The next morning, sunlight spilled lazily through my window, but the cold still lingered like a stubborn guest. I hadn't slept much. My mind kept looping back to Chakshu's visit, to the million-dollar prize, and to the strange, unshakable feeling that this wasn't just an ordinary contest.
After a quick breakfast, I grabbed my sketchbook and sprawled across the living room couch. I flipped through pages of half-formed worlds—caverns lit by glowing fungi, floating islands connected by chains, ancient runes etched into monolithic stones. Most people saw just fantasy. But somehow, last night had stirred something deeper.
Maybe, I thought, this treasure hunt wasn't just about money. Maybe there was more to it.
I pulled out my phone and searched:"Mayor's treasure hunt—July event announcement."
Sure enough, several headlines popped up:
"Mayor Aryan Unveils City-Wide Treasure Hunt with Mysterious Prize Pool"
"Clues Hidden Across Town; Locals Prepare for Friday Frenzy"
"Million-Dollar Reward or Elaborate Hoax?"
I clicked on the official post from the mayor's page. A sleek image loaded: a golden compass laid on a velvet cloth, surrounded by fragments of an ancient-looking map. The caption read:
"This Friday, 5 PM sharp, the first clue will be unveiled at Central Plaza. All brave and curious souls are welcome. Let the journey begin."
— Mayor
There was something theatrical about it. Almost... too theatrical. I zoomed in on the map fragments, noticing strange symbols that didn't match any known language. Circular glyphs, angular shapes, intersecting lines. It looked like art—like something I'd draw for a fantasy campaign.
But this was real.
My phone buzzed. Chakshu again.
Chakshu: "Yo! You saw the post? This is bigger than I thought."
Me: "Yeah. Something about that map feels... weird. Like, not made for show."
Chakshu: "Exactly. Bro, I was thinking—this might be based on something old. Like ancient history stuff."
Me: "You're thinking a local myth or legend?"
Chakshu: "Bingo. My granddad used to talk about a 'vanished realm' near the old quarry hill. Called it 'the place between places.' Thought he was making stuff up… but now I'm not so sure."
I paused.
I had heard whispers of that too—stories about a lost civilization that supposedly vanished beneath the city centuries ago. Just folklore. Or was it?
Me: "You think this treasure hunt could be a front… for something real?"
Chakshu: "Either that, or the mayor's a genius storyteller. Either way, I'm not missing it."
Neither was I.
That evening, I decided to visit my grandfather's old library upstairs. After he passed away, no one really touched his books. He had been a collector of obscure knowledge—ancient texts, local legends, and strange journals written in tiny, meticulous handwriting.
I pulled a dusty leather-bound volume from the shelf:"Myths of the Forgotten Borderlands"
I flipped through until a drawing caught my eye.
A circular gate made of jagged stone, symbols etched across its arch.
"The Lost Dimension," the caption read beneath it.
"A realm hidden between time and space, known only to those who dare to read the signs. A passage that appears only when mind, matter, and myth align."
I felt a chill run down my spine.
Could this... be connected?
The symbols on the page looked eerily similar to the ones in the mayor's teaser image.
Suddenly, this wasn't just a game. This was a door to something forgotten—maybe even forbidden.
I snapped a photo of the page, closed the book gently, and stood by the window. Outside, the wind had returned, and the night once again cloaked the city in silence. But beneath that silence, something ancient was waking.
And I would be ready.
I stood there at the window for a while, the photo of the ancient gate still glowing on my phone screen. The streets outside were quiet, but in my mind, they now held secrets—each alley, each corner, suddenly felt older, like they had been waiting for something to return.
I turned back to my grandfather's shelf, drawn to the possibility that he might've known more than he ever let on.
One book led to another. I spent hours skimming through brittle pages and cryptic notations. Names I'd never heard of appeared again and again—Nerothis, Vaylun, Ar'Druin—and always tied to the same strange symbols from the mayor's teaser. Most texts called them glyphs of "dimensional crossing." One journal entry stood out in particular:
"The gateways are real. But not all are meant to pass through. Only the marked shall see the passage awaken."
It felt like fiction, but the growing evidence gnawed at me. Why would the mayor model a treasure hunt around forgotten myths—unless he knew something?
Or worse, unless he was trying to lead us to something.
I snapped more photos and uploaded everything to a private cloud folder I named "LD Files." Short for "Lost Dimension."
The next day, Thursday, Chakshu and I met at a quiet café near the old community library.
He looked more serious than usual, a folded newspaper in his hand.
"You're not gonna believe this," he said, sliding it over to me.
The front page had a black-and-white photo of an excavation site just outside the city. The headline read:
"Tunnel Discovered Under Central Plaza – Historians Baffled"
I scanned the article. Workers had stumbled upon a collapsed stone stairwell while replacing underground cables. The city had halted the project for "safety reasons."
"That's where the first clue's dropping," I said quietly.
Chakshu nodded. "You still think this is just a game?"
I shook my head. "No. Not anymore. It's too... calculated. It feels like a test. Like someone wants to see who's willing to go beyond the surface."
He leaned in, his voice low. "Then we go all in. We prep. We get gear. Water, flashlights, notebooks. Just in case this thing takes us underground or out of bounds."
"Agreed."
We spent the rest of the afternoon gathering supplies, making checklists, researching old city maps, and cross-referencing every strange marking I'd seen in my grandfather's books. As the day faded into dusk, we felt more like explorers than participants in a civic event.
By nightfall, the city had a strange tension in the air. Flyers were plastered across poles, countdown clocks had appeared on public screens, and people on social media were buzzing with excitement. Some were forming teams. Others made jokes about the "Lost Indiana Jones dimension." But a few, like us, were taking it seriously.
That night, I packed my bag with the following:
My sketchbook and pencils
A flashlight with spare batteries
A canteen
Gloves
Rope
A notebook labeled "CLUE LOG"
My grandfather's map, tucked inside a folder
And, quietly, a compass I found in his drawer—old, heavy, and oddly warm to the touch
Before bed, I stared at the compass under my lamp. The needle didn't point north.
It wobbled slightly... and then held steady.
Toward the old quarry hill...