Committed to another ancient treasure, another ancient box.  You've seen your share of those vines entangled, embracing, strangling the rotting wood that conceals immeasurable wealth, or so you say.  I never found much use for stolen gold, anyway.  So, sinking like a ship, you hold a desperate cry out in the direction of heaven, hoping that the gods will notice you; some long lost myths in the shadows by your side.

 

Don't wait up for me.




Don't worry, I won't.