Chapter 4 The Island and The Box

By midmorning, we had a raft-if you could call it that. Derek lashed thick branches together with climbing rope while Will sealed gaps with strips of tarp. It looked crude, but it would float.

"I still say we just swim it," Will offered.

"You saw what happened to your drone," Derek said without looking up. "We don't trust anything here-not even the water."

Samir and I loaded gear onto the raft: rope, lanterns, my grandfather's map. The lake shimmered like liquid mercury. No ripples. No current. Not a single insect skimming the surface.

"Water this still should be ice-cold," Samir muttered, running a probe into the shallows. "But it's... warm."

That wasn't comforting.

I climbed onto the raft first. Derek followed, with Samir in the rear to steer us with a broken oar. Will stayed behind to document and keep watch from shore. The island sat barely forty feet from land, but as we pushed off, the silence grew thicker. Every dip of the oar felt like it echoed for miles.

Halfway across, the raft slowed-not from current, but like we were moving through syrup.

"We're not alone," Derek said suddenly, scanning the water. "Something's watching us."

I felt it too. A presence, unseen but sharp, brushing against the edge of my thoughts.

Then, just like that, we touched shore.

The island was bare. No trees, just stone and moss, and in the center, the pedestal and the box. The box itself was aged but intact-about the size of a shoebox, made of dark wood with iron hinges and a circular symbol etched into the top.

I knelt before it. My hands trembled.

"Wait," Samir said. "Let me check-"

But it was already open.

No traps. No lights. Just silence.

Inside was a compass. Not shining or ornate-just simple brass, cracked glass, the needle twitching erratically before it snapped to a point. East.

But not true east. A different east. Deeper into the valley.

Below the compass lay a folded paper, brittle with age. I opened it carefully. My grandfather's handwriting filled the page, uneven but still firm:

"If you found this, it means you followed me. I came seeking truth and found something older than history. The valley is not lost-it is hidden. Guarded. The compass knows the way. But beware... some truths should remain buried."

That last line hit hard.

We left the island quietly, the compass tucked safely in my pack. The moment we touched the mainland, the raft drifted away on its own-as if the lake had released us.

That night, around the fire, no one spoke. We didn't need to. We were thinking the same thing.

We had crossed the ridge. We had found the compass.

Now the valley wanted to show us what came next.