Antek and Zosia find a strange compass in the attic, and it leads them to a hidden gate in the forest, where a glowing path and a waiting mystery pull them deeper inside.
The attic of Antek’s old house smelled of dust, wood, and secrets. Sunlight slipped through a cracked window and laid pale stripes across trunks, boxes, and broken chairs stacked in the corners. Antek was rummaging through a pile of forgotten things when his hand closed around something cold.
He pulled it free and wiped away the dust.
It was an iron compass, dark with age, with a wolf engraved on the lid. The wolf’s eyes seemed almost sharp enough to stare back.
Zosia leaned over his shoulder. “That’s not ordinary,” she whispered.
The compass gave a sudden twitch.
Then the needle spun so fast it blurred, as if it were frightened or excited, and snapped to a stop pointing straight toward the attic door. Antek and Zosia exchanged a look. Before either of them could speak, the compass needle jerked again, this time aiming beyond the house, toward the strip of mist hanging over the garden path.
“Do you think it wants us to follow it?” Zosia asked.
Antek swallowed. “Only one way to find out.”
They slipped outside and followed the compass through the backyard, past the overgrown fence and into the trees. The path should have been familiar, but it felt different the deeper they went, as if the forest had quietly changed while they were not looking. Branches creaked overhead. Leaves whispered against one another. Somewhere nearby, something tapped three times against a trunk and then went still.
The compass grew warmer in Antek’s hand.
Then the trees opened around a gate hidden beneath a curtain of moss. Strange symbols were carved into the old wood, and there, cut deep into the centre, was the same wolf they had seen on the compass.
Zosia stepped closer. “Antek...”
He raised the compass.
The moment its rim touched the gate, the symbols flickered with pale light. The gates shuddered, groaned, and swung inward on their own. Beyond them lay a narrow path washed in silver mist, glowing faintly as if moonlight had been trapped inside it.
From somewhere far ahead came a soft sound - not quite a voice, not quite a laugh.
Then the compass in Antek’s palm flashed blue, and the needle began to spin harder than before, as if whatever waited beyond the gate had finally noticed them.