We came for glory.
We came for love.
We came for adventure.
We landed on a tiny island not marked on any map. Small enough to see the opposite shore if you squinted. Barren. No birds. No trees. Only a single stone outcrop with a cave carved into it.
Six of us entered.
The rest stayed with the ship.
Torches lit, we stepped inside.
The light wouldn’t travel more than a few feet, as if the darkness were swallowing it.
We stumbled forward, one after another, until the tunnel opened into a wider chasm.
I told one of the crew to push ahead, then follow our light back and report.
His boots thudded against the stone.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Then a shriek.
His body came tumbling back toward us, limp, nearly knocking us over.
I told the others to be quiet.
Silence fell.
No dripping water.
No wind.
No breath but our own.
Nothing.
Then the cave screamed back at us.
The sound hit like a wave. We covered our ears. Two men stumbled forward, clutching their heads.
We thought they’d made it.
Their bodies dropped at our feet.
Another man tried to run. He struck the wall and collapsed cold.
Only two of us remained.
No treasure was worth this price.
We sat.
Still.
No movement. No words. No breath we didn’t have to take.
Only the dull pounding of our hearts.
I held my torch low. The shadows flickered and twisted, almost playful in the silent light.
Waiting.
When the torches finally died, the darkness loosened its grip.
The pressure lifted.
The cave… retreated.
We walked out slowly.
Back at the ship, no one asked questions. When the mapmaker requested the island’s position, we told him not to mark it.
Leave it blank.
A spot of silence in an unforgiving sea.
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