Alena

The ancient tomes lie scattered across the heavy oak table, their pages worn and yellowed by time. My fingertips trace the embossed runes, each symbol resonating with an otherworldly energy. The candlelight flickers, casting dancing shadows across the room, mirroring the turmoil in my mind.

“Focus, Alena,” I whisper to myself, my voice a stark contrast to the silence of the vast library. With a steadying breath, I open a grimoire—the inked wisdom of supernatural ...