The stone structure was nothing that Lebowski expected to find in the jungle. It was old: the stone was cracked and moss-covered, the statues long decayed, and time turned the cobbled floor to gravel.

Despite this, Lebowski could tell that this place once held a great grandeur. Its haunted majesty dwarfed the tiny human before it.

The statues, or what was left of them, seemed to represent an alien bipedal figure. Standing side by side by the doorway, the two figures had horns on their head and scales over their body. They seemed to be staring down at Lebowski, daring him to enter.

So, Lebowski skipped up into the entranceway, hoping to find some treasure.

The sound of his tennis shoes thumping reverberated through the damp, dark passages ways, crunching the rocks underneath. It didn’t open into a large chamber but, instead, a small, narrow tunnel. Lebowski traveled down it joyfully, hopping to and fro.

“Treasure, treasure, find it at your leisure, but if you don’t have the measure, then you don’t get the pleasure… of the treasure!” he sang. “Treasure, treasure, you have to be clever, not like a heifer, to find the treasure!”

He continued to chant, purposefully wandering around in the dark bowels of the temple, getting lost with each chorus echoed.

Lebowski followed and skipped down passageways on a whim. Running downstairs, prancing across cracks in the floor, bounding through rocks, launching across ropes, Lebowski roamed through the ancient catacombs.

You have resisted the effect: Fear.

It looks like those psychological traumas are coming in handy, eh?

Lebowski stopped his mad scramble, rereading the blue box. It implied that there was some enchantment or curse on the tunnels. Lebowski didn’t know what to think about that. He’d been in danger without even knowing it.

But that shouldn’t be anything new. Lebowski has been in danger since he got here. This curse is much the same.

In the Introduction, it seemed, only the strong survive and thrive. Or the deranged.

What was interesting was that the Voice took into account past actions from Earth. That is very useful.

Lebowski smiled at the blue box and dismissed it. Whatever is hidden down here is something worth guarding. This message was nothing but good news taken in that regard. Lebowski resumed his skipping, twirling, and chanting with more vigor than before.

***

Lebowski took in the large chamber he came into, still swinging his cane, end over end, end over end. The room had a large domed ceiling that reached a bit beyond Lebowski’s eyesight, and the walls were covered in murals, picturing many different warriors in conflict. In the middle of the room was a coffin. Like his ring around his finger, the casket was black and sleek, and there were no engravings on its surface.

Lebowski leveled his cane, approaching the casket, whistling his song. He knocked on the surface of the box with the tip of his cane, making little sound. Nothing seemed to happen. So, he knocked again, and, again, nothing.

Lifting the top of the coffin and sliding it out, Lebowski saw a dead, decayed body. It was a man, and, much like the statues outside, he had horns on his head. But, of course, Lebowski couldn’t tell if he had scales for skin since the corpse was just bones. This man seemed just as old as the catacombs.

The old body was still covered in jewels and a fine robe. Interestingly, some of the elaborate dress seemed torn, like a knife had slashed into it.

Lebowski heard a faint but powerful whisper.

“Who are you, Explorer?”

Lebowski turned around, whipping his cane around him in a circle. It hit nothing but air.

“An Explorer with a Gentleman’s cane? You are a strange creature. Who are you?” the whispering asked again.

Lebowski felt outmatched. The power behind the whisper made the words physical, and its weight crushed into him. Lebowski was like a bug to this voice; he felt it in his bones and his soul. But, strangely, he didn’t feel fear.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

So, he did the only logical thing he could do: he introduced himself.

“I am an explorer, just as you said, sir.” He took his hat off his head, twirling it around as he bowed to the empty room. “I hope to not cause any distress upon you by rudely wandering in, but I couldn’t help but be curious about this great place. Truly, it is one of a kind. But, ahh, forgive me, for I seem to be rambling. What is your name, sir?”

“My Name? You would ask for my Name and not give me yours? Amusing. You are, indeed, strange.”

“Forgive me for my ignorance. I did not wish to offend,” Lebowski replied, putting his hat back on.

There was silence for a moment. Lebowski began to tap his cane in tune with his whistling.

“Lebowski Lebowski… now that is a Name I have never heard before,” the whisper said.

Lebowski tried to school his expression, but he could not stop smiling to himself. This whisper knew his name. Lebowski knew instinctually that this must have been an impressive feat. After all, the first thing that happened to him in the Introduction was the Voice asked for his name in a floating, black abyss. Why would the Voice go through all that trouble if names weren’t essential, a secret meant to be guarded? And this whisper knew his. It was powerful. Truthfully, if this whisper wanted him dead, then he’d already been destroyed - which was freeing in a way. But Lebowski was still alive because he was amusing. So, he’d continue to amuse it.

“Yes, I gave it to myself not but a day ago, sir. I’m happy you find some curiosity in my matters.”

“Mmm… tell me, young man, what is it that you want?”

“I want to live a fast and adventurous life, exploring anything and everything. I want to satisfy my curiosity in all things, both little and small, and leave no question I have unasked. I want to live a life others will find fascinating to hear and smile when they hear it. That is what I want: a life of excitement.” Again, Lebowski tipped his hat to the chamber, finishing his monologue with a flourish.

A burst of faint laughter reached out across the chamber, barely reaching Lebowski’s ears. “You, Lebowski, are a liar.”

“My mother always said I was a great storyteller.”

Again, silence. It was longer than before. “I do not know what to do with you, Lebowski. I can not see your fate. Your words ring hollow, but I sense no maliciousness from them. Strange. Truly,

strange.”

Lebowski waited patiently, not saying a word. Instead, he just twirled his cane, end over end, end over end.

“Do you wish to know where you stand?” the whisper finally said.

“Sure.” His cane still flipped, end over end, end over end. He tapped his foot in time, humming his rhyme.

“You stand before my body, Lebowski. I died two millennia ago in a brutal war. Time has warped some of my memories, but I remember my death well enough. I was a king of a once mighty kingdom. My people betrayed me. The crowds rushed into this very temple and killed me.”

“Why?” asked Lebowski in a sing-song voice.

“Because I was a horrible ruler. I was selfish and greedy, putting myself above the people I was supposed to protect. Two millennia gives one plenty of time to reflect on their mistakes. I have realized mine. I wish to correct it.”

“How are you going to do that?” Lebowski asked. Lebowski was somewhat confused. He did not expect to hear a sob story, but if it put him in the old king’s good graces, then perhaps it was worth it. His cane, however, never stopped flipping.

“I need someone to pass my Heritage to, Lebowski. You have a unique soul. Normally someone like you would not be my first choice, but no one has come down here since I have died. With me passing on my knowledge, power, and treasures to you, I am, in a sense, reborn. Through you, my past has a chance of bringing some good into this world. I have a chance to right past wrongs.”

Ah, so Lebowski was just lucky. This old soul was lonely and desperate, and now Lebowski knew what the old king wanted. Time has stifled the old king’s mind, it seemed. Opportunities, opportunities. “So, you wish to pass your heritage onto me, sir?”

Another pause by the ghost of the king. Lebowski continued to hum, twirling his cane, foot-tapping against the rubbled stone.

“Yes,” the whisper finally replied.

“Please forgive this one’s ignorance, sir, but what is the benefit to subjugating myself to this?”

“You receive a portion of my power, Lebowski, and you receive my treasures. These benefits are not unique to my Heritage, so the deal isn’t as good as it may seem.”

“How would I acquire these benefits?”

“By pledging an oath to me, and I to you.”

Well, look at you making new friends. So proud.

An old king from a time long passed wishes to give you his Heritage. I don’t know why he’d wish to provide you with anything, but here we are.

If you wish you accept, then think about accepting the Heritage.

Reward: The treasures and past power of an old king betrayed by his people.

If you wish to reject, then think about dismissing the Heritage.

Reward: Nothing.

It should be idiot-proof, but that could be proven wrong by you.

Oh, and an important thing. If you accept, then you can not, under any means, harm the old king. He can not hurt you either if it makes you feel better.

Lebowski quickly scanned through the message. He didn’t see any tricky wording by the Voice. Just the same asshole attitude.

This whisper seemed to radiate a sense of warmth and friendliness, but Lebowski had a feeling that even if he rejected the old king, then he wouldn’t be walking out of this chamber. He hadn’t forgotten the power he felt when the king made himself known. Of course, it also helped that the Voice said that the king couldn’t harm Lebowski if he agreed.

So, seeing nothing but one option forward, Lebowski accepted.