PlayerOliver

When you were a kid, you lived with your grandmother in the small town of Silvertree, on the edge of a magical forest. Grandma is a witch, and she taught you how to use your magic to affect the natural world, too. “Magic is a part of you,” she always told you. “Learning how to use it means figuring out who you are.”

Now you’re 19 and on your own. After years of living in the forest while you perfected your witchcraft, you’ve returned to take care of your grandmother’s house and crow-familiar while she’s gone. Figuring out who you are feels more important than ever - not to mention, figuring out what Silvertree is. A lot is just as you remembered: the friendly generous next-door neighbors with a kid just your age, the proud town council, the quaint little shops with quirky punny names, the gentle shadowy forest full of magic.

Stone in the shoe

In that moment, her eyes pierce into yours. You've known all your life that your grandma is a serious person, but you're not sure you've ever seen her look at you quite as intently as she does now.


"Huknock—do you remember what I asked you when you left last week to live in Silvertree?"


You feel something tightening in your throat. Your grandma doesn't give you time to respond right away, however, as she goes on:


"I hope you know that your safety and well-being have always been more important to me than anything. You are my first priority—and that will never change. So whatever happens, I won't be angry. I just want to know the honest truth. Do you think there is any chance that someone else might have already begun to suspect—might have seen a trace—might have found out about our magic?"


You've never felt your grandma's gaze on you as heavily as you do now. You have to glance away just so you can think—but you can still sense her watchful eyes.


This plan of your grandma's might be the only chance you have to save the forest's magic. But she won't attempt it at all unless she's certain that nobody else even suspects the existence of magic.


As she looks at you just then, your grandma says in a slightly quieter voice:


"I'm not going to blame you either way, Huknock. I know how difficult a task it would have been. But I need to know the truth so that I can decide what's the best—the safest—thing to do. Because…believe me when I say that if we were to accidentally reveal the truth, the outcome would be far worse—far more dangerous—than if we were to simply let our magic disappear."


You find yourself holding still as you meet her gaze. If what she's saying is true, then lying could put you both in danger. But—as the words "far more dangerous" echo through your mind, you ask—why? Why exactly does your grandma believe it would be so dangerous for people to find out your secret? What does she think—or suspect—that they would do? Is there any chance she could be wrong?


Is it worth taking the risk that she might be?


After a few moments' thought, you start to feel more and more sure that:


54