An Owl's Wisdom

The rough sack was pulled from Helene's head, and she blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dim, musty light of the cavern. Stone walls, slick with damp, pressed in on all sides, and the air hung heavy with the scent of earth and something vaguely metallic. Silas Vane, his face a mask of smug triumph, stood over her, his long, bony fingers tapping an impatient rhythm on a rough-hewn table.

"Welcome, little adventurer," Vane purred, his voice like dry leaves skittering across a stone floor. "To your new… accommodations."

Helene’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. She’d been so foolish, so eager to follow the faint trail of ancient markings, so convinced she was on the cusp of discovery. And then, the shadow, the swift, silent grab, and the suffocating darkness. Now, the reality of her predicament settled in, cold and sharp. Vane wanted the Whispering Map, and he’d clearly decided she was the key to finding it.