Description
In an age of instant directions, Silas Thorne practiced an older magic. His small studio, smelling of parchment and drying ink, was a sanctuary for forgotten journeys. He wasn't a map-maker, not really. He was a collector of paths. People would bring him their stories—of a childhood home, a lost love, a life-changing adventure—and he would translate their memories into rivers of ink and mountains of watercolor. He believed a true map wasn't about the fastest route, but the most meaningful one. It wouldn't just show you a street; it would show you the old oak tree where a promise was made, or the quiet café where a new idea was born. For Silas, a map wasn't a tool to keep you from getting lost. It was a beautiful, tangible promise that a place was worth finding.