Chapter 3: Shadow of the Two-Headed Snake

The morning mist had yet to lift, the stone steps of The Old Palace gleaming with a cold, bluish-black sheen in the damp air. The fog wasn't just ordinary white vapor; it carried a stale, moldy scent, like a sigh seeping out from the cracks of these deep, grand courtyards. Salma stood alone before the iron gate, its round openings staring out like blind eyes. In her palm, she clutched the Brass Gear, the metal's chill crawling up through her veins to her heart. Her fingers trembled slightly—not from the cold, but from the charred residue on the gear's edge. The texture looked like blackened tree roots winding across the smooth brass, rough to the touch, digging painfully into her fingertips. Just as she tried to recall her father's dying whisper, heavy boot soles scraped against the stone path behind her. Each step pressed into the wet flagstones, producing a grating shriek that shattered the dead silence of the dawn.

Nadia's figure materialized from the fog. In the early light, her face looked unusually grim, those usually gentle eyes now hidden behind deep wariness. The morning wind billowed her robes, snapping them like the wings of a startled hawk. Nadia stopped three paces away, her voice barely a whisper, each word squeezed out from the depths of her throat: "Salma, hand over the scroll. The Family Forbidden Grounds are sealed. Sneaking a peek is a desecration of the ancestors."

Salma didn't turn around. She just pressed The Fragment tightly against her chest, her fingertips turning white from the strain. When she finally looked over, her gaze was sharp as frost, the fog around her seeming to freeze in place. "Desecration? Father burned the map, then redrew it, and died on the edge of the fire. You call that following the rules? I intend to see if your so-called rules mean burying the truth in the dust too."

Amidst the argument, Salma’s eyes locked onto a detail. On Nadia’s right cuff, a smear of dark red mud stained the fabric. It was the specific red clay found in the deep rock fissures of The Old Post Road—dry, hard, and impossible to explain by morning dew alone. Salma’s heart skipped a beat. She was certain her mother had been there last night. The red mud stood out shockingly against the pale sleeve, looking like an unhealed wound.

Nadia noticed Salma’s gaze instantly. In a fluster, she pulled her outer robe across the cuff to hide it, the movement stirring a gust of wind that swept the mist between them. Her tone turned hard. "It's just dirt from the road. Don't read into it. I'm warning you: if you stay so stubbornly blind, I’ll invoke the power of the Tribe Elders and have every relic forcibly sealed. You can't keep anything."

Salma let out a cold laugh, closing the distance with a half-step. She stomped her heel hard on the stone step, her voice dripping with icy disdain. "Morning dew is clear. This red clay only exists deep in the rock seams. You’re hiding a key path. Mother, what are you afraid of? Are you scared that what you see when the door opens won't look the way you expect?"

Hasty footsteps broke the stalemate. Hadja came running, clutching an oiled-cloth bundle against his chest, wheezing for air. Fine beads of sweat glistened on his forehead in the sunlight, reflecting faintly. His breathing was ragged and broken, as if his lungs were about to burst. He ignored Nadia’s outstretched arm blocking the path and thrust the bundle directly in front of Salma. The oiled cloth had been soaked through with sweat, becoming heavy and sticky.

Hadja’s voice was taut, tinged with a barely perceptible tremor. "Before he died, he asked me to keep his last possession. He said if Miss Salman found the gap, I should give it to her. This is the Bronze Bobbin his father loved most. He spent his last night polishing it."

Nadia’s face drained of color. She recoiled half a step, her heel scraping a harsh sound against the stone. Her eyes flickered with a complex mix of terror and desperate pleading. She lunged for Hadja, but he sidestepped to avoid her.

Salma untied the oiled cloth. The Bronze Bobbin was in her hand—heavy and warm. The intricate gear teeth glinted with an antique copper hue in the morning light. A strong sense of wrongness surged through her, but she didn't stop. The metal’s heat felt like the lingering warmth of her father’s palm, carrying an atmosphere that was both nostalgic and dangerous.

Salma picked up the Bronze Bobbin and aligned it with the jagged gap in The Fragment, tentatively pressing it against the edge. The air seemed to freeze at that moment. Even the wind held its breath.

*Click.*

The crisp sound echoed through the silent Old Palace. The teeth of the Bronze Bobbin meshed perfectly with the gap in The Fragment, fitting together seamlessly, as if they had been made for each other. Salma felt a wave of dizziness, followed by an overwhelming shock. Her father had planned for two outcomes. This Bronze Bobbin wasn’t just a repair tool; it was the key to completing the star chart and unlocking the unknown coordinates.

Nadia looked at the perfect connection. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed onto the stone steps. The thud of her knees hitting the stone was dull and loud. She looked up, the authority in her eyes completely shattered, replaced only by deep despair and entreaty. "Salma, destroy it. With the key in hand, what’s behind the door will destroy this family. Do you want to protect yourself with silence, or tear open the abyss with the truth? Choose."

Salma stroked the Bronze Bobbin with her fingertip, feeling the residual heat of the metal. Her gaze passed over her mother and fell on the tightly shut iron gate. The darkness behind the door seemed to be breathing, waiting for the final decision.

Hadja didn't try to snatch it back. He stepped back two paces, leaning against a mottled stone pillar. His cloudy eyes fixed on the Bronze Bobbin, as if it were a poison fang freshly dug out of hell. The air in the Old Palace was thick with a rot, mildewy smell, mixed with the familiar scent of soap and rust clinging to her mother, making Salma feel like she couldn't breathe.

Nadia remained on her knees on the steps, not moving to grab it. Her posture was bizarre, as if her spine had been pulled out of her. Her hands hung limply over her knees. She raised one hand, and her cuff slipped down, revealing her forearm. Salma’s gaze stabbed at it. At the edge of the cuff, a spot of dark red mud was clearly visible. It was the specific red clay of The Old Post Road, something only someone who had walked through that ruin would have on them.

"You went there yesterday." Salma’s voice was soft, yet it rang like thunder between them.

Nadia’s hand froze in mid-air, her fingertips trembling. She didn't deny it, didn't make excuses. She just let out a bitter laugh, a smile colder to Salma’s heart than tears. "Yes. I checked every brick crack. I even dug up the foundation." Nadia’s voice was hoarse, carrying the resolve of someone who had already broken the pot and had nothing left to lose. "They thought the deeper we buried the Forbidden Grounds, the safer it would be. But I forgot. Your father never trusted secrets. He trusted layouts."

Salma looked down at the Bronze Bobbin in her hands, her fingertips digging deep into the complex gear teeth. The pain kept her clear-headed, but it intensified the dizziness. Her father had foresaw this day. He foresaw that his mother would try to erase the past, that he would face this choice, and even that this Bronze Bobbin would end up in her hands at the critical moment. He wasn't just a craftsman; he was a strategist. What he left behind on his deathbed wasn't just a Fragment. It was a stalemate that had been waiting to trigger for years.

"Whatever is behind the door will destroy this family." Nadia repeated her earlier words, her eyes displaying a near-psychotic fear. "Salma, you're too young. You don't understand. That coordinate doesn't point to treasure or ancient texts. It points to the bones of a group of people and their unfinished curse. Once it's opened, the family's fate is bound to that Old Post Road forever. I destroyed it to keep you alive."

"Alive?" Salma sneered, lifting the Bronze Bobbin and spinning it in the morning light. The golden luster flowed across the surface, like a sleeping snake. "That's your definition. What my father left me is the truth. Even if the truth is bloody, it is still my bloodline."

Nadia lunged forward, her nails nearly scratching Salma’s cheek. But Salma sidestepped, avoiding her mother’s claws. This time, she wasn't passive. She backed up to the iron gate, gripping the brass ring with one hand. The iron gate was ice-cold, siphoning all the warmth from her palm.

"Move." Salma said.

"No! You'll die!" Nadia’s voice cracked. It was no longer the restrained tone from before, but filled with the raw, instinctive panic of a mother protecting her cub. She tried to grab Salma’s legs again, but Salma kicked her away. Hadja watched from the side, his mouth curving into a subtle, barely noticeable arc. He knew the play had reached its climax; there was no turning back.

Salma took a deep breath. The iron ring made a faint scraping sound against her fingers. She felt the weight of her mother’s body against her back—that was a mother’s final line. But she also felt the heaviness of her father’s Bronze Bobbin in her hand—that was the weight of legacy.

"If I don't open it, I remain just a defective product protected in a glass case forever." Salma raised her head, looking directly into her mother’s terrified eyes. "I choose to open it. Not for the curse, but to see who is pulling the strings behind all this. Even if it's an abyss, I want to stand on the edge and look."

She turned the iron ring with force. The rusty lock core emitted a grating, tooth-aching screech. Nadia crumpled to the ground, letting out a low moan like a wounded beast.

The door creaked open a crack.

There was no gale as she had expected, no eerie atmosphere. Only silence. A silence thicker than darkness. Salma gripped the Bronze Bobbin and stepped over the threshold. The stone slabs underfoot were biting cold. Each step felt like she was walking on her father’s tombstone.

She took five steps. Then the ground disappeared under her feet.

Salma stopped abruptly, looking down. The floor wasn't solid; it was a massive pitfall, bottomless in the darkness. The light from the Bronze Bobbin flickered weakly in the black. Not far from her feet, on a protruding rock, sat a small, exquisite wooden box. The box was carved with a familiar pattern—one found only in her father’s study.

This wasn't a trap. It was a marker.

Her father had been here before. And he had left something for the next person to enter.

Salma leaned in cautiously, her fingers trembling as she lifted the lid of the wooden box. Inside there was no gold or silver. Just a neatly folded sheet of parchment, and... a heart that was still beating?

No, it was some kind of mechanical device. Copper, intricate and complex, ticking softly with the flow of air. On the parchment, only one line was written, the ink not yet dry, as if it had been written moments ago:

"The game has just begun. The next key is in your belly."

Salma felt a wave of nausea tear through her stomach. She clamped her hands over her abdomen, where a strange burning sensation was rising, as if something inside her was waking up.

Nadia screamed from the opening and rushed over, but she stumbled and fell, her knees smashing into sharp stones, blood soaking through. She looked at Salma’s pained, twisted face, and the despair in her eyes shifted into a strange, eerie relief.

"I knew it all along..." Nadia muttered, her voice so soft it was almost inaudible. "I just knew. He would plant the final curse in your bones."

Salma collapsed to the ground, her nails digging into the dirt. The burning sensation spread through her veins. She heard a slight grinding sound of bones shifting inside her body—the sound of ancient power forcing its way into her frame.

She lifted her head to look at Nadia. In her eyes, there was no longer the attachment of a daughter to her mother, but a cold, unfamiliar scrutiny.

"Mom," Salma’s voice became ethereal, as if two voices were speaking at once. "Are you sure you remember how I was brought into this family?"