Waldemar and the Gate in the Apple

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The morning was quiet, only the rustling of leaves in the light breeze accompanied Waldemar's footsteps. The faint warmth he had brought with him from the Mirror Path still glowed in his chest—a glimmer that reminded him that every path was more than just a hike. He lowered his hat, adjusted the straps of his backpack, and continued into the heart of the forest. The ground was soft with moss, the air smelled of dew and resin. For a while, it seemed as if there was nothing but the endless rhythm of his footsteps. But then he noticed something new: a sweet scent that mingled inexorably with the spicy forest scents. Waldemar stopped, raised his nose, and sniffed. "Apples?" he murmured incredulously. It was too early in the year, and here, where the canopy was dense, no fruit grew. Nevertheless, the scent was unmistakable, sweet and fresh, as if an apple had just been cut. His heart beat faster. He followed the scent, past ferns, over roots, until the forest suddenly opened up. And there, in the middle of a small clearing, a sight arose that took his breath away. Before him stood an apple. Not an ordinary one, but gigantic, as tall as a tower and as wide as a house. Its skin shone red and flawless, a vivid reflection of the sunlight. But the strangest thing was the opening: A round gate, entwined with twigs and leaves, led through the middle. The vines formed a portal that seemed woven by an invisible hand. "Well," Waldemar whispered, "no one in the village would have believed me." A grin flitted across his face, but curiosity burned stronger than any hesitation. He stepped closer. Wood suddenly creaked beneath his boots. Only then did he notice that a narrow plank walkway led to the Apple Gate—as if someone had built this path specifically for him. He placed his hand on the strap of his backpack, straightened his shoulders, and placed one foot in front of the other. Each step echoed softly in the woods, while around him the birds fell silent, as if they, too, were listening. As he reached the gate, a warm wind rustled through the leaves, and Waldemar thought he heard a faint whisper. It wasn't a word, more like a melody, barely tangible, but it beckoned him, made him sense that beyond this gate lay more than just another part of the forest. The apple scent was stronger, sweeter, almost intoxicating. A brief doubt stirred. Should he really go through? Perhaps it was a trap, a deception. But then he remembered his grandmother's words: "Some paths open only to those who have the courage to tread them." A smile flitted across his face. "Well then." With a deep breath, he stepped into the opening. Immediately, a cool shadow fell over him, but at the same time, a play of light sparkled before his eyes, as if gold and green were dancing in the air. He felt as if he were walking through the core of a story itself, as if the apple were less fruit than a gateway between worlds.