Lila’s boots crunched against the frost-covered leaves as she trudged deeper into the forest. The air was sharp and still, her breath forming brief clouds that quickly vanished. Clutched in her gloved hand was a compass she had found her late grandfather’s attic. It was old and worn, its glass scratched, but the needle danced with a peculiar energy, pointing toward a destination she didn’t recognise.

Her grandfather’s stories about this compass echoed in her mind: tales of forgotten paths and treasures guarded by time itself. Skeptical but curious, she had ventured out alone, guided only by the needle’s relentless pull.

Hours passed, and the world grew quieter, as though the forest was holding its breath. The needle began to glow faintly as the trees thinned, revealing a clearing bathed in golden light. At its centre stood an ancient stone arch, moss-covered and weathered, its edges etched with unfamiliar symbols.

Lila approached, her heart hammering. As she stepped closer, the compass grew warm, the needle spinning wildly before it froze, pointing directly at the arch. A breeze stirred, whispering her name. She hesitated but felt an inexplicable pull, as though her soul recognised something her mind could not.

She stepped through the arch.

The world shifted. Gone was the frost-bitten forest. Instead, she stood on a sunlit hill overlooking a valley alive with colours she couldn’t name. The air hummed with a gentle melody, and a sense of belonging washed over her.

The compass now lay still in her hand, its purpose fulfilled. Whatever this place was, she knew she had found what her grandfather had once sought: not a treasure, but a journey to a world untouched by time.

Lila smiled. She was home.