The words hung in the air like poison.
Basil stared at the open container, at the cold tallic cylinders nested inside, at the wires coiled with deliberate precision. His fingers did not move. For the first ti since entering the forest, his calm cracked.
"What are you planning to do?"
Artem pushed the box toward him, the scrape of tal against stone sharp in the quiet room.
"Take it. Help set it up"
Basil did not touch it.
"But"
Artem cut him off, his voice low, impatient.
"It is one of the reasons I ca here"
He leaned closer, eyes gleaming.
"I will destroy this fort"
Basil’s head snapped up.
"Destroy??"
Artem nodded slowly, as if explaining sothing obvious to a child.
"Do you really think it will not be easier to take the treasure out once this place is gone?"
Basil stood abruptly, the chair scraping backward.
"Yes but"
Artem scoffed.
"Do not tell you are suddenly interested in that old chief and her fairy tale tribe"
Basil’s jaw tightened.
"What!! bullshit"
Artem smiled, thin and sharp.
"Then start assembling"
He tapped the container with his knuckle.
"We plant these and walk away. Remote detonation"
Basil looked down again, dread settling deep in his chest.
"What are these"
He swallowed.
"Do you really think you can destroy this whole place with this?"
Artem’s smile widened.
"These are developed in Russia"
He lifted one cylinder gently, almost lovingly.
"Not the toys you make in your country"
He rotated it, showing the markings etched into the tal.
"It detonates and covers a large area"
Basil’s breath grew shallow.
"And"
Artem’s eyes flickered with sothing dark.
"And it releases deadly gas"
The words landed heavy.
"Gas that kills everything in its path"
Basil froze.
"What??"
Artem leaned back, satisfied, his voice almost cheerful.
"You see Basil"
He spread his hands.
"No one is going to survive from this tribe"
The silence that followed was suffocating.
The walls of stone that once seed magnificent now felt like a tomb. Sowhere beyond them, the forest breathed, alive and watchful.
Basil looked at the explosives again.
Then slowly, painfully, he realized sothing.
This was no longer about treasure.
.....
A few hours later the forest slipped into an unnatural stillness.
The wind barely moved. The towering trees stood frozen. Only the faint chorus of night insects whispered through the darkness, their rhythm steady and unsettling, as if the forest itself was holding its breath.
Inside the stone room Artem lay on his back, eyes open, counting the seconds in his head.
"So we saw it" he whispered without turning his head. "The people guarding this house never stay here permanently. They co every thirty minutes, check on us, see us sleeping, then leave"
Basil lay stiff beside him, staring at the ceiling.
"They just left," Artem continued. "Now is the ti. We go out and plant these around"
Basil turned his head slightly, his voice low and uneasy.
"Are you sure about this? What if we get caught?"
Artem exhaled sharply, irritated.
"Why are you thinking negative old man? Rember we have guns. Night vision. They are villagers not soldiers"
Basil hesitated, then nodded once.
"Alright"
Slowly they rose from the bedding, careful not to make a sound. Artem lifted the bag first, Basil followed, his heart pounding louder than his footsteps.
They slipped out of the room and into the cold night air.
The settlent looked different at night. The stone structures lood heavier. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the ground. Firelight flickered faintly in the distance, but no voices could be heard.
Artem scanned the area and smirked.
"They are just a bunch of fools," he murmured. "Look around. No one is here"
Basil wrapped his coat tighter around himself.
"Maybe no one wants to be out in this cold"
Artem crouched and unzipped the bag.
"Let us begin"
They moved like ghosts, hugging walls, slipping between structures, timing their movents with the distant footsteps of patrollers. Artem planted the devices thodically, spacing them evenly, his hands steady, practiced. Basil followed, helping when needed, though every instinct inside him scread to stop.
As they worked, Basil felt it again.
A pressure in his chest.
Sothing is wrong.
He stopped suddenly.
"Sothing does not feel right"
Artem did not look up.
"What now?"
"It is too silent here"
Artem snorted softly.
"I heard it from my father. These people do not like staying awake this late. How do you think he escaped?"
Basil swallowed.
Artem zipped the bag shut.
"Let us get out of here. We need enough distance to detonate"
They turned back toward the room.
And then they froze.
A guard erged from the shadows, torchlight cutting through the dark.
Basil whispered urgently.
"Back to the room"
They moved fast, slipping inside just as footsteps approached.
But one guard caught sight of movent.
"Stop there"
Artem reacted instantly, tossing the bag inside the room before turning around.
The guard stepped closer, suspicious.
"What are you trying to do?"
More guards entered, eyes sharp, scanning the room. They looked at Basil lying still, eyes closed, breathing slow, perfectly asleep.
Artem forced a nervous chuckle.
"This house does not have a toilet. I was looking for one"
The guard stared at him for a mont, then laughed.
"It is behind the house"
He turned to another guard.
"Walk him there"
Artem nodded ekly and followed.
Minutes passed.
They returned soon after.
Artem slipped back inside the room and lay down, eyes shut, breathing even.
In the darkness Basil whispered.
"They are not going back now"
Artem barely moved his lips.
"I think they got alerted"
Basil’s voice trembled.
"What do we do? If the night passes they will find the explosives"
Artem opened his eyes and slowly scanned the room.
His gaze stopped at the narrow window cut into the stone wall.
"Let them relax first" he whispered. "There is a window"
A pause.
"We run from there"
The forest outside waited.
Back at the ruins, night wrapped itself tightly around the camp.
Most of the treasure hunters were asleep now, bodies scattered inside tents, exhaustion finally overpowering fear. A few n remained awake, patrolling lazily, boots scraping against wooden platforms of the watchtowers. Campfires still burned low, orange embers breathing softly into the dark, smoke curling upward into the canopy.
Inside Miles’s tent, however, there was one presence that did not belong to the hunters.
The tribal figure stood calmly, half hidden by the dim lantern light.
"Chief Zella wishes you luck, Prince" the person said softly. " We only ca to show them what we can do today"
Maddock leaned against a crate, unable to hide his grin.
"That was cool"
Miles exhaled slowly, eyes steady.
"It was risky, but"
"Do not worry, Prince," the tribal warrior replied. "We know our limits"
Miles nodded once, then his gaze sharpened.
"What about those two people?"
The tribal figure tilted their head slightly.
"Chief is only playing with them. They do not understand what they are truly doing"
Miles chuckled under his breath.
"Just do not trouble the old man Basil too much"
The figure smiled beneath the hood.
"Do not worry, Prince. We will take care"
Then it happened.
A deep, thunderous blast echoed through the forest, rolling across the trees like an angry wave. The ground trembled faintly. Birds scread into the night. The sound traveled far, powerful enough to rip sleep away from every soul in the ruins.
Miles straightened instantly.
The tribal warrior stepped back.
"I have to go"
"Be careful on the way" Miles said quietly.
The figure vanished into the darkness as silently as they had arrived.
Outside, chaos stirred.
n rushed out of tents, voices overlapping, fear thick in the air.
"What was that??"
"Did you hear that??"
"That sounded like an explosion"
Elias stepped out slowly, cigarette already lit, smoke curling lazily from his lips as if the world had not just shifted.
He smiled.
"Looks like our friends are doing their work"
....
Far away, beyond the ruins, the truth burned.
Back at the fort, smoke rose in thick black pillars, swallowing the sky. Flas crawled across stone and wood alike, devouring everything they touched. The once silent settlent was now a raging inferno, crackling and collapsing under its own destruction.
Basil and Artem stood at a distance, the heat brushing their faces.
Basil did not move.
His mind refused to accept what his eyes were seeing.
The place was burning. People had lived there.
Artem threw his head back and laughed.
It was loud. Sharp. Unrestrained.
A sound so wrong that it snapped Basil out of his trance.
"Let’s move," Basil said stiffly. "Before any wild animals co"
He turned toward the forest.
And stopped.
Cold tal pressed against the back of his head.
Artem’s voice ca from behind, calm and cruel.
"Where are you going, old man???"
.....
Days Ago - London
Days ago, London breathed under a sky the color of old steel.
Elias stepped out of his workshop, the heavy door groaning shut behind him. The sll of iron and oil clung to the air. Blood stained his sleeves, dried in so places, fresh in others. He did not bother wiping it away until his phone vibrated in his palm.
He answered without looking at the screen.
"Tell Artem, what did you get?"
The voice on the other end was calm, almost pleased.
"You were right. There is sothing fishy going on with the old man"
Elias stopped walking.
The faint hum of the city faded as his attention narrowed.
"What did you find?"
"His son. He went to Star Harbor when Basil was in a eting with us in London"
Elias’s eyes sharpened.
"What??"
"And guess where Basil is right now?"
Elias clenched the phone tighter.
"Where?"
"He is in Star Harbor. He reached there today"
For a mont Elias said nothing.
Blood dripped from his fingers onto the concrete floor.
"What the hell is he doing there??"
Artem’s voice carried a quiet certainty.
"He is definitely talking to Miles Sterling. What else could it be?"
Elias exhaled slowly, wiping his hand against his coat, saring red across dark fabric.
"He said Miles was clear yesterday. Then why visit Star Harbor today?"
Silence followed, thick and heavy.
Elias’s expression darkened, shadows settling deep beneath his eyes.
"I always thought he was sohow involved in my father’s death," he said slowly. "I guess it is true then. That is why he does not want his son to get involved with the treasure hunters"
He looked back at the closed workshop door, mories stirring like old wounds.
"He is definitely plotting sothing with Miles Sterling"
"What do we do then?" Artem asked.
A slow smile crept onto Elias’s face.
Cold. Calculated.
"Let things move as they are," Elias replied. "We wait"
He wiped the remaining blood from his hands with deliberate care.
"When we find a chance" he continued softly. "We eliminate him"
On the other end of the line, Artem smirked.
An evil smile, unseen but felt.
The call ended.
Elias stood alone in the corridor, staring at his reflection in the dark glass.
Red stained his hands.
And his eyes burned with intent.
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