Heir of Troy: The Third Son

The passage was colder than the tunnel above, the air carrying the smell of damp stone and ancient dust. Lysander stood just inside the hidden door, letting his eyes adjust to the deeper darkness. His lamp flickered, its flame guttering in the still air, and he cupped his hand around it until it steadied.

He was alone.

He set the leather bag down against the wall and drew out the folded square of parchment. The writing was faded, but clear enough in the lamplight. He read slowly, carefully, aware that a single misstep could mean death.

The first trap is a falling stone. It is triggered by a pressure plate in the center of the floor. Walk along the left wall. The stones there are solid. The first key is behind the first door, in a niche on the right. Pull the lever of bronze. The trap will deactivate.

He read it twice. Then he folded the parchment and tucked it back into his tunic. He picked up the bag, adjusted the lamp, and began to walk.

The passage sloped downward, the walls closing in until his shoulders nearly brushed both sides. The floor was worn smooth by centuries of feet, but Lysander kept his eyes fixed on the stones ahead. The note had warned him. The center of the passage was false. Only the left side was safe.

He stepped carefully, each foot placed deliberately, his left hand trailing along the wall for balance. The lamplight cast long shadows that danced and twisted. The silence was absolute except for the soft scuff of his boots and the rasp of his own breathing.

Fifty paces. A hundred. The slope steepened, and he had to brace himself against the wall to keep from slipping.

Then he saw it. A stone in the center of the passage, slightly raised, its surface polished to a faint sheen. The pressure plate.

Lysander stopped. His heart hammered in his chest. He pressed his back against the left wall and moved forward, one step at a time, his eyes never leaving the raised stone. The trap was simple—a mechanism that would drop a block from the ceiling when triggered. The note had said it would crush a man instantly.

He passed the plate. He did not look back.

The first door came into view perhaps two hundred paces later. It looked like the end of the passage—a solid wall of rough-hewn stone, no seam, no handle, no sign that anything lay beyond it. Lysander set down the lamp and ran his hands over the stone, searching for the hidden seam the note had described.

His fingers found it after a long moment: a faint line, so subtle that he would never have noticed it if he had not been looking for it. He pressed. Something shifted beneath his hand, and the stone door swung inward with a low grinding sound that echoed through the passage.

He stepped through. The space beyond was small, barely more than an alcove. On the right wall, set into a niche, was a lever of bronze, green with age but still solid. Lysander reached for it. His fingers closed around the cold metal. He pulled.

Something deep in the walls groaned—a low, grinding sound, like a beast stirring from sleep. Dust sifted from the ceiling. The lever moved slowly, reluctantly, and then clicked into place.

The first trap was deactivated.

Lysander let out a breath he had not known he was holding. He stood for a moment, listening to the silence. Then he unfolded the parchment again and read the next section.

The second trap is a pit covered by a false floor. The false floor is marked by a pattern of three stones, repeated twice. Walk along the right wall. The stones there are solid. The second key is behind the second door, in a niche on the left. Turn the wheel of stone. The trap will deactivate.

He folded the parchment and walked on.

The passage continued, the walls growing rougher, the air colder. Lysander kept to the right wall, his left hand trailing along the stone. The pattern of three stones appeared exactly as the note had described—subtle, easy to miss if you were not looking for it. The stones in the center of the passage were polished smooth, worn by centuries of use. They looked solid. They looked safe.

They were not.

He edged past them, one careful step at a time, his breath shallow. The pit beneath the false floor was invisible, its depth unknown, its darkness absolute. One wrong step would mean a fall into nothingness.

He made it past. The second door loomed ahead, another wall of solid stone. He found the hidden seam, the concealed latch, and pushed it open. On the left side, in a niche, was a wheel of stone, its surface rough and cold.

He turned it to the right. The grinding sound echoed through the passage again, louder this time, as if the mechanism was larger, heavier. The wheel turned slowly, reluctantly, and then clicked into place.

The second trap was deactivated.

He rested for a moment, leaning against the wall. His legs ached. His throat was dry. He pulled out the waterskin and drank sparingly. The note said there were oil stores along the path, marked with a symbol. He would need to find them before his lamp burned out.

He read the third section.

The third trap is a wall of spikes triggered by a tripwire at knee height. The wire is copper, difficult to see in low light. Step over it carefully. The third key is behind the third door, in a niche on the right. Pull the lever of iron. The trap will deactivate.

He folded the parchment and walked on.

The passage here was longer, the walls smoother, as if whoever had built this place had taken more care with this section. The air was still cold, still silent, but now there was something else—a faint sense of age, of weight, of the mountain pressing down on him from above.

He saw the tripwire just in time.

It was a thin line of copper, stretched across the passage at knee height, nearly invisible in the lamplight. Lysander stopped, his heart pounding, and stepped over it carefully, one foot at a time. He could feel the mechanism waiting on either side, hidden in the walls, ready to spring.

He made it past. The third door was like the others—a wall of solid stone that looked like the end of the passage. He found the hidden seam, pushed it open, and stepped through. On the right side, in a niche, was a lever of iron, heavier than the first, colder to the touch.

He pulled it down. The grinding sound came again, deeper this time, more resonant. The lever clicked into place.

The third trap was deactivated.

He had lost all sense of time.

The passage had no markers, no windows, no way to judge the hours. He might have been walking for a day or only a few hours. His body told him it had been long—too long. His legs were heavy, his eyelids drooping, his thoughts beginning to blur at the edges.

He found a section of wall that was slightly wider, a small alcove cut into the stone. He set down the bag, sat with his back against the wall, and let the lamp rest beside him. The flame guttered, low. He would need to find oil soon.

He ate a piece of dried meat, forcing himself to chew slowly even though he wanted to gulp it down. He drank from the waterskin, rationing it. Then he pulled his cloak tight around him and closed his eyes.

The darkness was absolute. Not the darkness of a room with a shuttered window. Not the darkness of a moonless night. This was the darkness of the deep earth, the darkness of a place that had never seen light. It pressed against his closed eyelids like a physical weight.

He thought about Troy. About the walls, the ships, the people. About Arsini, who would be wondering where he was. About Hector, who would be carrying the weight alone. About his father, lying in his bed, waiting for a son to return.

He did not sleep. But he rested.

And when he opened his eyes, the flame was still burning, small and stubborn against the dark.

He picked up the parchment and read the next section.

The fourth trap is a tilting floor. The passage widens into a chamber where the floor is a single slab balanced on a hidden axis. Too much weight at the center, and the slab will tip, dropping you into the darkness below. Walk along the left wall, where the slab rests on its supports. Step lightly. The fourth key is behind the fourth door, in a niche on the left. Pull the handle of bronze. The trap will deactivate.

He folded the parchment and tucked it away. He looked down the passage, into the darkness that stretched ahead. The lamplight pushed back the shadows only a few paces. Beyond that, there was nothing but black.

He picked up his bag, adjusted the lamp, and walked on.

Into the dark.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!