CHRONICLES OF EOIN AND EILIDH: Celestial Codex

GRANDFATHER'S LEGACY

The attic smelled of dust.

Eoin coughed as he waved a hand in front of his face, stirring up more dust instead of clearing it. “I think Grandda wanted us to choke to death before we found anything interesting.”

Eilidh rolled her eyes as she lifted an old lantern from the shelf, its glass covered in a thick layer of grime. “Maybe he wanted to make sure we actually worked for it.”

It had been two years since their grandfather had passed, and yet the attic remained untouched, filled with the remnants of a man who had spent his life collecting things that didn’t seem to belong to this world.

Old books with crumbling pages, strange maps with no clear landmarks, faded letters written in a language neither of them understood.

And stories.

Their grandfather had been a storyteller, but not the kind who told fairy tales to put children to sleep. His stories had weight, as if they were more than just stories.

As if they were real.

“Do you remember the one about the star voyagers?” Eilidh asked, pulling open a battered chest filled with scrolls, tools, and what looked like pieces of broken glass.

Eoin snorted as he kicked aside an old rug, revealing even more clutter beneath. “Which one? The one where they mapped the sky, or the one where they got lost in it?”

Eilidh smiled faintly, tracing the cover of an old leather-bound journal. “Both.”

Their grandfather had always spoken about the stars as if they were more than just distant lights in the sky.

As if they were keys.

“Do you think he actually believed all of it?” Eoin asked suddenly.

Eilidh hesitated. She didn’t know.

Grandda had been many things—eccentric, brilliant, stubborn. A man who seemed to know too much, but never said enough.

“I think he believed enough,” she said finally.

Eoin scoffed, but there was no real argument in it. “Enough to fill an entire attic with junk, that’s for sure.”

They worked for over an hour, shifting through boxes, sorting through things they didn’t even know he owned.

And then Eilidh saw it.

Half-buried under a pile of moth-eaten cloaks, pushed against the farthest corner of the attic. A wooden chest, its surface scratched with strange symbols.

She stared at it.

“Eoin.”

Her voice made him pause mid-motion, an old spyglass in his hand.

“What?”

She nodded toward the chest.

He followed her gaze, then grinned. “Now that looks interesting.”

They moved quickly, pushing aside crates and books to drag the chest into the lantern light.

It was heavy, the wood dark and polished despite the dust covering it. The symbols carved into the lid were unfamiliar, twisting in patterns that almost seemed to move in the flickering light.

Eoin knelt beside it, running a hand over the surface. “It’s locked.”

Eilidh expected that. Grandda wouldn’t leave something like this unguarded.

She traced a finger along the carvings. “This isn’t just decoration.”

Eoin raised an eyebrow. “You think it’s a puzzle?”

Eilidh shrugged. “Maybe.”

Eoin smirked. “Well, that just makes me want to open it more.”

They tried everything.

Eoin pulled at the lid.

Eilidh checked for hidden compartments.

They tilted it, shook it, even tried whispering the nonsense phrases Grandda used to say under his breath.

Nothing worked.

Eoin huffed, frustrated, flopping onto the floor beside it. “I hate when things won’t open.”

Eilidh sat beside him, tapping a finger against her knee. “Grandda never left things without a way in. If it’s locked, there has to be a key.”

Eoin groaned, throwing his head back. “So now we have to search through his entire attic for some old key?”

Eilidh nudged him. “Unless you have a better idea.”

He didn’t.

So they kept searching.

But somewhere, deep down, they both knew—

This chest wasn’t just another one of Grandda’s trinkets.