THE PACKAGE WITH NO RETURN

Jules didn't move at first. His hand hovered in the air, fingers trembling near the wax seal. The Smith crest stared back at him, clear and deliberate. It hadn't been there a second ago. Whoever had left it had vanished without a trace.

He reached down slowly, picking it up with both hands as if afraid it would vanish on contact. The box was surprisingly light.

Back inside, he laid it on the kitchen counter, lit a second candle, and grabbed a knife. He hesitated—then cut the wax seal.

The box clicked open.

Inside was a folded piece of old parchment, wrapped around a small, rusted key and a black feather that shimmered with iridescent hues when it caught the candlelight. A faint, earthy scent drifted from it—oak bark, iron, and something like scorched air.

The note was handwritten. The ink, though faded, was in the same exact script as the ledger he'd taken from the archive.

"When the ring awakens, the locks weaken. The feather is your token. The key opens what was sealed in blood. You must not go alone."

Jules read the words again, heart thudding.

He traced the lines of the key, and the ring on his own hand—an old family signet he'd worn for years—warmed slightly.

Something was syncing.

On the road, hours from the city...

Black gripped the steering wheel tighter. His knuckles had gone pale. The air felt denser since they passed through that shimmering veil. It wasn't just heatwaves—they'd entered something.

Sam was still watching the map, which now pulsed faintly with the same glow as the ring.

"I think we're getting closer," she said, voice low. "To Jules. Or maybe... something else."

Black nodded, eyes fixed on the road.

Then the car's engine sputtered.

Lights flickered.

The whole vehicle stuttered like it had hit an invisible wall.

"Not now," Sam muttered.

The car rolled to a stop on the edge of a wide, empty field, the moon high and heavy above it. A grove of dead trees lined the far end like silent watchers.

Black stepped out, the ring now glowing steadily like a heartbeat.

He turned to Sam. "It wants us to walk."

Sam didn't argue. She grabbed her bag, flicked the safety off her flashlight, and followed.

As they crossed the field, the wind died completely.

No bugs.

No night birds.

Just silence.

Until—

A sound behind them. A low grinding scrape.

They turned.

Nothing there.

Then the ground shifted slightly beneath their feet—as though something large had just moved far beneath the surface.

Sam swore under her breath. "Tell me that was an earthquake."

"I don't think so."

Black walked ahead, drawn to a point near the trees. There, buried beneath moss and dirt, was an iron ring in the ground. He pulled.

A trapdoor.

It groaned as he lifted it.

Beneath was a staircase spiraling into the earth.

Sam clicked on her flashlight. "You've got to be kidding me."

Black looked at her. "You don't have to come."

"You think I'm letting you face a cursed basement alone while eldritch mailmen are delivering crest-stamped boxes to our best friend?" She scoffed. "You don't know me at all."

He grinned—only a little.

And together, they descended.

Back in Jules' apartment...

He placed the feather and the key into a canvas pouch and slung it over his shoulder. He didn't know where he was going yet—but something in his gut told him the box wasn't meant to be opened and left.

The moment he stepped outside, the wind picked up—warm and swirling with dust that hadn't been in the forecast. Streetlights flickered above. The sigil he'd seen before on the brick alley reappeared, this time brighter.

He stepped toward it.

The feather in his pouch began to glow, and the sigil bloomed outward in a soft, pulsing ring.

A portal.

Not stable, not entirely clear—but a door nonetheless.

Jules took a deep breath.

And stepped through.

Below the field, Black and Sam reached the bottom of the stairs. The air was cold, dry, and filled with the scent of old metal and candle wax.

The chamber ahead was circular, its walls covered in faded paintings—scenes of people wearing the ring across time. Each one was different, but all had the same eyes: burdened, determined, slightly afraid.

And in the center of the room stood a pedestal.

Upon it sat another box.

This one bore no crest—but the ring on Black's finger began to glow brighter than ever, and a hum filled the air, deep and resonant.

Sam touched his arm. "This is it, isn't it?"

Black nodded. "The next piece."

As he reached for it, a door opened across the chamber.

And Jules stepped through.

Eyes wide.

Backpack on one shoulder.

Pouch clutched in one hand.

"Black?" he breathed.

They stared at each other for a long second.

Then Black ran forward and hugged him.

"You found me, and you scared the shit out of me" he whispered.

"No," Jules said, pulling back just slightly. "We found each other."