It started with a scroll that shouldn’t have existed.
Luca was cleaning out his grandfather’s garden shed — a crooked little building that smelled like old rope and soil — when he found it, wedged behind a loose wooden plank.
It was blank. Smooth. No creases, no stains. But it tingled in his hands, like static electricity. As he unrolled it on the workbench, ink bloomed across the surface — not poured or painted, but forming itself like shadows coming to life.
A map.
And at the center, one word written in curling gold: You.
He blinked. Then looked closer. The map showed the forest behind the house — places he knew. The broken bridge. The crooked oak. But also places he didn’t. Paths that had no name. Symbols he couldn’t read.
A dotted line appeared, inching forward from where he stood now.
Luca followed it.
He packed a small backpack — flashlight, granola bar, notebook, pencil — and stepped into the woods with the scroll folded in his coat. Every so often, he’d take it out. The line would keep moving, guiding him deeper.
Birds grew quiet. Trees older and thicker leaned in. A clearing opened, one he’d never seen, with a moss-covered arch of stone and something glittering beneath it.
The scroll pulsed warm in his hand.
He stepped through.
The world changed.
Colors were brighter. The air hummed. A massive tree with silver leaves towered in the center of the glade, roots wrapped around smooth black stone. At its base was a pedestal.
He placed the scroll on it.
The map lifted into the air and stretched wide. Trails shot outward. Lights sparked along each line. A voice — not quite heard, but felt — whispered:
“There are more who are lost.
You are the first to return.”
Luca stepped back. The forest had given him a map… but not just to a place.
To a purpose.