illphated
The night was alive with whispers—wind through the branches, the hush of unseen creatures, the rhythmic beat of the owl’s wings slicing through the swirling darkness. She was a ghost in the sky, a silent hunter bound by duty. Her keen amber eyes scanned the tangled forest floor below, searching for the faintest rustle of prey. The weight of her hungry young pressed on her instincts; tonight, she would not return empty-taloned.
A silver light slashed through the indigo sky as the moon emerged from shifting clouds, casting jagged shadows over the ruins below. Few creatures dared venture here—an ancient place swallowed by time, its stones cracked, its secrets buried beneath the earth. The owl had no interest in human remnants. She sought only the scurry of a mouse, the quiver of a shrew in the underbrush.
And then—movement. A flicker in the undergrowth. She dove.
Her talons struck something unexpected—cold and unyielding. No soft fur, no panicked squeak. She beat her wings, lifting herself away, perching on the gnarled root of a nearby tree. A gust of wind swept through the ruins, shaking loose the dust of forgotten ages.
Beneath her, where her claws had struck, the earth had shifted. A gleam of something unnatural shone through the dirt. Curiosity was not a trait she often indulged, but something in the way the moonlight touched the object made her hesitate.
Another gust of wind, and the soil crumbled away further. Now she saw it clearly—a box, encrusted with age but glinting with promise. Its metalwork was intricate, its lid slightly ajar. A force long buried had been disturbed.
She watched as the wind carried the last layer of dust from its surface. Inside the box, golden coins spilled like captured sunlight, their luster untouched by time. Strange jewels glittered, casting eerie reflections onto the surrounding stones. This was no simple trinket lost to history—this was treasure, a prize sought by those who once walked these ruins.
The owl knew nothing of human greed, of lost riches or forgotten kings. But she knew the pulse of something old, something waiting. This was a thing not meant for her, nor for the creatures of the night. It was a relic of a world she did not belong to.
With a final glance, she spread her wings and vanished into the night, leaving the treasure to the whispers of the wind. The ruins would keep their secret a little longer.
And somewhere beneath the earth, a mouse finally dared to move.