In the dusty attic of his family’s ancient castle, young Albert stumbled upon a curious relic—half of an old lockbox, worn with age yet bearing the crest of his lineage. Intrigued, he delved into the castle’s forgotten records and discovered its origin: the lockbox once belonged to his great-great-grandfather, the Duke of Lorraine. Legend spoke of it as a vessel of great value and mystery, but over time it had been broken and scattered. Now, Albert feels the call of adventure. With the fragment in hand and the secrets of his ancestors whispering through the halls, he sets out on a journey to uncover the missing pieces and restore the lockbox’s hidden legacy.

Let see what hints helped him to collect all pieces:


I wander from field to field yet never touch a plow.
By day I simmer in kettles; by night I swallow fire.
I’m stitched of canvas, ringed with iron’s clatter now,
My heart beats drums, my breath lifts banners higher.
Maps are my mirrors, captains my fleeting guests—
At dawn I vanish, leaving footprints of ash.

I was once a hive of voices, yet now I hold only echoes.
My halls are lined with knowledge, though my readers are long gone.
I kept time with bells and footsteps, but the clocks have all grown silent.
Wisdom once lived within me—now only dust attends my lectures.

I stand with doors that creak but rarely welcome.
My windows watch though no eyes peer through.
Whispers crawl along my walls,
And shadows dance where no light falls.
The brave may enter, yet few remain—
For I feast on fear and echo every name.

I turn yet never walk,
I bind yet never chain.
Four roads meet within my heart,
Each pointing to birth again.
Older than kings, carved in the land,
A shield of breath by mortal hand.

I hold no crown, yet I house an army.
Within my walls no merchant dwells,
No priestly chants, no lover’s bells.
I cradle steel and weary men,
Who march at dawn, return again.
I sleep when war is far away,
Yet wake to horns that call the fray.

I wear no crown, yet I guard kings’ gold.
My skin is earth’s hue, bound in iron’s hold.
I have no tongue, yet secrets I keep,
Silent in shadow, while masters sleep.
Strike me, break me, or find the key—
Then treasures hidden shall come to thee.

A fragment lies where shadows dwell,
Once whole, it guarded secrets well.
Its keeper gone, its tale half-told,
The rest lies hidden, bound in old.
Seek what was broken, seek what was lost,
The path is veiled, but worth the cost.

Alone I am common,
in twain I am pair,
but when the third joins,
a secret flares.
Together we vanish,
together we bind,
what opens the way?

I house a book that’s older than most of the lands,
With words written by long-forgotten hands.
My campus greets both tourists and minds that seek,
A library of marvels, rare and unique.
Where scholars roam in paths of stone and lore,
And history whispers through each ancient door.

I can be planned or happen by chance,
I make people gather, celebrate, or dance.
I mark a moment that’s seen or heard,
Sometimes small, sometimes shared by the world.

Within my walls the treasure sings,
golden orbs from feathered kings.
I guard them safe from claw and snout,
yet when dawn breaks, they wander out.

I stand in steel though forged of stone,
a guardian bound yet flesh and bone.
My feet are heavy, still they hide,
a secret path where shadows bide.
Seek not my sword, nor helm, nor face—
but what lies beneath shall grant you place.

I wore a crown of stone and flame,
my streets once rang with noble name.
But time and wrath have swept me bare,
no walls, no gates, no soul lives there.
Seek me now—you’ll find no track,
for I am a city lost from map.

“I hold no crown, yet grow you wise,
I wield no sword, yet sharpen eyes.
Within my walls all ages learn,
and knowledge waits at every turn.
From letters small to secrets grand,
what place am I, throughout the land?

I have no tongue, yet tales I bear,
I cross great miles through smoke and air.
I fit in palm, both small and slight,
yet carry voices out of sight.

I speak of walls brought low by might,
of stones that fly and gates in fright.
Though bound in leather, ink, and lore,
within I hold the tools of war.
No sword I swing, no shield I took—
yet break a keep by opening book.

I grow yet do not breathe or bloom,
I twist through knowledge, not through gloom.
No leaf you pluck before its root,
no strength you gain without pursuit.
Step by step, the path unfolds,
and mastery its tale beholds.

I live where caravans forget the road,
A hush of palms and glassy water glowed.
Not on any map where merchants trade,
But whispered in the tongues of those who’ve strayed.
My gates are dunes that shift and sigh,
My lamps are stars in a desert sky.
Seek me if you chase a phantom’s lure —
Name the hidden city, ancient and unsure.

I hold the memory of forests old,
A drop of sunlight, hardened gold.
Worn in circles, smooth and bright,
A trapped flame glowing in gentle light.

Born in shadow, kissed by tide,
I hide where shells and secrets bide.
No crown I wear, yet kings desire,
my heart alight with ocean’s fire.
A drop of sky within the sea,
what rare treasure might I be?

I am a quiet pocket, set aside from the stride,
Where benches wait and branches hide.
Not far from scholars, yet apart I stay,
A green retreat from the busy day.