New Lore Card
Origin Part: Two
It was a Sunday evening when everything changed. The sky outside was dark, and the stars twinkled like tiny diamonds. Snow was gently falling, covering the ground, and as I gazed out of my window, I admired the towering mountain behind our house, its peaks reaching into the night sky. Trees stretched as far as I could see, the whole scene resembling something from one of my daydreams.
The house felt unusually still that evening, as if it, too, were holding its breath. Even the ticking clock downstairs seemed to hesitate between seconds.
Grandma knocked on my door, her voice warm and full of excitement.
“The book I’ve been telling you about—it’s finally arrived,” she said.
Dad had found it in the attic and brought it down for her—despite Grandma Eleanor always insisting that some things up there were best left untouched.
After Grandpa passed away, no one really went into the attic anymore. It was like the air up there had grown heavier, and even as a child, I sensed that certain doors were better left closed.
She clutched the book as if it were something fragile—or dangerous. It smelled faintly of smoke and rain, though the attic had been dry for years.
Its leather cover was worn, but I could swear the gold lettering still glinted too brightly under the dim light.
My heart raced. Finally, I was going to hear the full, complete story—the story of the magical stone. Tonight, everything was about to change.
The Tale of the Wishing Stone
Once, long ago, in a land hidden by time, there was a magical artifact known as the Wishing Stone. It was said that whoever held this stone could make a wish—any wish—and it would be granted without question. Riches, love, power, or even immortality, all would be within reach.
“But my dear,” Grandma paused, gently brushing my hair aside, “not all magic is meant for good.”
For a moment, Grandma’s voice wavered, as if recalling something she wasn’t ready to share.
She tucked a stray hair behind my ear and said, almost too quickly,
“It’s just a story, dear. A folk tale, that’s all.”
But even at six years old, I could hear the catch in her voice—the way people sometimes lie when they’re trying to protect you from truths you’re too young to hear.
The Wishing Stone was powerful, but it was also… dangerous. Legends say it had a mind of its own. While it could grant your heart’s desire, the stone demanded something in return—something you’d never expect. The greater the wish, the greater the cost.
Some say a great king wished to conquer all the lands. He was given armies so vast and unstoppable that no one dared stand in his way.
But his price… was the love of his people. His subjects turned against him, and he died alone in a castle so large that he could no longer hear the sound of another’s voice.
Another legend tells of a kind woman who wished to heal the sick and cure the world’s pain. Her wish was granted, but the cost was her own life. She gave her heart to save others, and while the world flourished, she was never seen again.
Some whispered that the Stone itself chose its victims, luring them with dreams before binding them to fates far darker than they could imagine.
Grandma always warned that legends change over time—and that sometimes, the ones telling them have reasons to leave parts out.
Every wish comes with a price. Some call it a curse, while others say it is a test. But one thing remains true: no one who sought the stone ever found true happiness.
I was enchanted by the story, just like any young girl might be, mesmerized by the idea of a stone that could grant any wish. I would lie awake at night, pondering what I would wish for if I ever stumbled upon the Wishing Stone.
Initially, my wishes were simple—like a mountain of candy or a magical talking pony.
However, as I matured, the tales my grandmother shared took on a deeper significance, and my intrigue with the stone only intensified.
Grandma always concluded the story with the same caution:
“Remember, dear, not everything that sparkles is gold, and some dreams come with a steep price.”
But in my youth, such warnings only made the legend more alluring. They sowed a seed of curiosity that would eventually grow and influence the choices I would make in my life.
Sometimes, in the quiet between breaths, I could almost hear a soft humming, like a voice at the edge of hearing—just beyond the mountain’s silhouette.