Chap 1: The lost Artifact Night
The museum was quiet, the kind of silence that could only exist after hours when the last visitor had long since left, and even the janitor’s footsteps had faded into the stillness. Isla Blackwood sat at her desk in the dimly lit archival room, surrounded by stacks of ancient books and artifacts. The faint hum of the overhead lights mixed with the occasional rustle of paper as she turned the pages of a weathered tome.
As one of the youngest professors at the museum, Isla often found herself drawn to the quieter hours, preferring the solitude of the archives to the bustling daytime crowds. Her expertise in ancient civilizations had earned her respect in academic circles, but it was her relentless curiosity that truly defined her. Tonight, however, her curiosity felt more like a burden than a gift.
A shipment of ancient texts and artifacts had arrived earlier that week, a collection donated by an eccentric collector whose identity was shrouded in secrecy. The items were supposedly from various dig sites around the world, but their origins were as unclear as their purpose. The museum had been thrilled to receive them, but Isla couldn’t shake the feeling that something about the collection was… off.
She flipped open a brittle book bound in cracked leather. The text inside was faded and written in an archaic script she recognized but couldn’t immediately place. It wasn’t until she turned the third page that something unexpected happened—a folded piece of parchment slipped out and fluttered onto the desk.
Frowning, Isla picked up the parchment. It was thicker than the book’s pages, its edges rough and uneven as if it had been torn hastily from a larger piece. Unfolding it, she discovered a map. At first glance, it appeared to be a geographical sketch, but upon closer inspection, she realized it didn’t resemble any known landscape. The lines were jagged and uneven, the landmarks marked with cryptic symbols instead of names. Tiny notations in the margins looked like coordinates or perhaps clues, though their meaning eluded her.
“Odd,” she murmured, leaning closer.
The map was mesmerizing. The symbols seemed almost alive under the faint glow of her desk lamp, shifting slightly when viewed from different angles. Isla felt a strange pull, an inexplicable urge to understand what lay hidden within the markings.
She reached for her magnifying glass, holding it over one of the symbols. It was a spiral, simple yet intricate, with tiny etchings branching off its edges. As her gaze lingered on it, a peculiar sensation began to creep up her spine—a tingling warmth, as if the map itself were radiating heat.
Her rational mind immediately dismissed the idea. “It’s just old ink,” she told herself, though her voice lacked conviction.
Still, her curiosity refused to be silenced. She set the magnifying glass aside and carefully traced her fingers along the edges of the map. When her fingertips brushed a corner, an electric jolt shot through her hand. Isla gasped, pulling back instinctively, but it was too late.
Her vision blurred, and the room seemed to spin. The soft hum of the lights was replaced by a low, resonant hum that seemed to come from within her own mind. She heard whispers—faint and indistinct—words she couldn’t quite make out. Then, as quickly as it had begun, the sensation stopped.
She blinked, her surroundings slowly coming back into focus. The map lay on the desk, unchanged, yet Isla felt as though she had just stepped through some invisible doorway. Her pulse raced, and a single word echoed in her mind: Blackwood.
The voice that had spoken it was deep and resonant, unfamiliar yet oddly personal. It left her with more questions than answers, chief among them: who—or what—had just spoken her name?
Shaking off the lingering unease, Isla leaned back in her chair and stared at the map. It was no longer just an artifact. It was a puzzle, one that demanded to be solved. And the more she stared at it, the more she felt that solving it was not just a matter of curiosity—it was a matter of destiny.
