The Mapmaker's Secret
Chapter Five: The Voice Beneath Delphi
The descent beneath the ancient temple had taken them through fire-scarred chambers and tunnels choked with bones — some human, some not. Now, Elias Voss and the cloaked woman — who had finally given her name as Thalia Kyriakou, a descendant of the temple’s last oracle — stood before an obsidian door inscribed with letters that hadn’t been spoken since the time of Pythia.
The air was thick with sulfur and silence.
Elias pressed the map fragment to the door, aligning the etched symbols. With a grinding moan, the stone opened inward, revealing a circular chamber carved in exact geometrical precision — a feat impossible for ancient tools.
At the center: a pedestal holding an ivory orb encased in brass rings. It pulsed faintly. The Orb of Delos.
Thalia stopped. “This is it.”
Elias stepped forward, hand trembling. “A mapmaker’s dream. The legendary celestial sphere… said to show not where you are, but where you should go.”
As his fingers brushed the orb, a low hum filled the air. The brass rings snapped open, revealing inner inscriptions — ancient Greek interlaced with a language Elias didn’t recognize.
The orb projected a faint map into the air — a moving star chart that shifted in real time. But it wasn’t just the heavens it mapped. It showed hidden cities, lost routes, buried truths.
“It’s not just a map,” Elias breathed. “It’s… history’s memory.”
Suddenly, the chamber trembled. The orb’s light dimmed.
Thalia grabbed his arm. “It’s guarded. Not by men — by time itself.”
Behind them, a shadow emerged from the corridor — a man in Ottoman military garb, eyes gleaming with greed. General Cemil Demir, whom Thalia had once betrayed to protect the scroll’s location.
“You always did like riddles, Kyriakos,” Cecil sneered. “But I prefer gold.”
He raised his pistol.
In the split second that followed, Elias lunged — not at the general, but at the orb. He grabbed it and slammed it into the floor.
The orb shattered.
A blinding white light exploded outward.
Cemil screamed — then fell silent, turned to ash in mid-air.
When Elias opened his eyes, the chamber was empty again. No bones. No dust. Just silence.
The orb was gone.
So was the danger.
“What did you do?” Thalia whispered.
“I broke the map,” Elias said quietly. “Because the world isn’t ready for it. Power like that… it doesn’t show us where to go. It tells us.”
They climbed back to the surface, the ruins collapsing behind them as though the temple had waited centuries to exhale.
Back in Istanbul weeks later, Elias returned to his map shop. He locked the door, lit a candle, and sat before an empty parchment.
He drew nothing.
For once, he let the world remain a mystery.
About the Creator
Amanuel Goshu
Passionate storyteller exploring life's gems. Join me as we dive into tales of growth, truth, and friendship. Let's navigate this beautiful chaos together!
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The Mapmaker's Secret
The air was heavy with incense long extinguished. The chamber beneath Delphi was vast, lined with honeycomb alcoves that had once held scrolls, relics — even human remains. This was not just a place of prophecy. It was a burial chamber for seers.
By Amanuel Goshu7 months ago in Fiction
The Inferno Elixir: A Legacy of Blood
1. The Sinister Stillness of the Village My grandfather had always been an enigmatic man, but in the last three years, his eccentricity had crossed into something far more unsettling. He lived alone in a secluded house far from the city’s clamor, tucked away in a village perpetually choked by mist. We assumed he was merely grieving the loss of my grandmother and his lifelong friend, but his gaze hid something deeper than sorrow—a secret that was slowly devouring his soul. During my last visit, I was struck by the sight of his refrigerator; it was grotesquely overstuffed with heaps of raw meat. He claimed with a cold detachment that it was for the poor, but his face betrayed the lie. Even more disturbing was the reinforced steel door he had installed in the basement, from which a foul stench seeped through the cracks—a smell like a carcass that refused to stay buried. 2. A Descent into the Abyss Late that night, I took advantage of my grandfather’s heavy sleep. With trembling fingers, I pilfered a modern, sophisticated key from his cabinet. I descended the decaying stairs into the basement, my flashlight cutting through the oppressive gloom. The air there didn't just smell of rot; it smelled like a slaughterhouse. Dry bloodstains smeared the walls, and in the corners lay bleached-white human skeletons. I approached the reinforced room and peered through a tiny peephole. The blood froze in my veins. A gaunt creature, its bones protruding obscenely from its skin, stood there. Its hair was so long it trailed behind it like a shroud. It moved on all fours with a demonic fluidity. Suddenly, its eyes—completely white—locked onto the hole. It wasn't looking at me; it was scenting me. 3. The Bitter Truth Before I could flee, I felt the sharp sting of a needle in my neck. The world dissolved into darkness. I awoke inside a hermetically sealed glass chamber. My grandfather stood on the other side of the glass, weeping bitterly as he recounted the catastrophe: > "Three years ago, your grandmother was on the brink of death. A stranger with non-human features knocked on my door and gave me a dark red elixir, claiming it was the salvation. I injected her, but she transformed into this ravenous monster. I killed my oldest friend and fed him to her just to protect her secret. I love her, Alex, and I cannot let you leave to expose the truth of her 'death' to the world." > 4. The Banquet of Blood The glass barrier began to rise slowly, and the monstrosity crouched, ready to pounce. Suddenly, a scream pierced the silence. My younger brother, Thomas, had followed me. With a heavy blow from a sharp tool, he struck our grandfather, sending him sprawling into the room. In a moment of primal madness, the creature lunged at my grandfather, tearing into his flesh with unspeakable ferocity. Thomas and I fled, the screams echoing behind us, until the police arrived and ended the nightmare with a hail of bullets into the body of what was once my grandmother. 5. The Vicious Cycle A year has passed since that night, and I thought I had survived. But fate plays a cruel game. It is now the anniversary of my grandfather’s death, and my brother Thomas is wasting away from a rare, terminal illness. Last night, amidst the darkness, a stranger knocked on my door—matching the exact description my grandfather once gave. He placed a small box in my hand containing a vial of dark red liquid and hissed into my ear: "This is the only cure for your brother." The stranger vanished as if he never existed. I analyzed the liquid in a lab, and the results were bone-chilling: "A substance extracted from an unknown biological entity, non-existent in any natural record." I hold the vial in my hand now, looking at my pale brother, hearing the echo of my grandfather’s voice in my head. Do I repeat the tragedy? Do I begin a new massacre in the name of love? The elixir is before me, and hell is waiting just behind the door. Would you like me to create a "Book Cover" style description for this story, or perhaps suggest a sequel?
By Mayar Younes3 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Great work