Alaric sat in his study, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of a single candle. The air was thick with the weight of his thoughts, the silence only broken by the occasional crackle of the fire in the hearth. He had been staring at the map his grandfather had sent him for what felt like hours, his eyes tracing the 14 marks that dotted the parchment. Each mark represented a potential location where his grandmother might be hiding, each one a beacon of hope and uncertainty.
The map itself was ancient, the edges frayed and the ink faded in places. It was clear that this was no ordinary map; it pulsed with a faint magical energy, a testament to the power imbued within it. Alaric could feel the pull of the marks, each one calling out to him, urging him to begin the search. But the sheer number of locations was daunting, and he knew he couldn't do this alone.
