The narrow beam of Eli’s flashlight danced across the rough stone wall as he traced the edges with his fingers. The stones were too uniform, too deliberate to be natural. The center of the wall was stacked tighter than the edges, where thin cracks allowed slivers of air to whisper through. Kate stood beside him, silent, her breath visible in the sudden chill.
"This wasn’t made to last forever," Eli murmured. "This was made to hide something."
Kate ran her hand along the rock face. "Do you hear that? Behind it… a sort of hollow echo."
Eli pressed his ear to the stone and nodded. "There’s a chamber back there."
He stepped back and scanned the chamber they were in—just tall enough to stand, about ten feet wide, the ceiling damp with mineral deposits. His beam stopped on a half-rotted wooden crate in the corner, half-buried in silt. Kneeling, he pried open the lid. Inside, bundled in oilcloth, was an old hammer and chisel. Next to it, a rusted iron pry bar.
"Think this was left here for someone?" Kate asked.
"Maybe us," Eli said, only half-joking.
It took them nearly an hour, working in turns. The stone was brittle in places but stubborn in others, cemented with a mortar that reeked faintly of ash. Chips flew, dust clung to their sweat, and the air grew thicker with every strike. When the final stone was loosened, it toppled inward with a soft thud.
Eli reached through cautiously, then ducked his head and stepped into the dark.
Kate followed, her breath catching as their flashlights illuminated the space beyond.
The chamber was larger than they expected, oval-shaped, and surprisingly dry. The walls were carved with faint symbols—arcs, dots, and what looked like the repeated shape of a five-pointed mark. In the center sat a large stone slab, waist-high, covered in dust and what appeared to be a faded cloth.
Eli pulled back the covering. Beneath it lay a leather-bound book, sealed with a crude clasp shaped like a feather—white paint still clinging to the edges.
Kate’s eyes widened. "That can’t be coincidence."
Eli opened his mouth to speak, but a low vibration trembled beneath their feet. Dust sifted down from the ceiling. Then silence.
Kate gripped his arm. "We need to be careful."
Eli nodded, then unlatched the clasp. The leather creaked as the cover opened.
Inside, the first page bore an inscription in flowing, old-fashioned script:
“Let the one who finds this understand: the Fifth Mark is not a thing, but a choice.”
He turned the page. A map. Not a modern one, but hand-drawn. Familiar outlines of the hills around Jug Rock. A river. A trail marked with small circles… and five feather symbols.
Kate whispered, "It's another layer. Another code."
Behind them, a faint scuffling sound echoed from the tunnel they’d come through.
They turned—lights off. Listening.
Then stillness.
Eli slowly closed the book. "We’re not alone down here."
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