THE LOST MAP

Chapter 4

 The Lost Map

The dim glow of the sanctuary's magical orbs cast long shadows as Alaric sat in his quarters, the Guild's map spread out before him. His thoughts were a whirlwind, caught between the looming trial and the cryptic warnings of both Seraphine and the Guild of Shadows. He had barely slept since joining them, and his mind buzzed with the weight of their revelations.

The Guild's leader, who had introduced himself as Cael, entered the room unannounced, his movements soundless as always. "You've been staring at that map for hours," he observed, folding his arms.

Alaric looked up, his brow furrowed. "I've been trying to piece it all together. The trials, the keys… but something still doesn't add up. The book is leading me, but I feel like I'm still blind."

Cael approached the table, his dark cloak brushing the floor. "You're not entirely wrong," he said. "The book provides guidance, but it doesn't hold all the answers. Eldarath's secrets have been scattered across the ages, hidden to prevent its power from falling into the wrong hands."

Alaric frowned. "What do you mean by scattered?"

Cael tapped the map with a gloved finger. "There's more to finding Eldarath than the trials. Long ago, a map was created to lead to the city's exact location. But when the city fell, the map was fragmented and hidden across Europe, guarded by powerful wards and ancient magic."

Alaric's heart sank. "So even if I pass the trials and find the keys, I'll still need this map?"

"Precisely," Cael said. "And the first fragment is within reach—but it won't be easy to obtain."

Later that evening, Alaric gathered with Cael and a few other Guild members in the sanctuary's main hall. The air buzzed with tension as Cael unrolled a smaller, more detailed map, marking the fragment's rumored location: a crumbling castle in the heart of Bohemia.

"This is where you'll find the first piece," Cael explained. "But be warned—it's not unguarded. Rogue witches have taken up residence there, and they've been searching for the fragments themselves. If they get their hands on the map, it could spell disaster for both the magical and human worlds."

Alaric's stomach tightened. He had faced danger before, but the thought of confronting rogue witches—a faction known for their unrelenting pursuit of power—sent a shiver down his spine. "Why haven't they found it yet?" he asked.

"The fragment is protected by a magical seal," Cael replied. "Only someone tied to the book and the trials can break it. That's why you must go."

The weight of responsibility settled heavily on Alaric's shoulders. He looked around at the Guild members, their faces grim but resolute. "I'll do it," he said finally. "But I'll need help."

Cael nodded. "You won't be going alone. Eryndor and Lira will accompany you."

Alaric turned to see the two stepping forward. Eryndor was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a stern expression and a scar running down the side of his face. Lira, by contrast, was smaller and lean, her sharp features and piercing blue eyes radiating a quiet intensity.

"We'll get you to the castle and back," Eryndor said, his voice deep and steady. "But don't expect us to do all the work. You're the key to this mission, Alaric."

Lira smirked. "Try to keep up, scholar. The rogue witches won't give you time to debate your next move."

The journey to Bohemia was long and grueling, the group traveling by night to avoid detection. They moved swiftly through dense forests, over rugged terrain, and past abandoned villages that bore the scars of the ongoing war between the magical and human worlds.

As they neared the castle, the atmosphere grew heavier, the air tinged with the faint scent of sulfur. The castle itself loomed in the distance, its silhouette jagged and foreboding against the night sky.

"We're close," Eryndor said, his voice low. "Stay alert. The witches will have wards in place to warn them of intruders."

Alaric nodded, his hand instinctively moving to the book tucked safely in his satchel. The key hummed faintly in his pocket, as though reacting to the proximity of the fragment.

The group stopped just short of the castle's outer wall, concealed by the dense underbrush. Lira closed her eyes and muttered an incantation under her breath. A faint glow surrounded her hands as she extended them outward, her magic probing for hidden wards.

"There are three," she said after a moment. "A barrier spell around the perimeter, a detection ward near the entrance, and a trap inside the main hall."

"Can you disable them?" Eryndor asked.

Lira nodded. "It'll take time, but yes."

"Do it," Eryndor said. "Alaric, stay close. The witches won't sit idly if they notice us."

Lira worked quickly but meticulously, weaving her magic to unravel the witches' wards. Alaric watched in awe as the threads of magic became visible to him—a delicate lattice of glowing runes and symbols that pulsed with dark energy.

As Lira dismantled the final ward, a sudden rustling in the distance made Alaric's heart race. Eryndor raised a hand, signaling for silence. The group crouched low, weapons drawn, as the rustling grew louder.

A shadow emerged from the trees—a figure cloaked in black, their face obscured. The rogue witch paused, their head tilting as though sensing something amiss.

Without warning, Eryndor lunged, his blade slicing through the air. The witch reacted with inhuman speed, raising a hand to conjure a shield of crackling energy.

"Go!" Eryndor barked, holding the witch at bay. "Get to the castle!"

Alaric hesitated, but Lira grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the entrance. "We don't have time!" she hissed.

The two sprinted across the courtyard and into the castle, their footsteps echoing against the stone walls. Inside, the air was damp and heavy, the corridors lit only by the faint glow of enchanted torches.

"The fragment is in the main hall," Lira said, her voice barely above a whisper. "We'll have to move quickly."

As they approached the hall, the key in Alaric's pocket began to vibrate more intensely, guiding him toward a pedestal in the center of the room. Atop the pedestal rested a small, shimmering shard of parchment—part of the map.

Alaric stepped forward, but Lira grabbed his arm. "Wait," she said, pointing to the floor. A faint, circular rune was etched into the stone around the pedestal.

"The trap ward," she muttered, kneeling to examine it. "Give me a moment to disable it."

Before she could begin, a chilling laugh echoed through the hall. The doors slammed shut, and a group of rogue witches stepped into the room, their dark robes billowing as they advanced.

"Well, well," their leader sneered, a woman with piercing red eyes and a cruel smile. "The Guild sent their little errand boy. And here I thought this would be difficult."

Alaric's heart pounded as the witches began to encircle them. Lira drew her daggers, her magic crackling around her hands.

"Stay behind me," she said, her voice steady.

The witches attacked in unison, hurling spells that exploded against the walls and sent shards of stone flying. Lira countered with precision, her movements a blur as she deflected their attacks.

Alaric's gaze darted to the pedestal. The fragment was within reach, but the trap ward remained active. He closed his eyes, focusing on the key in his pocket.

Guide me, he thought.

A surge of energy coursed through him, and his vision shifted. He could see the ward's intricate design glowing on the floor, its weak points shimmering faintly.

"Lira, cover me!" he shouted, dropping to his knees to dismantle the trap.

She nodded, fending off the witches with renewed vigor as Alaric worked. His hands moved instinctively, tracing the rune's pattern and disrupting its magic.

The ward flickered and disappeared just as a spell exploded inches from his head, sending him sprawling.

"Now!" Lira shouted, grabbing his arm and pulling him to his feet.

Alaric lunged for the pedestal, snatching the fragment just as the room shook violently. The witches recoiled, their leader screaming in rage.

"Run!" Lira yelled, dragging Alaric toward the exit.

The two sprinted through the castle, dodging collapsing debris and pursuing witches. As they burst into the courtyard, Eryndor appeared, bloodied but alive.

"Did you get it?" he demanded.

Alaric held up the fragment, its surface glowing faintly.

"Good," Eryndor said, slashing at an approaching witch. "Now let's get out of here!"

The group fled into the forest, the witches' cries echoing behind them. By the time they reached the safety of the Guild's sanctuary, dawn was breaking, and the fragment pulsed warmly in Alaric's hand.

One piece down. Many more to go.