratches the last word. The air shimmers, and for a brief moment, I see them. They are alive, chained in a dark tower, surrounded by shadows. Varek's agents patrol the perimeter, unaware of the notebook's magic, but every movement is visible to me now.
Lorean gasps, tears welling in her eyes. "They're alive… but… Wren… it's dangerous."
"I know," I whisper, my hands trembling. "I can't bring them here yet. Not without a plan. But now… now I can start figuring out how to rescue them safely."
And then the notebook pulses again, insistent and sharp.
A faint chill creeps through the cabin. My heart races. The words I've written have alerted Varek—not directly, but enough. I can feel the shadows stirring beyond the forest, subtle shifts in the wind, distant footsteps that don't belong to the night animals.
Every creation comes with a cost. Every vision, every plan, every small magical act draws him closer.
I realize, with a sudden weight in my chest, that this is the first true moral dilemma:
I can act now and risk everything to save them, or I can wait, plan carefully, and try to minimize the risk—but every moment of waiting allows Varek more time to strengthen his control, more time to harm them.
The notebook hums beneath my hands, warm and insistent.
It doesn't tell me what to do.
It only waits.
And the shadows outside remind me that Varek doesn't wait.
Lorean leans against me, her small frame shaking. "Whatever you decide… we'll do it together," she whispers.
I nod, closing my eyes for a moment. "Yes… together."
But deep down, I know that the next step—whatever it is—will define everything.
Because the notebook isn't just magic.
It's a choice.
And every choice has consequences.