Curiosity won over caution. Leo sat on the dusty floor and opened the board. Two ivory-colored tokens—a rhino and an elephant—sat waiting. He placed the rhino on the starting line and picked up the dice. "Just one turn," he whispered.
The dice clattered: a five and a six. His token moved by itself, gliding across the path like a ghost. In the center of the board, a crystal circle began to swirl with green mist. Words appeared in the glass:
The rain drummed a steady rhythm against the roof of the old Parrish mansion, but inside, the air was still and thick with the scent of cedar and old paper. Twelve-year-old Leo was exploring the attic when he found it—a wooden board game tucked behind a stack of moth-eaten blankets.
