Deep within the sun-dappled grasses of the Twilight Glade, something magical awakens.

Lots of little eyes, shining with hope and wonder, blink open as the early morning sun begins to break through the leafy canopy overhead, chasing away the darkness and memories of loss or abandonment.

One by one, the familiars stir—twitching whiskers, fluttering wings, soft tails curling from around tiny paws. A bunny with starlit fur stretches her ears toward the warmth. A fox with a leaf strewn antler crown yawns wide, the glow of long-forgotten spells flickering faintly in her breath. A stoat rolls sleepily from a bed of clover, still tangled in dreams of spellcasters past.

They are the Hexed, the Lost, the Forgotten.

But here, in this secret sanctuary cradled between realms, they are no longer alone.

A gentle chime echoes through the glade—a sound like wind through runes or laughter remembered. It calls them not to battle or binding, but to breakfast. To safety. To belonging.

The Conclave has awakened.

Its heartbeat is the rustle of enchanted leaves. Its walls are formed by warmth, stories, and second chances. Today, like every day, it opens its arms to all who need a home. A place to be cherished, not commanded. Chosen, not conjured.

And so the familiars rise—not to serve, but to simply be.

Welcome, wanderer.

You’ve found The Conclave of Forgotten Familiars—Home for Hexed Hearts.