Silent, almost inaudible footsteps echoed off the stone walls of the abandoned Griffin castle. Sylwia, the bravest of the three, walked at the head with a torch in her hand, illuminating the cobwebs and dust that floated in the air. Behind her walked Bartek, a little tense, with his eyebrows drawn together and perpetually looking around. Kuba kept behind, trying to stay calm but nervously fiddling with the key ring next to his rucksack. The idea for this trip came suddenly. A week ago, during a history lesson, they had heard from the teacher about the lost diary of the last castle master, a modern-day alchemist who was said to have performed extraordinary experiments within these walls. Legend had it that the diary contained clues to finding a mysterious artefact giving power over time. As they walked through more corridors, shadows stretched across the walls and it seemed to them that something was moving at the edge of the light. Shoes creaked on the stones and the silence was only broken by the sound of the wind coming through the broken windows. Bartek stopped at a heavy, wrought-iron door. "I think this is the corridor ... Thirteen," he whispered, pointing to the rusting number plate. After a brief struggle with the hinges, they pushed open the door, which emitted a protracted, deafening creak. Behind the door stretched a long, dark corridor, on the sides of which stood dusty old tables, and on the walls hung portraits of people with serious faces. Further down, at the end of the corridor, there was another closed door - with a fused, silver handle. "This must be the master's laboratory," whispered Sylwia, coming closer. Bartek was already reaching out for the handle when suddenly, from behind the closed door, a quiet, rhythmic tapping sounded, as if someone or something was tapping on the floor on the other side. All three of them froze in stillness. Cuba felt an icy shiver on the back of his neck. The tapping became quiet. After a moment, a quiet whisper came from behind the door, as if someone was calling them by name.... "Sylwia... Bartek... Kuba..." Without a word, Sylwia pressed her hand against the door handle. The door gave way slowly, with a sluggish groan. A strange silver light shimmered in the darkness, and the air grew thick and heavy with an unidentifiable smell, as if hundreds of candles were burning. Beyond the threshold, a silhouette in an old, tattered cloak flashed by.... Was this the owner of the missing diary, or was it just their imagination playing tricks? The three friends breathed shallowly, taking a tentative step forward, when suddenly the door closed behind them with a bang....