Chapter 32
Sorcha
In the centre of the chamber sits a stone chest, about the size of a small trunk. It’s carved from black stone that swallows the light from our phones, and those same interlocking circle symbols cover every inch of its surface.
“Holy shit,” I breathe, moving closer.
Cillian’s hand shoots out, catching my arm. “Wait. Could be trapped.”
I pause, my heart hammering. After all the elaborate security to get here, it would be idiotic to assume the final prize isn’t protected somehow.
“Let me look first,” Ciar says, pushing past us. He circles the chest slowly, his massive frame casting strange shadows in our phone lights. “No visible mechanisms. No wires or pressure plates.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” I mutter. “The trap could be magical for all we know.”
“Magic isn’t real,” Axl says, but even he doesn’t sound convinced.
“Down here? Are you sure about that?” I smirk at him, and he snorts dismissively. But he thought about it for half a second.
I study the chest, trying to ignore the way my pulse is racing. The symbols carved into it are the same ones we’ve been following all day, but here they’re arranged in a specific pattern.
“There’s a lock,” Ciar announces, pointing to the front of the chest. “But no keyhole.”
I move closer, squinting at where he’s indicating. He’s right. There’s an indentation in the stone that looks like it should house a lock mechanism, but there’s nothing there. Just smooth stone shaped like a keyhole.
“Try pressing it,” Axl suggests.
Ciar places his palm against the indentation, and I hold my breath, half-expecting something terrible to happen. Nothing does. The chest remains stubbornly closed.
“Well, this is anti-climactic,” I huff in frustration. “What now?”
“There has to be a way inside it,” Cillian says. “Or it’s a dummy.”
“I vote dummy,” I state. “This was all too easy. Any old fucker could’ve done what we did. It’s not like it’s been difficult or challenging.”
“Oh, you had to say that, didn’t you?” Axl mutters.
“No, but I’m right. If this is the inheritance, anyone could’ve taken it by now. We’re missing something. We just don’t know what.”
I stare at the chest, my mind racing through everything we’ve encountered. The symbols, the hidden passages, the elaborate mechanisms—all of it designed to keep something safe for centuries. But Ciar’s right about the lack of visible traps, and I’m right about how relatively easy this has been.
“Check the walls,” I say decisively. “There has to be another passage or room. This isn’t it. I know it.”
The guys spread out, running their hands along the walls, searching for hidden seams or mechanisms. I stay near the chest, studying it more closely. There’s something about the way the symbols are arranged that nags at me, like I’m supposed to recognise a pattern I can’t quite see.
“Nothing here,” Cillian calls from the far wall.
“Same,” Ciar grunts from the opposite side.
I trace my fingers over the carved symbols on the chest’s lid, following the interlocking circles. They spiral inward towards the centre, where there’s a small depression in the stone. I press my thumb against it experimentally.
Nothing happens.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. I’m missing something obvious, I can feel it.
“Anyone else feel like Indiana Jones?” Axl mutters as he feels along the wall to my right.
“Yes,” I grit out. “But this isn’t a movie, and we can’t magically open that fucking box, so we have to do this the hard way.”
Axl drags his fingers along the stone, frustration radiating off him in waves. My irritation spikes as I stare at the chest, this supposed prize that’s been hidden for centuries, protected by elaborate tunnels and mechanisms, only to sit here locked and useless.
“There has to be something we’re missing,” I say, more to myself than anyone else. I circle the chest again, my phone light catching on the carved symbols. They’re beautiful in a haunting way, precise and deliberate. Someone spent years creating this.
“What if it’s not about getting into the chest?” Cillian says suddenly. “What if the chest itself is the key?”
I stop mid-step. “What do you mean? Like a puzzle box?”
“Like the pillar. Axl pressed a symbol, and a door opened.”
“Okay,” I say, nodding. “This is making more sense.” I move back to the chest, running my hands over the symbols with renewed purpose. If each one is a button or trigger like the pillar, then there has to be a sequence. A pattern. “We need to press these in the right order.”
“And if we get it wrong?” Ciar asks, moving to my side.
“Then we probably die horribly.”
I study the symbols, trying to find where to start. The ones on the lid spiral inward, but the sides have them arranged in rows.
“The map,” I say, holding out my hand to Axl. “Give it here.”
He passes it over, and I spread it out on top of the chest.
“Oh, you little genius,” Axl says, crouching next to me. “Look.”
The sketch of the map fits over the symbols, but with three in particular that line up perfectly with markings on the map.
“Press them in order,” I murmur, tracing the path on the map. “From the entrance to here.”
My finger follows the route we took through the chapel to where the sketch seemingly ends.
“You sure about this?” Ciar asks, his massive hand hovering over the first symbol.
“No,” I admit. “But what else have we got?”
I take a breath and press the first symbol myself. It sinks into the stone with a soft click, and I wait for the ceiling to collapse or the floor to drop out from under us. Nothing happens.
“Next one,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
Cillian presses the second symbol, and again there’s that soft click. The chest remains stubbornly closed.
“Last one,” Axl says, his hand moving to the third symbol.
I hold my breath as he presses it, the final click echoing through the chamber with a finality that makes my stomach clench.
For a long moment, nothing happens.
Then, with a grinding sound that makes my head ache, stone scrapes against stone behind us.
“Clever girl,” Axl mutters, straightening up.
“Just call me Indy,” I say with a grin, rising from my crouch to stare at the gaping hole in the wall.
“Fuck,” Ciar says. “This is starting to piss me the fuck off.”
“Same, but we’ve come this far.” I push past Ciar’s hulking frame and approach the newly revealed opening, my phone light cutting through the darkness.
The passage beyond is different from the others—the walls are smoother, almost polished, and there’s a faint smell of something I can’t quite place.
Not decay or damp, but something older. Something that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
“I’m going first,” I announce, because fuck it, I’ve come this far and I’m not about to let my fear stop me now.
“Like hell you are,” Cillian growls behind me, but I’m already moving.
The passage slopes downward, and I have to brace myself against the walls to keep from slipping. My boots struggle for purchase on the smooth stone, and I curse under my breath as I half-slide, half-walk deeper into the darkness.
“Sorcha, slow down,” Axl calls from behind, but I can’t. Something’s pulling me forward, some instinct I can’t name. This is it. I can feel it in my bones.
The passage opens into a chamber that steals the breath from my lungs.
It’s enormous, easily twice the size of the previous ones, and the ceiling disappears into darkness above us. There is a black pool of water that stretches across the entire cavern, and I gulp but push it aside.
“Please don’t tell me whatever this is, it’s at the bottom of that lake,” Cillian says.
“Probably not. It would be water-damaged by now. But I guess we have to cross. There is no other option.”
“Fun,” Axl says. “A freezing cold swim miles underground.”
“We aren’t miles underground,” I murmur, but only to make myself feel better about this. I’m not the strongest swimmer, and while this lake is flat and seemingly unthreatening, this is the last thing I want to do. But it’s that or turn back.
“Right,” I say, turning back to the hole in the wall, my decision made. “Good attempt, all. But this adventure is over.”