Dusk was falling when Zosia, Grzegorz and Lena reached the border of an ancient forest. The mist was drifting low, embracing the old oak trees that remembered the time when the Slavic gods still walked these lands. Despite the chill, the air was suffused with the scent of damp mulch, and the silence - unnerving and thick - was broken only by the distant hooting of a tawny owl. The friends, armed with torches and fascinated by the legend of the Wolf of the Nine Moons, decided to traverse the Old Tract, a path through the middle of the forest. The path was barely visible under a layer of fallen leaves, and it was getting darker by the minute. - Are we sure it's here? - Lena looked anxiously at an old, crooked tree on which hung a garland of dried flowers. - 'The map makes it clear,' replied Gregory, pulling out his phone. - 'This is the only place where the trail intersects with the Wolf Glade. If we're going to find traces of the Wolf's Lair anywhere, it's here. The forest around them seemed to have a life of its own: branches creaked under an invisible weight, and disturbing shadows swayed above their heads. Under Zosia's feet, something squeaked - an old, broken amulet lay draped over the mosses. With a numb hand, she picked it up and examined it carefully: it was a medallion with an engraved protective rune that she knew from her grandmother's stories. - It's a sign! - she whispered, showing the find to her friends. Suddenly, the air grew thicker, and a prolonged howling sounded in the distance. One of the torches went out. Out of the thickening mist, at the edge of the clearing, a figure with glowing eyes appeared - neither quite human nor quite wolf-like. She wore a fur cloak and stared at them with impenetrable calm. The friends exchanged terrified glances. They knew they had just crossed into the world they knew. And in front of them, bathed in an unnatural radiance, the true mystery of the Old Path began to emerge....