One afternoon, while clearing out all the boxes of stuff after house repair. They were stored in large container and box . there were some old clothes, fishing tool,some old photos and many more. All these items carry memory.

While searching through those box Robin stumbled upon an old, dusty trunk hidden beneath all the boxes. He never saw this trunk before .It was old leather trunk with a handle. The leather worn out. It has seen better days. Intrigued, he carefully opened it, expecting to find more of his grandparents’ belongings. Instead, he discovered something far more unusual a small, intricately carved wooden box, and beside it, a leather-bound diary .

The box was unlike anything Robin had ever seen. It was adorned with symbols and patterns that were both beautiful and strange, almost otherworldly. He tried to open it, but the lid wouldn’t budge an inch, as if it were sealed by some invisible force.

Curiosity piqued, Robin picked up the diary.That seemed to be written in a language he didn’t recognize. He flipped through pages , but everything was completely unfamiliar. The letters were sharp and angular, flowing in patterns that seemed to shift and move as he stared at them. It was as if the words were alive, defying any attempt to make sense of them.

Robin stood in the dim light of his grandfather’s study, an old, worn diary in his hands. The pages yellowed and brittle, yet the book seemed to pulse with secrets waiting to be uncovered.

Maybe it's another language his grandfather speak or invented himself. Maybe it's a treasure map who knows.

Come to think of it he never knew where his grandfather was from. This house belongs to his grandmother. Besides his grandfather looks like a foreigner. He did inherited some traits from him like his unique reddish brown eyes . This traits did manage to get him some girlfriend in his college days. Let the past be gone,he thought.

Feeling Curious , Robin decided to ask the villagers about his grandfather’s origins. After all,the village was a small place, and the older residents had known him longer than anyone else. Surely, someone would have answers.

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After questioning the old folks around the village he found the same answer from everyone .

All the answers fellows a same pattern, His grandfather was always a bit of a mystery, He arrived here just after the war, that much they remember. A quiet man, kept to himself mostly, but he was good to my grandmother. Helped my great grandfather with his fishing. Some folks thought he might have been a foreigner, maybe a soldier who defected during the war.

There were rumors, of course. People said he didn't speak our language when he first arrived, though it faded over the years. And he never talked about his life before here. So nobody asked him. Even when he drinks with villagers he never utter any word more then necessary.

All day he didn't even manage to get a single clue about his grandfather's past or the dairy's word.

That night, Robin returned to his grandfather’s study. He sat down at the desk, the diary open before him. Suddenly an idea came to his head that he could use Google translate. Living here for month made Him forget about internet. Internet has solution for everything.

He even post on verious online forum to get some info, But that was a failure too . After a wile he thinks to himself he came here to relax not to do some cryptid research.maybe his grandfather was a defect soldier or a foreigner who lost his way in this country ,or maybe he was a foreign spy. Who knows let the past be gone.

He put aside the diary and concrete on the small box.

The box was small, fitting comfortably in the palm of Robin's hand, yet it was dense and seemed to hold an unexplainable weight. Crafted from something he wasn't sure. The material looks doesn't look like wood or metal , its surface was smooth, almost glossy, as though it had been polished by a great craftsman. The box had a warm, almost alive quality to it, as if it pulsed faintly with a life of its own.

What truly set the box apart, though, were the patterns etched into its surface. They were twisting and curling lines that formed no recognizable shape or symbol, yet seemed to carry a deep, unknowable meaning. The patterns were intricate, almost hypnotic, as if they were meant to guide the eye in endless loops, drawing the viewer deeper into their maze.

The lines were not just carved; they were inlaid with a thin, metallic substance that caught the light in strange ways, shifting from silver to gold to a deep, dark blue, depending on the angle. It was as if the box held fragments of a starry night, capturing the essence of something both ancient and otherworldly. Some parts of the pattern seemed to rise slightly from the surface, forming tiny ridges, while others appeared to sink into the strange box, creating a subtle, three-dimensional effect.

At the center of the box’s lid, the lines converged into a complex symbol with 7 stars, a design so intricate that it was almost dizzying to look at. This central motif seemed to pulse with a faint, inner glow, a light so dim that it could easily be mistaken for a trick of the eye, yeti it was undeniably there—a soft, ghostly radiance that hinted at the box's hidden power.

There were no visible hinges or seams on the box, nothing to suggest how it might be opened. It was as though the box had been sealed by some ancient magic, the patterns themselves holding it shut.