The Pendant, The Compass and The Mysterious Chest
They emerged from the hidden passage, soaked in dust and silence. The raging beast of a storm wailed outside still trying to break in—the weather-beaten windows rattled by the furious aeolian wind.
Elias pulled the bookshelf close, sealing away the shadowed depths below.
He carried the small chest they'd unearthed—worn, scorched at one corner, and lid covered in deep scratch marks like someone, perhaps their grandfather, had tried everything short of fire to pry it open. The aged brass and blackened wood has no latch, no keyhole—just the reflection of something etched along the metal alloy lining, barely peeking beneath the grime.
Mira, following behind, cradled the compass like it was something breakable. Its glow had dulled since they left the chamber, but gentle glints of light still pierced through—as if it was watching, waiting for their next move.
Finn walked beside Elias, looking up at him, eyes wide. "How will you open it? Think there's a key?"
"It's sealed shut so we'll just have to bash it open." He responded as they scurried their way to the kitchen.
"Really?" Finn blinked, staring at him doubtedly. "You can't be serious."
He eyed Mira, hoping she'd say something about this pointless absurdity.
But she wasn't listening.
Her gaze was fixed on the symbols curling around the compass' rim, brows knitted in deep thought as the constellations continued shifting like a heartbeat in starlight.
"Speak the light...its truth shall lead a path..." she mumbled to herself.
The house was groaning in protest beneath the wind's weight, but inside, it was calm—time felt suspended. The downpour boasted its strength through the windows, one or two allowing rills of rainwater inside.
Elias had barely set the chest down before Mira turned on her heel—compass still clutched tight in her hand, and grabbed a gas lantern.
"I need to check something," she said quickly and slipped out of the room.
Elias narrowed his eyes. "You don't want to open the chest first?"
She didn't look back.
"Mira—wait," Finn called after her but her steps were already heard trotting upstairs. "Now what?"
Elias huffed with annoyance. "Grab the mallet."
Meanwhile, Mira wasted no time. The sombre space was only lit by the lantern and occasional flashes of lightning outside. The relentless rain soaked the air, filling the room with a cold, damp chill.
She knelt at the foot of her bed, breath shaky, and dragged out the old sea trunk she'd hidden under it. Her heart thumped loudly in her ears, louder than the wind. Flicking the latch open, the lock clicked without hesitation.
Inside, among several garments and items, were her grandfather's weathered books, loose notes, and a faded cloth bundle of copied sketches and aetherglyph rubbings.
Mixed in was her own journals—lined with charts and glowing ink experiments, matching symbols with celestial movements, expanding her grandfather's theories.
She rifled through the trunk and yanked its contents out—papyrus, parchment, and drawings all splayed out lazily on the floor. Mira had memorized most of them; she had lived in them, quietly chasing her grandfather's shadow long before.
Pages fluttered as she skimmed through with practiced speed. She found the one she needed—a sketch of the compass, barely finished, cross-referencing the symbols and their meanings from an old manuscript.
Their grandfather had tried. He'd gotten close.
But never close enough.
The verso of the old paper held a translated passage, which has incessantly stumped him, heavily underlined a dozen times.
Speak the light, the course true, and its truth shall lead a path forth through.
It kept repeating in her mind since their ascent, like everything finally clicked into place. This was what her grandfather didn't have—the glow of the compass.
Mira turned it in her palm. The last vestiges of light flickering weakly now. Her fingers trembled as she reached for a pencil and frantically started writing.
She didn't notice the muffled voices and shuffling footsteps heading towards the bedroom until a knock startled her. The door creaked open before she could answer, halting her mid-motion.
"Mira," Finn's voice burst in. "You go tell him it doesn't open—"
He froze at the threshold, Elias bumping into him from behind.
In the middle of the room, cast in warm gold, was a chaos of papers—diagrams with scratched-out hypotheses, charts yellowed with age, a few pages torn from old notebooks. At the center of it all, Mira sat, like a deer caught in headlights.
Elias frowned. "How long have you been studying all these?"
She couldn't answer right away—she didn't know how. Her hands rested on the compass, the sheets around her felt like pieces of a secret life.
A beat passed.
"Since—since before Pops disappeared," she squeaked in admittance, her eyes unable to meet theirs.
Years of quiet study, of hiding her obsession, all bubbling up to the surface. She felt exposed, like her room had been stripped bare.
"And you kept it from us," Elias said. Not angry, but not understanding either.
"I, I..." Her throat tightened, unable to find the right words, if there were any.
"You knew," Elias stepped forward, his tone accusatory as he glared at the illustrated compass. "You've known. This wasn't just a lucky guess. That secret chamber. The compass. You knew something like this existed—and you didn't tell us."
Finn looked between them, unsure if he should step in.
"I didn't know, Elias. I hoped." Mira's voice cracked, meeting his scrutinizing gaze. "I studied his works because no one else would. Everyone had already thought he was mad—"
"And yet you followed him into his madness," he snapped. "Going down there could've been dangerous! Can't you understand? I have to keep you two safe—I have to."
A loud thunderclap shook the house and something breaking downstairs rang in their ears, silencing them both.
Mira finally stood up, compass pressed to her chest, tears shedding. "I... I couldn't, I didn't tell you because—because I knew you wouldn't believe me. Just like how no one believed Pops!"
"You were the first to believe in him..." Finn interrupted, his voice was quiet, wounded even.
He moved closer, picking up one of the pages, its title bold in letters—The Language That Remembers. It showed early drafts of aetherglyphs and symbols—his grandfather's annotations looping beneath them. "But you didn't give us a chance to believe in you, too, Mir."
"Oh, Finn..." She walked up to him, clasping his hand with the compass. "I'm sorry..."
Thunder pounded the windows again as a low hum pulsed in their hands, the compass shining brightly again in close proximity with the pendant.
"I thought—I thought you'd think I was only chasing ghosts... But I knew if I could just figure it out, maybe I could prove to everyone that Pops' stories were more than just bedtime lullabies. That his works weren't just some mad dreams."
"You think we wouldn't have wanted to help?" Elias asked, jaw tight.
"I'm sorry... I just—" Mira said, almost to herself, voice trembling. "I miss him, a lot. But maybe, maybe he's still out there, somewhere. Or maybe he's finally found Astheria, he must've had—"
"He's dead, Mir—gone! You're not the only one who misses Pops... We all lost him, and we have to accept it. And if these," Elias walked over and snatched several books and notepads from the floor. "If these will lead you to his doom, too, then I'll destroy them before they could destroy you."
"Wait—Elias, look around you! Pops left us a trail!" She grabbed the back panel of his shirt, her tone desperate.
"The compass, the chest—all of it! If we can figure it out... maybe we'll find answers—maybe even find him. We both know how easily he could navigate uncharted waters, or pass through monstrous waves like nothing—he couldn't just disappear barely outside into the sea!"
"Miracle, stop! I will not bet your safety—or sanity on maybe."
She ran and blocked the door, hoping to convince him. "No, no—I've been following Pops' works, recreating his theories... He was onto something, something no one else believed was real."
"I may have believed in Astheria blindly, in secret, but this compass—this is proof!" She held it up to him. He could see the glyphs and constellations twinkling, beating softly as if it was pleading with him.
"Just humor me, okay," she rambled. "These glyphs—they respond to aetherglass, to its light, right?"
"Here, look!" Mira pulled him with all her might towards the littered documents, passing the compass to Finn, who followed suit.
"Speak the light, the course true, and its truth shall lead a path forth through—this is why Pops was stuck for years! He couldn't solve it, not even after uncovering the aetherglass!" She handed the paper over to Elias.
Interspersed across, below the passage, were various notations and crossed out speculations—scientific and logical, mystical, and hybrids of both.
Mira pointed to a set of words encircled many times, as if to frame a revelation, but with a dark, deliberate strike running through them—marking the idea has been tested but disproven.
Aetherglass Crystal and Resonance
Place aetherglass directly in front of the compass... Above? Below?
Chanting aetherglyph symbols clockwise... Counterclockwise?
"Because the aetherglass never glowed for him." Elias realized, piecing it together.
Mira nodded. "Exactly."
They looked at Finn. His pendant flared slightly as if agreeing with them, its light pulsating in perfect sync with the compass.
Finn arched his brow, curious with their stares. "What?"
Elias sighed, "Okay, Mir, I get it. Say we 'solve' this and that Astheria really existed, what're you gonna do after?"
"Prove everyone Pops wasn't mad! You heard what they said earlier. Once a man of reason—now a shadow of what he sought to understand. A brilliant mind lost to wonder, too far gone for the rest of us to follow. I won't stand for those sugarcoated insults!"
"I know... But what if this would bring harm to any of us? Before we could even prove Astheria's existence? Look what it did to Pops."
Her chest tightened briefly, breath caught somewhere between inhale and exhale. "I... I'm giving you the chance, now, to believe in me."
Elias looked away, his thoughts have fallen a step behind reality. "I don't think this is a good idea. We shouldn't be knowing this much—this is an unknown world we're talking about."
He couldn't let anything happen to them—he wouldn't.
"Blah! This is my best adventure yet, and you're here blabbering like a grandma!" Finn groaned, complaining. His arms flailed just slightly—never enough to seem wild, but enough to punctuate every frustrated word he tossed into the air.
"Oh c'mon Eli, don't be a bore! You're the one who even suggested to open the chest." He added, nudging him.
Elias exhaled, defeated.
Doubt still clung to the edges of his mind, whispering unseen obstacles and untold challenges. Yet, with each uncertainty he felt, there was a silent determination—a small pull from deep within that refused to turn back. The path ahead might be unclear, like a river veiled in morning mist, but he'd light up the way for his siblings—and maybe, just maybe, see where this road would ultimately lead to.
"Alright, but we'll stop when I say so," he decided.
Finn jumped with enthusiasm, fists pumping the air, a wide grin stretching across his face. His laughter rang out, echoing through the quiet room like a firecracker.
"Don't you celebrate just yet. You will do as I say, no ifs and buts." Elias added, locking eyes with Finn, cutting his excitement short. "So, how do we open this?"
Mira, breath shuddering through parted lips, sighed in relief. Her shoulders sinking as if a great weight had been finally lifted, eyes glistening with tears, a small smile forming as the tension that had gripped her for so long slowly melted away.
She accepted the chest, scanning it closely, slipping into focus the way she always did with puzzles. The chest, now wiped clean, looked pristine even though old with age and the brass lining the edges were full of familiar engravings.
Finn scooted beside her, peering over her shoulder. "Go tell him Mira, tell this birdbrain that it won't open so easily."
"I told you, the mechanism inside might be fragile already. Smashing it open is the most logical thing to do, nitwit." Elias rolled his eyes as he leaned at the foot of the bed, pointing out the obvious.
"And how did it go for you? Aside from the bruises you got, you lunkhead?"
"You little—"
"Guys," Mira cleared her throat, putting the chest down. "It doesn't need a key."
"These symbols... they're kinda similar to what I saw on the compass—the ones that never shined. The aetherglass might be able to open this." She added as Finn handed her back the compass.
He picked up the chest, drawing the pendant closer... nothing happened. "I don't feel anything."
"We probably need the symbols to glow, too." Elias suggested, staring at the parchment in his hands, reading the scratched out trials their grandfather did.
"Speak the light... How do we light it up..." He pondered, rummaging through the clutter for clues.
Mira hesitated. "I, uhh, have more... references, stored in the boxes and in my drawers."
Elias rolled the papers he just gathered, smacking her head. "That's for the sanitary pad."
He began setting down the boxes beside them with Finn assisting in unloading the items. The siblings seemed to forget the raging storm or the pattering rain, or perhaps, they were enveloped in some mysterious cloak of air, hiding them from the world beyond the room.
"Woah! Did you even pack clothes, Mir?" Finn chaffed in bewilderment—the articles off-loaded all belonged to their grandfather. "No wonder Pops' study was almost packed empty. I could've sworn they were stolen!"
"The markings are different from aetherglyphs but they're connected somehow," Mira said, diverting the conversation as she scribbled on a pad with ease.
Her wrist moved as fast as her mind did, weighing ideas, testing assumptions. "The compass pointed to it for a reason so—"
"Here." Elias pulled out papers glued together, written on its front page—Glyphs Beneath Glyphs, showing it to Mira.
"That's the lensing principle."
"Care to elaborate?" Elias asked, his eyes quickly scanning the said section, almost tattered to pieces while Finn retrieved the last boxes.
"It's one of many theories for the compass, like... it's like the compass is trying to speak through these symbols. But we need the right lens to hear it, the needle and aetherglyphs are one thing but it needs something else too."
Elias only hummed in response. "Pops called them celestial runes—huh... do you think these runes might belong to another language?"
"I'm not really sure. It's a bit close to aetherglyphs but not quite." Mira clicked her tongue in thought.
"Glyphs beneath glyphs. So we need to decipher the aetherglyphs first then the celestial runes, or the other way around."
"On the compass, we can, but there are no aetherglyphs etched on the chest."
"Then let's start with the compass. Hold on..." he said, noticing the scrawled writing became more and more erratic.
…These runes refuse structure but respect order. I cannot find their symmetry…
…They respond not to eyes but to attuned presence…
…They are not meant to be read. They are meant to be felt…
…When I placed my hand near the block, I felt... understood. Not as a scholar, but as something smaller, yet deeply seen…
"...Responding to attuned presence, refuses structure but respects order, no symmetry, not meant to be read but to be felt," Elias summarized as he thumbed through until the last page.
Mira suddenly recalled her grandfather's cryptic words—
'Not all knowledge is read. Some are remembered by the stars themselves.'
It was one of his last messages before he disappeared.
She's been silently carrying his knowledge, like the myth it was supposed to be—something quiet and far away, just enough to keep her moving—but fully believing it's real. And now—true as breath and life, it's here, calling to her, waiting, listening. Maybe she had been readied, maybe she never were. Maybe the road offered no answers and the end shrouded in shadow, but still, her heart pressed forward.
"Respect order—that's it! I think we need the right order!" Elias declared, snapping Mira's thoughts.
"Speak the light, the course true, and its truth shall lead a path forth through. Maybe this means we need to follow the correct order—respect the order when reading the aetherglyphs then it will lead us—"
"Yes!" Mira screamed in epiphany, beaming ear to ear, punching her brother lightly. "Yes! You're right!"
"What did I miss?" Finn joined them, occupying the space between his older siblings.
Mira showed them her written notes, nearly finished. "These were some of the glyphs that shone the brightest earlier. They kept flickering in and out too, like in a sequence—in an order!"
"And this," She handed out a smaller notebook—hers, filled with refined drawings, mirrored runes, and a new framework beside her grandfather's. "This might help in opening the chest."
Elias and Finn leaned over, eyes checking the side-by-side comparisons.
"You rewrote his code," Elias commented.
"I adapted it," Mira said, her eyes sparkling with pride. "Pops had taken an analytical, scholarly approach like how an archaeologist or a linguist would, maybe it's why the runes refused structure. He's treated them like aetherglyphs or, or hieroglyphs for example—literal meanings. But I realized it's more... intuitive. Based on rhythm, glow, sequence. Not sound or ink but emotion, as you said."
She then looked at Finn, Elias following her gaze.
"The aetherglass didn't glow for Pops. But it did for you—it responded to an attuned presence. That's what's missing, the final piece—you are the missing piece, Finn." Elias was breathless, he can't even believe the words he's saying.
"Speak the light, the course true, and its truth shall lead a path forth through." Finn repeated slowly, finally understanding the passage.
The pendant has chosen him, for reasons he couldn't understand, or he's yet to explore. It could be his yearning for adventure that fueled it or it could be the other way around—but only moving forward held the answers to both his burning questions and longing for the unknown.
No one spoke for some time, all bathing in this moment.
Lightning crashed like the heavens were splitting, thunder vibrating through the walls and windows—but it sounded far, almost muted, as if the storm was just a reflection of the inner turmoil within themselves. In this stretch of time, the storm was less of a reckoning but more of a reflection, indeed.
Elias straightened, his voice low, glancing at the glyphs Mira had written down. "Then we need to try it. Now. Before this storm blows the house."
The brothers look at Mira, expectantly.
She slowly nodded as they huddled closer, each of them holding relics of a faraway world—a world like a memory they never made but they somehow knew.
The compass and pendant whirred gently, throbbing in their hands. Mira turned the compass, letting the pendant's light brushed against its surface. The glyphs shimmered, one glowing brightly after the other.
Mira began writing—deciphering the message carefully.
awaken o stars who sleep beneath the seal
bind again with the river of time,
let it flow forth
unite once more with memory,
echo of the first light
unveil the hidden voice,
a guidance upon the path of becoming
She glanced between them as the sequence started over again, her throat bobbed up and down, feeling the words as if the meanings were waiting for her to notice them.
Mira gave the paper to Finn. "Go on," she urged—she wasn't rushing him, just a soft prod that carried more confidence than pressure.
"You read it, Mira. You're the one holding the compass." Elias interfered, his voice carrying weight without force.
"The deciphered one?" Mira asked and hemmed.
"No. Just read the phonetic script themselves." Elias replied, snatching the translated inscriptions.
"Why didn't you say so? I could've just said it earlier!" She protested, puffing in irritation.
"I wanna know what they mean." Elias stated matter-of-factly, not quite looking at Mira.
Finn raised his brow at Mira, signalling her to go on. She could only roll her eyes in exasperation and gulped.
"Ora'kael Elun-vareth Nehri Venat. Ilar Thaloré Ilai, Syra Renvi. Ilar Myrana, Ethar Elun-sol. Kael Nehari'shra, Syra Renvi Sen'kai."
The words rang in her chest like an echo, deep and resonant.
The compass flashed brilliantly as it slightly hovered above Mira's hand—its shape almost indiscernible in the blinding light. A low thrum began when it gradually faded—barely felt at first, like the earth itself had learned to breathe again. The symbols rearranged themselves into new shapes, several joining the shifting constellations. The thrum deepened, layered with choral tones emanating from other realms, other times. It reverberated beneath their feet, a sound that wasn't quite heard but felt, resonating deep into their bones and souls.
Elias held them closer as dust and papers curled upward in slow spirals around them, suspended in the rising current of unseen energy—electrical devices blared to life and bulbs buzzed incrementally, their filaments pulsing and casting jagged shadows that danced along the walls.
Then came the silence. Not an absence of sound, but a silence so profound it devoured breath and thought.
"You guys feel that, right?" Finn finally asked as he held his pendant.
Mira understood what he meant, even the compass felt different now—its energy seemed to have awakened—steady, divine, mystical.
"Look, the runes..." Elias jutted the chest toward them—runes shining in different colors, the dark wood even sparkling with strewn tints.
The siblings were stunned, even the world seemed to bid its time.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Eyes wide, mouths parted but voiceless, they remained frozen like sound itself had been swallowed by the impossible sight laid before them.
The moment settled over them, like air just before a lightning strike. Whatever they had expected—this wasn't it. The world then began to stir again, slowly, as if they were rousing from a dream.
The rustle of distant wind returned to their ears—howling with primal rage and violent hunger, increasingly becoming loud. The unforgiving and relentless destruction outside grounded them as if they had just returned from a rift in time.
Finn cried with fervent joy. "Tell me that didn't just happen! Let's do it again!"
Mira could only cover her mouth, hands trembling, emotion too big for her chest to hold. Astheria is a step closer, she can feel it.
"I—I can't believe it." Elias muttered, words tumbled out rush and raw.
In that moment, they knew—nothing would ever be the same again.