Stories of Thalassia. Story 1: Coin

The path to the ruins of Pelagius stretched ahead as the five boys ascended toward the ancient, crumbling palace. The night air hung heavy, thick with the thrill of the unknown.

“Derek said they’d wait until tomorrow to go after the treasure,” Nicholas whispered excitedly, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “He’s busy with Lori tonight.”

“Are you sure he was talking about treasure?” Milo asked, falling in step behind him.

“I’m sure of it,” Nicholas replied confidently. “I heard him and his buddies talking. They definitely didn’t want anyone else to know.”

Rurik, the youngest, shivered but kept silent, determined to prove himself worthy of the group. He had already risked enough to join their ranks, but a trip to the ruins? This was different.

“You think it’s real treasure, like gold?” Leif chimed in, trying to keep up with the others.

“It has to be,” Nicholas said, his voice laced with certainty. “We’ll be heroes when we find it.”

Kiel, ever cautious, frowned. “Sneaking into an abandoned castle at night for treasure? This sounds like trouble.”

“Don’t be such a coward,” Nicholas shot back. “We’re almost there.”

It was only a twenty-minute walk from the village to Pelagius. The castle, built from white sandstone, still loomed over the shimmering waters of The Sapphire Tide, a silent guardian from a time long past. Twilight had settled over the landscape, casting everything in a golden, syrupy glow. The five boys crept up the winding path toward the palace, their eyes darting nervously from side to side, as if expecting to be caught by one of the adults at any moment. They all knew they’d get a beating if anyone found out about this.

They had barely managed to steal two torches before Rurik’s father had almost caught them rummaging near the barrels of tar. 

Nicholas led the group, holding one of the torches high above his head to light their way. The narrow path was full of shadows, twisting and turning as the last light of day faded into night. Leif, carrying the second torch, brought up the rear.

“Do you really think we’ll find a mountain of gold in there?” Milo’s voice was soft but full of hope as he trotted along just behind Nicholas.

“It better be gold,” Nicholas grunted, “If I have to explain to Mum why I snuck out tonight and all we find is a pile of bones, I’ll need every last coin to survive the thrashing she’ll give me.” He grinned wickedly, picking up the pace.

As they approached the gates of Pelagius, they all froze in place. The ruins loomed in the bright moonlight, looking almost mystical as they cast long, ominous shadows over the path. Rurik’s eyes went wide with fear. Each of them had heard the old stories about the palace—tales of ghosts that haunted the once-great fortress. The palace wall still stood tall, but the gates were smashed open, as if something massive had broken through. The arch above the gate was adorned with intricate carvings of seashells, fish, and other sea creatures.

“Maybe the treasure’s just a giant fishbone,” Milo said, trying to lighten the mood. “At least we’d have something for dinner, right?”

Everyone chuckled nervously, but the chill in the air made it hard to laugh with any real joy. It was supposed to be the hottest night of the year, yet the temperature had dropped, as if the palace itself exhaled cold air upon them.

Leif stepped forward and nudged the remains of the gate with his boot.

“Great security for a treasure,” he muttered sarcastically.

Nicholas rolled his eyes and pushed past him, squeezing through the gap in the broken gates. The others followed, hissing in pain as the cold metal scraped their skin.

The heavy doors to the palace itself stood wide open, almost as if beckoning them to enter. Even Nicholas hesitated, unnerved by how easy it seemed. But after a moment, he squared his shoulders and took the first step into the shadows beyond.

The inside of the palace was both eerie and magnificent. Despite the crumbling walls and the collapsed ceiling revealing the starry night sky above, it still held a sense of grandeur that took the boys’ breath away. Stained glass windows, some still intact, lined the halls, depicting vivid scenes of the underwater world and its enigmatic inhabitants. Kiel was particularly captivated by the ancient tapestries hanging along the walls. He ran his fingers gently over the fabric, eyes wide as he tried to make sense of the faded images woven into them. They told stories—stories of kings and queens, wars fought at sea, and alliances forged with the mysterious creatures of the deep. His heart raced at the thought of what hidden knowledge this palace might hold. He remembered Old Nanny’s tales about the palace when it was still standing in all its glory. How he wished he could read the inscriptions beneath the stained glass, the hidden secrets of the palace forever beyond his grasp.

Even Rurik had stopped trembling, his eyes round as saucers as he marveled at the palace walls, feeling a strange mix of awe and fear. For a moment, he forgot all about the treasure and just stared, his mind buzzing with excitement.

The silence inside the palace was suddenly shattered by a loud clattering sound. The boys jumped, their hearts pounding in unison as they spun around toward the noise. Kiel stood there, frozen in place, his wide eyes reflecting the torchlight. Nicholas, always the impatient leader, stalked over, lifting the torch higher to reveal what had caused the commotion.

Kiel had stumbled over a set of iron shackles, still attached to a chunk of stone that had been ripped from the wall. They were old, rusted, but heavy. It was clear that they hadn’t been moved in centuries.

“We shouldn’t be here,” Kiel whispered, his voice sharp with fear as he stared at the shackles on the ground, as though they might spring to life and chain him to the wall.

“No one’s forcing you, Kiel,” Nicholas snapped, his tone colder than before. “If you’re scared, you can leave. We won’t stop you.” He kicked the shackles with his boot before turning and continuing toward the staircase.

Rurik grabbed onto Milo’s sleeve for reassurance, but Milo, while unnerved, gave him a reassuring pat on the back.

“Come on, Kiel. If you leave now, you’ll regret it forever,” Milo urged. “Besides, you’re not scared of a little rust, are you?”

Kiel’s frown deepened, but he stayed silent, reluctantly falling back into line behind the others as they pressed forward. The corridors were narrower here, the ceiling lower. The walls, once adorned with vibrant murals, were now stained with dampness and the passage of time. Occasionally, the boys would pass by old wooden beams that had fallen from above or large piles of debris, but they continued to make their way deeper into the palace.

Leif suddenly stopped, his torch casting strange shadows across the walls. He stared ahead at something, his eyes wide.

“Hey, guys, check this out!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the darkened corridor. He had spotted a massive two-handed sword leaning against a fallen stone pillar. The blade was rusted beyond use, but it was huge, and the craftsmanship of the hilt was unlike anything the boys had ever seen.

Leif strained as he tried to lift the sword, managing to raise the hilt off the ground but leaving the blade to drag across the stone floor.

“Look at this! Bet this thing could slice through a mountain if it weren’t so rusted.”

“More like it’ll snap in half if you so much as sneeze near it,” Milo quipped, though there was an edge of nervousness in his voice.

They all chuckled uneasily, but there was a tension in the air that none of them could shake. As magnificent as the palace was, something felt wrong. The boys could feel it creeping into their bones, a cold, unsettling presence that seemed to grow stronger with every step they took.

“Where to next?” Kiel asked, breaking the silence as he turned toward Nicholas.

“Derek said something about the dungeons. We need to find stairs leading down,” Nicholas muttered, his eyes scanning the surrounding doors and passages, as if trying to choose the right one.

“Those doors over there look promising!” Rurik piped up, pointing toward a pair of heavy wooden doors in the far corner of the hall. He bounced on his heels, his voice a mix of excitement and nerves.

“You want to lead the way?” Nicholas raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical of the younger boy’s eagerness.

“I—uh…” Rurik stammered, his face flushing red as his gaze darted around, seeking approval from the others.

“Rurik couldn’t lead us anywhere except the kitchen—by the smell of old cheese!” Milo teased, and the group burst into laughter, the sound echoing off the stone walls of the palace.

Rurik’s face turned beet red, but he puffed out his chest and marched toward the doors. Just as he reached them, he tripped over something in the dark, landing flat on his face with a thud. The boys doubled over in laughter, their nerves momentarily forgotten.

Only Kiel remained serious, silently helping the embarrassed Rurik to his feet while the others pushed through the doors, still chuckling at the boy’s expense.

Once through the doors, the atmosphere seemed to shift entirely. The boys were no longer in the grand halls of a crumbling palace but in something much darker, older, and more sinister. The air here felt heavier, weighed down by the centuries of decay and neglect. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows along the walls, making every step feel like a step deeper into the unknown.

They continued down a narrow corridor, their footsteps echoing unnervingly against the stone. The deeper they ventured, the colder it became, and the faint, salty scent of the sea started to fill the air.

Finally, they reached a steep staircase, descending into darkness. The stairs seemed to lead directly beneath the palace, into the dungeons. Nicholas gripped his torch tightly, his knuckles white, though he tried to keep his voice steady.

“Alright, this has to be it. Let’s go.”

He led the way down the stairs, the boys following closely behind. The deeper they descended, the stronger the scent of seaweed became. By the time they reached the bottom, their boots were splashing in a thin layer of saltwater that had seeped into the dungeon floor.

“We can’t be that deep underground, can we?” Leif murmured, looking around in confusion.

“It’s probably just the tide flooding in,” Kiel offered, gesturing toward a section of the dungeon wall that had partially crumbled, revealing a gap that seemed to open toward the sea.

Nicholas didn’t respond, his focus entirely on the room ahead. His heart was pounding in his chest, the adrenaline rushing through his veins as he scanned the dungeon for signs of treasure. The room was empty, save for piles of rotting wood and the occasional chunk of fallen stone. It felt like the bottom of a shipwreck, eerie and silent except for the occasional drip of water from the ceiling.

“There’s nothing here,” Milo said, his voice barely above a whisper, as though speaking too loudly might wake something in the shadows.

“There’s got to be something. Keep looking,” Nicholas insisted, pushing forward into the room. “There could be hidden chests, or—”

His voice trailed off as they all spotted it at the same time. On the far side of the room, several iron-barred cells lined the walls, each one locked tightly shut. But it wasn’t the cells that made the boys freeze in their tracks—it was what was chained to the walls outside the cells.

Skeletons. Dozens of them. Their bones yellowed with age, many still wrapped in the tattered remains of clothes. Some of the skeletons were crumpled on the floor, while others were hanging from their chains, arms outstretched, heads slumped forward as though they had died still waiting for someone to free them.

“What happened to them?” Rurik whispered, his voice shaking.

“They must’ve been prisoners… a long time ago,” Nicholas replied, though his voice lacked its usual bravado. He stared at the nearest skeleton, his heart racing. The cold sweat that had started forming earlier was now running down his spine. He had seen death before—the village had its share of sickness and misfortune—but this was different. These weren’t peaceful deaths. These were desperate, agonizing ends.

Kiel bent down, examining the ground. His hand brushed against something, and he pulled it closer to the torchlight. It was a torn piece of fabric, part of a sleeve, stiff with dried blood. He swallowed hard, dropping it back to the floor. 

“We should leave,” Kiel said, his voice more forceful this time. “This place isn’t right.”

“No one’s making you stay,” Nicholas snapped, though he didn’t sound as sure of himself as before. “We’ll check one more room. If we don’t find anything, we’ll go.”

The boys hesitated but ultimately followed Nicholas, who led them toward a set of heavy wooden doors at the far end of the room. The doors were slightly ajar, but something heavy seemed to be blocking them from fully opening. Nicholas gritted his teeth and shoved his shoulder against the wood, trying to force his way through.

“Leif, give me a hand,” he muttered, beckoning for help. Together, the boys shoved and pushed until the door groaned open enough for them to squeeze through one by one.

What they saw on the other side made their blood run cold.

The room beyond was worse than the one before. It wasn’t filled with skeletons but with bodies. Fresh bodies. Dozens of them, sprawled across the floor, some dressed in the simple clothing of commoners, others in more elaborate garments that marked them as nobles. The smell was overpowering, a sickening blend of saltwater and decay. The bodies were in varying states of decomposition, but many of them still had flesh, and the sight of it sent a wave of nausea through the boys.

"They… they don’t look like prisoners," Kiel said shakily, pointing to the bodies nearest to them. “There are no shackles, no chains…”

"They look sick," Rurik added, his voice barely a whisper. Many of the bodies had sores on their skin, dark red boils that covered their faces and hands. Blood had pooled around them, thick and black in the flickering torchlight.

Something gleamed on the floor near one of the bodies—a gold coin. Rurik’s eyes widened as he crouched down to pick it up.

“Guys, look! I found something!” he exclaimed, holding up the coin for the others to see. But before they could respond, a scream pierced the air.

It was Milo.

One of the bodies, an old man with gaunt, gray skin, had stirred. His bony fingers wrapped tightly around Milo’s ankle, and his eyes—lifeless and sunken—were staring up at the boy with a look of desperation. The creature rasped, its chest heaving as if trying to speak, but all that escaped its lips was a gurgling sound, followed by a thick, bubbling cough of blood.

Chaos erupted. The boys screamed as more bodies began to move, groaning and wheezing, their skeletal hands reaching out toward them. Some of the creatures tried to speak, but the words were garbled, lost in the wet, choking sounds of their ruined lungs. Their faces, covered in sores, were twisted in agony, and their eyes—those that still had them—were filled with madness and hunger.

“They’re alive!” Leif shouted, swinging his torch wildly in an attempt to keep the creatures at bay. But it was no use. They just kept crawling, dragging themselves closer and closer, their bony hands grabbing at the boys’ legs.

"Rurik!" Nicholas’s voice cut through the chaos, desperate and commanding. "Give me the torch! Now!"

But Rurik was frozen in place, his eyes wide with terror. His right hand still gripped the torch, but his left hand was clutching the gold coin so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. One of the creatures turned its sunken eyes toward him, and that was all it took to snap Rurik out of his trance.

Without a word, Rurik spun around and bolted for the door. In his haste, he dropped the torch, plunging the room into near darkness. The screams of his friends echoed in his ears, but Rurik didn’t stop. He ran, faster than he had ever run before, his legs carrying him back through the dungeon, past the shackled skeletons, up the winding stairs, and through the ruined corridors of the palace.

When he finally burst through the palace gates, gasping for breath, he stopped. His heart was pounding in his chest, and his hand was throbbing. He looked down and opened his palm. There, slick with blood from where his nails had dug into his skin, was the single gold coin.

He turned back toward the palace, staring into the dark, open doorway. His breath came in ragged gasps, and he strained to hear the voices of his friends. Any second now, they would come running out, right behind him, laughing and breathless, just like they always did after one of their adventures.

But the seconds ticked by, and no one came.

All he heard was silence. A deep, heavy silence that seemed to press down on him from all sides.

Then, from somewhere deep inside the palace, there came a faint crack. The sound of something moving.

“Nicholas?” Rurik whispered, his voice trembling. There was no answer.  Another crack. Closer this time. And that was all it took.

Rurik turned and ran. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him, away from the palace, away from the horrors inside, away from the friends he had left behind.

Back home.