The Map of the Magical Forest, from the world of Lyora and Mipi

More about The Map of the Magical Forest, from the world of Lyora and Mipi

It was raining when Lyora first crossed the threshold of the cabin. A rain that didn't just fall – but knocked, whispered, waited. The door was slightly stuck, as if it had to get used to the new fingers opening it. Inside, it smelled of lavender, dust, and something Lyora couldn't name – like a memory that wasn't yet hers. The cabin was full of things that no one used anymore, but all seemed to be waiting for something: A poker by the fireplace. A jug of dried lilac. A rocking chair that moved ever so slightly, as if someone had just sat in it. Liora put down her backpack and stroked the cracked tabletop. Her great-great-aunt had lived here – the one people only spoke of in half-sentences. The one with the silvery eyes and the secret journeys. In one corner of the room stood an old apothecary cabinet. Small drawers, labeled with faded names: "Monkshood. Forget-me-not. Moonseed." Liora pulled out one after the other – mostly she found only dust, crumbs, dried leaves. Until she discovered one that wouldn't open. Sealed. With a gossamer thread of dark red wax. Something inside her knew: This drawer wasn't made for everyone. She took a small crystal from the windowsill – without knowing why – and gently tapped it on the seal. A faint crack, barely audible, and the drawer slid open. Inside it lay: the map. Fine as parchment, but soft as moss. It smelled of earth and distant warmth, of stories that had grown in the roots. Next to it was a petrified apple – so smooth, as if time had silently embraced it – and two rotten books, their titles disintegrating beneath Lyora's fingers. As she carefully unfolded the map, the room fell silent. Not empty—but attentive. Paths appeared that seemed to move, a shimmering river flowed over the soft material, and in the upper right corner, in fine, vibrant script, was written: "The forest knows your name." Lyora held her breath. She didn't know where the map would lead. But she knew: It wasn't a map you could simply read. It was a map that saw you. And outside in the rain, for a moment, the glitter of the drops on the windowpane seemed like quiet, twinkling stars on an unknown path.