In the frosty attic above a Stockholm bookshop, Elsa pored over her master’s charts. As an apprentice cartographer, she knew every islet of the city’s archipelago—at least, she thought she did. One rainy evening, she discovered a rolled map tucked inside a hollow book. Its ink shimmered faintly. To her astonishment, it showed clusters of tiny islands far beyond the usual routes, marked with cryptic runes. The next morning, Elsa took a small skiff, map in hand, and followed its clues into a thick, swirling mist. She passed known islands, then entered unfamiliar waters. Shapes emerged—forests with crystal pines, shores lined with singing stones, and a lighthouse that blinked once every hundred years. On each hidden island, Elsa found puzzles: a compass that spun in melodies, an hourglass filled with northern lights, a tree that bloomed maps instead of leaves. Piece by piece, she understood—the archipelago was alive, shifting, and it rewarded curiosity. On the last island, Elsa met an old woman who smiled knowingly. 'The greatest maps are the ones we keep in our hearts,' she said, handing Elsa a blank parchment. When Elsa returned, she realized her journey had revealed as much about herself as the sea. Her new map showed no islands, only a question: What will you find next? The legend of the hidden islands became her own.