Alana still held the old book with trembling fingers. The words written there echoed in her mind like whispers from another era. Now it made sense. The Vydra stone, which she had found by chance in the park among the roots of a twisted tree, wasn't just a forgotten relic — it was a legacy. According to the book, the stone was passed down from generation to generation, always within the same bloodline, silently given to a descendant with a "restless heart."
"Why me?" she murmured, staring at the stone on her necklace. "Why was it in the park? How did it leave my family's hands?"
The next day, with determination burning under her skin, Alana went to the room where her family kept photo albums and old documents. She sat before the wooden cabinet, opened the drawers, and began to dig. Among faded albums, she found a black-and-white photo: a woman with a serious expression held something small and dark in her hands. Her heart raced.
"It can't be..."
Bringing the image closer, her stomach churned. It was the stone. On the back of the photo, in old handwriting, it read: "Tereza – 1947." Her great-grandmother.
They used to say Tereza was different. Reserved. Shrouded in secrets. There were whispered stories about her, but never confirmed. Now, Alana understood: somehow, the stone had left the family's hands and returned to her. But how? Why?
Back in her room, Alana lay on the bed, her thoughts in turmoil. She took off the necklace and studied the stone. Its surface seemed to pulse.
She squinted, feeling something vibrate in her chest. Suddenly, the lightbulb flickered. Once, twice.
"What...?"
The necklace in her hands emitted a vivid purple glow. A sharp energy sliced through the air, and a sharp crack echoed through the room. The lightbulb burst. The house's power flickered, and a high-pitched electrical whine filled her ears. Alana recoiled, throwing the necklace to the floor, breathless. The stone rolled but stopped as if something invisible held it in place.
A second of absolute silence. And then, as if time itself had exhaled, the stone slowly levitated, surrounded by an intense violet aura. Alana's eyes widened.
"This is real..." she whispered, her voice trembling.
When the stone finally settled on the ground, she rushed to pick it up, still shaking. The object was now warm. Alive. And, strangely, familiar.
With trembling hands, Alana opened her laptop. She needed to understand. She typed her great-grandmother's name: Tereza Stilinsk. Added words like "family," "mystery," "magic." For hours, nothing. Until she found a digital page from an old local newspaper with a striking headline:
"The Mystery of the Stilinsk Family: Is Tereza Stilinsk Really a Witch?"
Eyes glued to the screen, Alana dove into the article. It spoke of rumors: Tereza healed with herbs, animals followed her, and once, a missing child was found after one of Tereza's prophetic dreams.
The article was sensationalist, yes. But in the end, one phrase froze her blood:
"She guards something powerful. They say the stone never chooses wrong."
Alana slowly closed the laptop. Now, more than ever, she knew: the Vydra hadn't chosen her by chance. Something ancient had awakened.
And it was only just beginning.