The box.He could see it in his mind. Big enough to fit snugly in the palm of his hand. Seamless, and with no visible lock. Dark wood bound by thick metal straps. What it contained was a mystery his family had protected for generations.His father told him many stories when he was a child. Family legends guessing at the box's contents.The key to a city of gold.The finger of one of the long-vanquished Vampire Kings.The last breath of a dying god.Many nights he sat with his father around the family hearth, staring at the box. Mesmerised by the alien runes scorched into the wood. What did they mean?When he was young he'd been desperate to understand them. But now he was older, it didn't matter. Whatever lay inside wasn't important. All that mattered was it should be kept safe It must never be opened, his father told him. Over and over. Earnestly repeating what had been passed down from father to son for centuries.Never open it.It must remain hidden.He looked into Raste's burning eyes and believed in nothing else.
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