Magnus

It all began with a whispered lie,

A summer cloaked beneath a grieving sky.

Where truth was hidden, pain was worn,

And something new was strangely born.

Magnus never wanted to visit his old aunt in Sweden.

He hated her. Hated her crinkled face, her crinkled hands, her crinkled life.

She lived in a cabin just outside a tiny fishing village, where fog hovered like a second skin, and the trees always seemed to whisper. It wasn’t the kind of place a sixteen-year-old wanted to spend his summer — especially not this summer.

He was told his parents had died. A plane crash. Somewhere over the Mediterranean Sea.

They were on their way to a scientific conference, and then… nothing. The plane fell from the sky “like a bird shot dead,” the news said. No black box. No remains. No goodbye.

Magnus never believed it. His father had been a skilled pilot. His mother, a former marine. They didn’t just die in some freak accident. If anything had gone wrong, they would have jumped, swum, fought. They would have come back.

But instead, he had stood alone at an empty grave, while two silent bodyguards flanked him like shadows. The priest’s voice cracked during the last prayer, and then the boy was ushered into a black car, straight to his aunt’s crooked, creaking cottage.

Her house was filled with the scent of boiled potatoes and mothballs. There were rules written on yellowed paper tacked to the fridge. He wasn’t allowed to go into the basement. He wasn’t allowed outside after dusk. He wasn’t allowed to ask questions.

Magnus sat at her table that first morning, glaring at the cup of black coffee in front of him. He didn't drink coffee. He looked up. She was staring at him through thick glasses.

“I want to go home,” he said, voice sharp.

Her lips moved, barely a whisper: “Shhh.”

“Why should I be quiet?” he snapped, louder.

Before he could blink, she was next to him.

Her hand covered his mouth — firm, warm, unwrinkled.

Her other hand gripped his wrist, with a strength that stunned him.

He stared at her. Her eyes… they sparkled.

Not like the dull, cloudy eyes of an old woman. But young. Alive.

She leaned in, and with a quiet urgency, said, “Follow me.”

She led him to the far wall of the hallway — the one covered in old family photos.

Magnus had spent hours staring at them, hoping to find a clue, something that explained everything. But now, as he watched, his aunt reached behind the frame of his parents’ wedding photo and pressed something.

The wall opened.

Magnus stumbled back, but she gave him a hard push, sending him through the hidden passage.

He screamed — but the scream echoed strangely, swallowed by the stone walls of a narrow tunnel.

Then her arms were around him again, warm and firm.

“Don’t ask,” she said. “Just walk.”

The tunnel bent downward. The air turned warmer. Electric lights buzzed in rhythmic intervals above their heads. After what felt like ten minutes of silent walking, Magnus realized something strange. His aunt no longer looked old. Her posture was straighter, her steps swifter. Her hair had darkened slightly, the grey fading like watercolor in rain.

“You’re not who I think you are,” he whispered.

She looked at him — and smiled. “No. But I am who you need me to be.”

They came to a door. Sleek. Silver. Completely out of place.

Magnus reached for the handle, but the woman placed her hand on his shoulder. “They didn’t abandon you,” she said gently. “They never would. But we had to let you believe they did — for your safety. The world was watching. Listening.”

His heart started to hammer.

She opened the door.

Inside was a room filled with soft white light. There was no furniture. Just a platform in the center, and standing on it—

“Dad?”

His father turned, and Magnus saw tears running down his face.

“Magnus…”

Then his mother was beside him, fierce and proud as ever, her arms outstretched.

He ran to them, burying himself between their bodies, the scent of them so familiar it brought a sob to his throat.

“We had to disappear,” his father whispered. “What we discovered... it wasn’t just aviation tech. It was dangerous knowledge. Nations wanted it. Would kill for it.”

“We’re working with something bigger than all of us,” his mother said, holding his face. “But it’s over now. We’re safe. You’re safe.”

Magnus didn’t understand everything. But he understood one thing:

This summer — the summer that was supposed to be a cage — had become a key.

He looked back once at the woman who had brought him here.

“You’re not really my aunt, are you?”

She grinned. “Not even close. But I like the disguise.”

And just like that, she faded back into the tunnel, her figure dissolving into shadow.

It ended where the silence cracked,

Where truth returned and lies unpacked.

A summer lost, a summer found—

In buried roots, love turned around.