I found myself standing before the old door of the Mage’s Guild, its wooden frame half-swallowed by moss, candlelight glowing through the cracks like secrets trying to escape.

For a moment, I only listened.

Somewhere beyond the door, water dripped into stone basins. Pages turned by themselves. Something small croaked from the shadows.

Then I knocked.

Once.

Twice.

The whole forest seemed to hold its breath.

The door creaked open just wide enough for two golden eyes to peer out from beneath a crooked little hat.

“Ah,” said the Frog Mage, voice low and ancient, “you finally found the threshold.”

He stepped aside, lifting one webbed hand toward the warm green light spilling from within.

Inside, the guild was alive with strange magic: jars of moonwater, floating runes, spellbooks breathing softly on their shelves, and a circle of travelers gathered around the fire, each carrying a story of their own.

The Frog Mage looked up at me and smiled.

"come in" he croaked