The next morning, Rowan returned to the beach, heart pounding with anticipation. He half-expected the castle to have vanished, a figment of his imagination from the day before. But as he emerged from the trees, he saw the fortress, still standing tall and proud, perched on its rocky outcrop in the sea. Sunlight glinted off the stone walls, giving it an eerie, ancient beauty. Yet, there was one big difference—the stone bridge was gone.
Rowan’s stomach dropped. The bridge, which had been the only way to cross to the fortress, had vanished overnight. He scanned the coastline, hoping to spot a narrow path or a break in the waves. But the sea churned wildly around the rocky island, crashing against the walls in relentless waves. There was no way he could swim through those treacherous waters without being pulled under. Panic gripped him; his one chance to explore the mysterious fortress was slipping away.
As he watched the fortress from afar, he felt a surge of disappointment and frustration. Today, he hadn’t even brought his metal detector—just a collection of old rags, scrubbing brushes, and a small bucket. His mother, Carina, had practically shoved them into his hands before she left, giving him a sharp look and muttering about how he was always disappearing on “pointless adventures” instead of helping her clean the house.
As Rowan took a few tentative steps toward the fortress, he felt a faint warmth radiating from the pendant beneath his shirt. Curious, he pulled the coin out, letting it dangle freely from its cord. To his astonishment, the coin began to glow softly, casting a pale, silvery light in the early morning mist.
Then, before his very eyes, the stones of the bridge began to emerge from beneath the surface of the water. One by one, they rose in a slow, deliberate sequence, each stone locking into place, connecting the beach to the fortress. The transformation was mesmerizing; it was as though the bridge had been waiting, hidden beneath the waves, until he called it forth. His heart raced with excitement and disbelief. Yesterday, he hadn’t even noticed this mystical process—the bridge had just been there, waiting. But now he could see it unfolding, as if in response to his presence.
Rowan’s pulse quickened as he watched the stones form a solid path leading directly to the castle. His nerves danced with excitement and a bit of trepidation. Could this truly be happening just for him? Or was it the pendant’s magic at work?
Once the bridge had fully surfaced, Rowan tucked the glowing pendant back under his shirt and cautiously stepped onto the first stone. It felt sturdy beneath his foot, but he still remembered yesterday’s near-fall and remained on high alert. As he continued along the bridge, he noticed something peculiar. The intricate symbols that had marked the safe path yesterday were now different, shifting in a way that forced him to pay close attention. The safe areas were no longer in the same places as before, and he had to carefully trace the new path marked by the glowing runes to make his way across.
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Rowan took one step at a time, testing each stone cautiously, grateful for the guidance of the pendant's light. Every few feet, he found himself adjusting his route, sidestepping or stepping back to ensure he didn’t step on any unmarked stones. The bridge seemed to demand his complete focus, as if testing his determination.
By the time he finally reached the castle’s entrance, Rowan felt both exhilarated and exhausted. He glanced back at the beach, feeling as if he’d crossed an uncharted boundary between worlds. He took a deep breath and steeled himself as he faced the towering iron gate of the fortress.
Determined to make the fortress feel more like his own, Rowan got to work, using every tool he’d borrowed—or sneaked—from his mother’s cleaning supplies. He started by sweeping out the heavy cobwebs that draped across every corner, some of them so thick they looked like dusty curtains. The place was a maze of decay, its walls covered in layers of grime and dust, but he didn’t mind; with every sweep of the broom and wipe of the cloth, he felt as though he was uncovering the fortress’s secrets bit by bit.
As Rowan worked his way through the grand, decaying halls, he was surprised to find small treasures hidden beneath the layers of dust. Scattered around the rooms were old silver and copper coins—some wedged between stones, others hidden in the nooks of worn-out furniture. Intricate, tarnished decorations lay in the shadows, some of them broken but others surprisingly intact. They looked like pieces from long-forgotten ports and merchant ships, each telling its own story of a distant place. Rowan gathered the items carefully, realizing they might actually be worth something.
After hours of cleaning, he gathered up the items he thought would be valuable and carefully packed them in a bag. With a mixture of pride and curiosity, he took them to a small antique dealer in town. The shop owner’s eyes widened when he examined the coins and collectibles, recognizing their age and craftsmanship. He offered Rowan a good price, and Rowan walked away with more money than he’d ever seen.
Back home, he gave the bulk of his earnings to his mother, who was taken aback by the amount but touched by Rowan’s generosity. “Where did you find these?” she asked, a little suspiciously.
“Oh, just some old stuff lying around,” Rowan said, keeping the details vague. “I thought it’d be worth something.”
From his share, he bought new supplies—a sturdier broom, more cleaning rags, and a few other essentials to make his job easier. He had a sense of ownership over the fortress now, and he wanted it to shine, as though he were restoring it to its former glory. Each time he brought something back to life, each surface he polished, he felt more connected to the place. It was no longer just an abandoned ruin to him—it was a part of his life now, a hidden sanctuary, and he was determined to see it transformed.