The Tomb of the Trader

Morning light spilled across the dunes as Zahid and Ali journeyed eastward, leaving behind the busy, echoing streets of Bahzar. The desert was quiet now—too quiet. Even the wind seemed to pause, as if listening to something ancient buried beneath the sand.

Ali’s mule, Gobi, grumbled with every step. “We better find something shiny, Zahid,” Ali said. “Or Gobi’s hunger becomes my problem.”

Zahid kept his eyes fixed on the path ahead, where crumbling stones and bent palm trees began to appear. A ruined structure loomed before them, half-swallowed by sand and time.

“The Tomb of the Trader,” Ali whispered dramatically. “Old legends say no thief has ever returned from here. Some say a man once took a single coin and turned to dust before he reached the city walls.”

Zahid raised an eyebrow. “Then let’s not take coins.”

The tomb was silent inside, long columns casting shadows over the cracked floor. They moved past statues of old traders, strange beasts, and ships carved into stone. Then they saw them—seven iron bells hanging across an arched corridor.

Zahid remembered the riddle:

> Beyond the seventh bell, destiny calls.

One who seeks, one who falls.

But only the chosen will open the gate,

Where ancient treasure guards its fate.

He struck each bell, and at the seventh, a soft hum vibrated through the floor. A nearby wall clicked open, revealing a narrow stairwell descending into the earth.

They followed it down, their torches casting flickering light on ancient murals—one showed a man holding a bag that glowed like the moon, another showed a floating carpet, another depicted a golden hourglass with blue fire swirling inside.

“Magic,” Ali said. “Real magic.”

At the bottom, they found a large chamber glowing faintly with bluish light. The air smelled like old scrolls and copper. In the center, atop a raised platform, lay not just a bag—but an entire treasure room.

There were piles of gold coins, sparkling gems, a sword with a flaming edge, and yes—a carpet that hovered inches above the ground, unmoving but clearly alive. An hourglass glowed with shifting sand, reversing direction every few seconds.

But none of that mattered to Zahid.

Because the leather bag sat untouched on a stone pedestal in the center—the same bag drawn in the journal. Everything else glittered, but the bag… the bag pulled at him.

Ali stepped forward.

“Wait,” Zahid hissed. “You heard the stories—anyone who tries to touch these treasures without being chosen…”

“Turns to dust,” Ali muttered, stepping back.

A wind stirred from nowhere. The carpet fluttered. The hourglass shimmered. The torches flickered blue for a second.

Zahid looked at Ali. “I think it’s me. I think… this was meant for me.”

Ali nodded, eyes wide.

Zahid stepped forward slowly. Each step echoed. The room held its breath. He reached the pedestal, heart thudding, and placed his hand on the bag.

Nothing happened.

Then the carpet unfurled slightly, the hourglass stilled, and a breeze of warm air swept around him—like the cave itself was sighing in relief.

He picked up the bag. It was heavier than expected. Inside, something shifted.

“Let’s get out of here,” Zahid said.

And they ran—not from fear, but from excitement. They had found the beginning of something forgotten. Something magical.