The chamber felt colder than the rest of the ruins, like the air itself was alive and watching me. Damp stone pressed against my skin, and every breath I took carried the taste of earth, dust, and something sour, almost rotten. My boots echoed against the floor as I stepped inside, the sound too loud in the silence.
In the middle of the room stood a low stone pedestal. Resting on it was a dark wooden box, the kind that looked too ordinary until you got close enough to see the truth. Twisting carvings covered the surface, shapes that seemed to move in the flickering torchlight, like snakes crawling over each other. Across the lid, one word glowed faintly, like it was breathing: OPEN.
My gaze dropped to the old iron key beside it. It was placed so neatly, like someone had been expecting me
