Chapter 1: Whispers and Wonders in the Courtyard
In the heart of the Mystic Courtyard, time seemed to dance at its own lazy pace. Sunbeams flashed gold like fish weaving through a sea of leaves, and everywhere—a hush, thick with possibilities. Here, Evelyn spent her days among the whispering mosses and stretch-limbed vines, quietly moving from patch to patch with a spritzing bottle and a basket of homemade compost cakes slung over her arm. She was an apprentice sorceress, though you wouldn’t know it by looking; she wore her worn robe patched at the elbows, a wide-brimmed hat that always flopped into her eyes, and her magic—timid, yet unwavering—glimmered soft as dew in her fingertips.
Evelyn was shy, not because she didn’t love magic, but because she did—so fiercely, it made her worry all that admiration might spill out and make a mess. Instead, she whispered secrets to the begonias, listened for stories in the wind, and let her spells hide like seeds in the dark earth, waiting for the right hour to bloom.
The Courtyard itself was not a place for ordinary things. Its walls were silver-green with ever-climbing ivy, and stone paths curled in patterns only the cleverest birds could remember. There were fountains that giggled in reverse, sundials that showed moonrise as well as sunrise, and clouds that sometimes shaped themselves into riddles—if you stared up at them long enough and squinted just so.
This particular morning tasted of honey and brewing thunder—one of those odd, expectant airs that suggested something interesting might happen if you simply kept an eye out. Evelyn was kneeling beside a pot of moon-violets, tucking a tiny note under one leaf (her recipe for morning joy), when she heard voices drifting from the ancient sundial, just beyond the topiary maze.
“Legend and nonsense!” announced Wizard Azmo, who looked rather like the result of a spell performed in an unusually brisk wind. His beard was as blue as thunderstorm shadows, and he never sat still—his hands flickered, his hat bobbed, and there was usually a bit of spell-smoke curling about his ears. “I am telling you, no one has ever found a secret portal in this garden. And I would know—I checked every odd stone before breakfast!”
“But what if it’s not a stone you’re meant to turn, but a riddle?” countered a voice from nowhere specific. It was gentle, musical, almost as if thinking very hard and hoping someone would listen. A shimmer in the shadows burst, and out leapt the Imaginary Animal: a creature the size of a cat, wearing silvery fur and eyes spinning with every color at once. “All doors open for the right words,” it teased.
Between Azmo and the Imaginary Animal, a golden-tipped flower dozed in a rather snug stone pot. The Flower, who preferred drowsiness and dazzling dreams, half-opened a petal and mumbled, “If secrets were easy, they’d be called something else. Wake me when you’re stumped.”
Evelyn crept closer, half camouflaged by trailing jasmine. Azmo and the Imaginary Animal barely noticed, but her animal friends—bird, mole, and a pair of very opinionated beetles—wiggled and chirped, urging her along. As she tiptoed forward, Evelyn’s eyes caught on an odd-shaped stone tile, sunken near the sundial. It glowed faintly, as if waiting for her.
The Imaginary Animal’s whiskers twitched. “Go on,” it whispered only loud enough for Evelyn to hear, “Magic likes to be needed. And courtyards keep their fondest mysteries for gardeners.”
Evelyn swallowed her doubts—impossibly large ones, like clouds before a storm—and knelt. She pressed her palm to the heart of the stone. Instantly, the world held its breath. Vines shivered and twisted, tiny glyphs unfurling along their length; fountains bubbled upward, sparkling in odd defiance of gravity; and a caravan of emerald fireflies formed a spinning dance above her head, mapping some secret through the mossy stones of the path.
A breeze rushed across the Courtyard, swirling petals, hair, and hat ribbons. It shaped itself into a figure tall and shrouded, features hidden behind a mask of windblown leaves trace-marked with starlight: the Enigma Solver. The Solver’s presence fizzed with a playful menace and mystery, and even the sunbeams seemed to gape in surprise.
“Well done, little watchers and wishers,” the Solver cooed, voice ringing like laughter inside a dark room. “Courtyards are full of secrets, and some are worth calling out of hiding. If you wish to open the way to what’s forgotten, you must first prove yourselves worthy—by solving riddles older than these stones, and by showing you care for this garden’s quiet spark. Fail, and you’ll notice the Courtyard’s brilliance begin to dim, petal by petal, song by song.”
Wizard Azmo, doing his best to look unflustered (and managing only about halfway), squared his shoulders. “Riddles? Easy. Give us the first, and perhaps after my morning cocoa I’ll consider rewrit—”
“No cheating!” called the Imaginary Animal, skipping in place. Its tail flickered between solid and rainbow mist, betraying its excitement. “Speak your challenge, Solver!”
The Enigma Solver raised a hand. “Here is the first: ‘I’m born in silence, fed by light, until my face is silver bright. What am I?’”
Azmo huffed. “Simple! Silver beetroot. Or, um, perhaps a polished spoon?”
“No,” whispered Evelyn, thinking aloud before she could catch herself, “It’s the moon. Born in a dark sky, fed by sunlight, it shines silver-bright.” She flushed, expecting everyone to laugh.
But the Imaginary Animal clapped gleefully, and even Azmo’s eyebrows climbed in approval. “Well deduced!” the wizard bellowed. “To the reflecting pool, then—it’s always got a bit of moonlight, even at noon.”
Guided by Evelyn’s intuition, Azmo’s clever (if sometimes over-eager) spells, and the Imaginary Animal’s uncanny ability to chase invisible trails, the four of them hurried to the reflecting pool. There, the water shimmered strangely—moonlight swirling beneath the bright afternoon sun. Evelyn noticed a flat stone just at the water’s edge, engraved with a pale crescent.
“Try pressing it, but not with your hand,” suggested the Flower, suddenly perky and wide awake. “Magic likes to be surprised.”
Evelyn, thinking quickly, plucked a petal and let it drift onto the stone. The engraving pulsed, clicked, and a ring of rippling light spread through the plants. Everywhere, leaves straightened and blossoms pulsed with sudden vigor. The Courtyard itself seemed to breathe easier, sparkling brighter than before.
Azmo grinned, tugging his beard. “Perhaps there’s more truth to these old tales than I thought.”
But as the sun slid lower, the shadowy corners of the Courtyard began to twist. Pathways looped in confusing circles, hedges whispered sideways suggestions, and even the sundial’s shadow began to stretch out, pointing not north nor south, but twisting unknown. From every rustle and swaying branch, the Enigma Solver’s voice drifted on the breeze:
“Three riddles test not just your wits, but your hearts. The world’s forgotten secrets wait for those who cherish wonder more than certainty. Trust each other, and trust the magic you tend.”
Evelyn looked at her friends—Wizard Azmo with his boisterous grin, the Imaginary Animal with its rainbow eyes, and even the sleepy, mysterious Flower. For the first time in a long while, her old shyness felt smaller than her courage. She nodded. Together, they would face the winding mysteries and unravel the riddles of the Courtyard—no matter what secrets or surprises might be waiting in the deepening dusk.