An album of whispered incantations, ancient echoes, and a recollection of the old ways.

Step beyond the noise of the modern world and into a circle where the air still hums with myth.

Őrző Mágia (Guardian Magic) is a collection of spoken-word spells woven with acoustic strings, Mellotron patches, and ethnic instruments.

Each track calls on forgotten magical entities from folklore to stand watch over what we have lost: slowness, deep human connection, reverence for our elders, and harmony with the land.

In the world of Őrző Mágia, every track is a ritual in four parts:

• An invocation - calling forth the spirit or place

• A lament - mourning what has been stolen by modern life

• An offering - giving back in gratitude and respect

• A release - letting the magic run free

Zsófia - The Witch of Őrző Mágia

Zsófia is a fictional Hungarian witch, a character I conjured for the album. I imagined her in a little cottage at the edge of the forest. A woman aghast at what is happening in modern society. Rooted in the old ways yet unafraid to speak against the present, she casts her spells not for personal gain but for the protection of a world losing touch with its soul. Her voice is clear, steady, touched with the cadence of her homeland. She invokes ancient gods, guardians, and spirits. In Őrző Mágia, she calls them forth to defend what is worth saving: patience, truth, community, nature, peace, and compassion. Each spell is a ritual act, spoken to music that is as human and imperfect as the magic it accompanies.

The Grimoire of the Seven Spells

Lucia’s Ancient Lament

The first spell calls Lucia, an old friend of Zsófia who has passed. Lucia knew how to wait, to hold silence without breaking it, to truly see the person before her. Now her qualities are all but forgotten in a world addicted to speed.

Zsófia mourns the loss of slowness, of true listening, of the village hearth where elders spoke and were heard. The offering is humble: water in a clay cup, a candle for the way things used to be, but it is enough. The release refuses modern tempo; if slowness is a sin, let us all be guilty.

The Greenwood

When the balance breaks, Herne the Hunter rides. Antlered and ancient, he guards the forest from those who would strip it bare.

Zsófia kneels by a blackthorn tree, calling him into the world once more, and laments the age of hollow leaders: billionaires posing as prophets, building “silicon golems” while draining the earth’s lifeblood.

Her offering is a bow of elder wood, an arrow made from iron, and a coin buried in the soil – a pledge of loyalty to the old ways. She asks for Herne’s hoofbeats to return, driving the corrupt from their false thrones and restoring the wild order.

Gypsy Flame Dance

Kampó, ice-bodied and fire-breathing wanderer, is both trickster and truth-teller. Zsófia calls him to dance, for the world’s flame is fading.

She laments that we have turned from the spirits, forgotten the old songs, and let our inner fires grow cold. Her offering is movement itself: her heels striking stone, a circle cut in dust, three coals placed on a bed of ice.

She asks Kampó’s ice to freeze the liars, his fire to guide the lost.

The Hour Grows Late

Morpheus, crowned in poppies, waits at the river without name, but the modern world fears sleep. We bathe in blue light, scroll through terrors, and bar ourselves from the dream gates where ancestors call.

Zsófia offers Morpheus the day’s sharp edges and the weight she carries like stones on her chest, asking him to steal through the fortress of anxiety.

She asks to wake not emptied, but renewed, carrying something ancient back into the world.

Eye of the Cobra

Wadjet, serpent goddess of Egypt, rises in golden fire to strike at deception. Zsófia laments a world drowning in disinformation, where wolves wear the fleeces of shepherds and democracy bleeds from a thousand cuts.

Her offering is her willingness to see uncomfortable truths, the courage to speak against lies, the eyes to witness clearly.

She asks Wadjet to pierce the throats of those who poison the well of truth and burn away the veils of manipulation.

Candle for the Fallen

The world has too many wars, so Zsófia calls on Pax, Roman goddess of peace. The lament is stark: burning lands, wounded nations, leaders playing chess with human lives.

The offering is human and humble: a candle, wine, olive branches, bread for the displaced. They offer more weight than the empty words of politicians.

She asks Pax to strike weapons from hands, silence war hawks, and flood the world with peace before sunrise claims yet another casualty.

Moonlit Caravan

At the crossroads, Zsófia lights a fire for Hecate, torchbearer of the wandering. Refugees move like shadows, carrying their world in weathered hands, while the settled turn their faces away.

The offering is hospitality itself: food, wine, names called into the wind, the hearth kept bright for those left outside.

She asks Hecate to guide the wandering through the darkness, turn closed fists into open palms, and lead the lost children home.

Final Thoughts

For this album I wanted to step into the shoes of a woman steeped in ancestry and close to nature, and imagine what she would make of the world today. I wanted the music to be the backdrop for her incantations – her prayers for a better tomorrow. Prominent figures in the world today seem more intent on consuming and destroying the world than nurturing it, and as a result we are more anxious than ever before. The world needs guardian magic, and though Zsófia is fictional, the protection she casts is meant for us all.