ThE MISSING ORACLE

The First Omen

Three days had gone by since the Oracle had disappeared.

The Kingdom of Amandi was no longer the vibrant place it used to be. A heavy sense of fear hung over every village, market, and home. People whispered about the Oracle's vanishing, speculating on the fate of the woman who had been their guiding light for generations.

Amara couldn’t shake the thought of the mysterious parchment she had found hidden beneath the Oracle's staff. In the solitude of her room, she carefully unfolded it once more.

The paper was aged and fragile, covered in strange symbols, with a single sentence scrawled in faded ink:

"When the waters disappear, the truth shall awaken."

Those words sent a shiver down her spine.

That very afternoon, alarming news swept through the kingdom.

The River Elara, Amandi's largest river, was drying up.

At first, people brushed off the reports as mere gossip. But as messengers from neighboring villages arrived, the reality became undeniable.

The river's water level had plummeted overnight.

Farmers rushed to the riverbanks, their faces a mix of disbelief and horror. Fish lay stranded in the mud, and boats sat uselessly on the cracked riverbed. Children who once splashed joyfully in the cool waters now stood silently beside their anxious parents.

King Aldren wasted no time and ordered an investigation.

"Find out what’s causing this," he instructed his royal advisers. "And do it quickly."

But no one could provide an explanation.

There had been no drought, no unusual weather patterns, and no signs from nature to warn them.

It was as if the water had simply vanished into thin air.

As the days dragged on, the situation grew more dire.

Fields of golden wheat began to wither under the relentless sun. Wells that had quenched the thirst of generations ran dry. Livestock weakened, and merchants arriving from far-off lands spoke of similar conditions spreading throughout the kingdom.

Fear morphed into panic.

Many began to believe that the Oracle's disappearance and the drought were intertwined.

"The kingdom is cursed," some murmured.

"The gods are angry," others claimed.

That evening, Amara climbed a hill, her heart heavy with worry.The setting sun draped the sky in vibrant hues of red and gold.

She carefully unfolded the parchment again.

"When the waters disappear, the truth shall awaken."

Suddenly, those words felt less like a warning and more like a hint.

As she examined the symbols, she spotted something she hadn’t noticed before.

One of the markings looked like a mountain far beyond the northern forests—a place whispered about in ancient tales, known as the Hill of Echoes.

Her heart began to race.

Could this parchment be guiding her there?

A cool breeze brushed against her cheek.

For a fleeting moment, she thought she heard a soft voice carried by the wind.

"Find me."

Amara froze in place.

The voice was faint, almost like a whisper from a dream.

And then, just like that, it vanished.

The hill was quiet again.

But Amara was certain of what she had heard.

Somehow, the missing Oracle was trying to connect with her.

If she wanted answers, her adventure needed to start soon.