The scent of roasted meat and sweet fruit was gone, replaced by the cold, damp air of the morning. Brian woke with a start, his father's words echoing in his head like a tolling bell: "A puzzle. The coffin is a puzzle." The empty space in his heart where the fishing hook used to be throbbed with a dull ache. He had sacrificed his only tangible memory of his father for a single night of comfort, and the price felt far too high.
The talking fish lay still in the basket, its scales now a pale, washed-out color. Brian stared at it, a knot of dread forming in his stomach. The fish's power felt tainted, not like a gift, but a debt waiting to be paid. He knew he couldn't go on like this, using up the few precious things he had left. He needed to figure out what his father meant. He needed to find the coffin.
But where did he even start? The city of Arch was a world away, and he had no money to get there. He had nothing left to sacrifice. That left him with the second option—the promise. The thought of it made his skin crawl. Breaking a promise wasn't like losing an object; it felt like a deliberate betrayal of trust.
Later that day, Mr. Stone came by with his usual kind smile. "Got a good haul planned for tomorrow, Brian," he said, holding up a new net. "The tides are perfect. We'll be out before dawn. I was hoping you'd join me. It'll be a two-man job."
Brian's heart sank. A simple, honest request. The kind of thing he would have loved to do just a week ago. He felt the weight of his choice pressing down on him. He could promise to go and then just not show up. It would be a small lie to Mr. Stone, a man who had helped him when he had nothing. A man who trusted him.
"Yeah, of course, Mr. Stone," Brian heard himself say, the words feeling false even as they left his mouth. "I'll be there. Wouldn't miss it."
Mr. Stone clapped him on the shoulder, his face radiating warmth. "Good. You've seemed a bit off lately. A good day on the water is what you need."
As soon as Mr. Stone was out of sight, Brian's stomach twisted into a painful knot. He looked at the fish, his mind already made up. He needed a clue, a map, something to help him find the coffin. He couldn't just wish for the coffin itself; his father had called it a puzzle. He had to wish for the means to solve it.
"I wish for a map," Brian said to the fish, his voice low and heavy with a guilt he hadn't felt in decades. "A map that will show me the location of a great fortune connected to my father's past."
The fish's scales shimmered, but this time, the light wasn't bright and powerful. It was a cold, fleeting flash, like a spark that dies too quickly. Brian felt a small, cold emptiness where his conscience used to be. A moment later, a rolled-up piece of weathered parchment appeared on the floor of his tent.
He picked it up, his hands trembling. It wasn't a map of a city or a treasure island. It was a cryptic drawing, a diagram showing the streets of Arch, but with bizarre, non-geographical symbols scattered across it. There were no X's marking the spot, only a series of riddles and coded messages.
A surge of both excitement and profound shame washed over him. He had what he needed. But as he looked out into the twilight, he saw the lonely figure of Mr. Stone walking home, his new fishing net slung over his shoulder, and Brian knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, that the true price of this map was the trust he had just broken.
The next morning, Brian couldn't bring himself to leave the tent. The guilt from his lie to Mr. Stone was a physical weight on his chest. He didn't even try to fish. All day, he stared at the strange map, its symbols and cryptic text a constant, nagging reminder of what he had done. The "great fortune" his wish had promised felt worthless compared to the simple, honest companionship he had betrayed.
As the sun began to set, a shadow fell across the entrance of his tent. It was Mr. Stone. He held the new fishing net in his hands, his face not angry, but etched with a deep, sad confusion.
"I waited for you, Brian," he said, his voice soft. "The tide was perfect. You never came."
Brian couldn't meet his eyes. "I'm sorry, Mr. Stone. Something... came up. I had to stay here."
"Something more important than a promise?" Mr. Stone asked, his tone gentle but firm. "I thought we were a team. I taught you everything I know about fishing, not just so you could get a meal, but so you'd have something to stand on. Honesty is a lot like a good boat, son. It'll get you where you need to go."
The words hit Brian harder than any punch he'd taken as a child. He looked up, his eyes wet with shame. "I'm so sorry," he said again, and he meant it.
Mr. Stone sighed and dropped the net outside the tent. "Just... don't forget the man I know you can be, Brian." He turned and walked away, and the sight of his retreating back was a greater punishment than any anger could have been.
Brian was alone again, left with a worthless map and a new, terrible emptiness. The fish, in its basket, seemed to mock him, its scales now a drab, lifeless gray. He had to make this right. He had to find the coffin, solve his father's puzzle, and get this cursed thing out of his life.
The map's first clue was a simple drawing of a lion's head, with a spiral carved into its eye. Brian knew instantly what it was. It was a fountain in the town square of Arch, a place he used to play as a child. A quick trip on foot would take days, maybe even a week. He couldn't afford the time or the further emotional toll of another broken promise.
He made his decision. He held the fish, its cold body squirming in his hand. He wasn't going to break a promise to someone else this time. He was going to break a promise to himself.
"I wish to be in the city of Arch at dawn tomorrow," he whispered. "And this will be the last wish I ever make."
The fish's scales pulsed with a sickly, yellow light. Brian felt a dizzying pull, a sensation of being stretched and twisted, and then everything went black.
He woke with the first light of morning painting the sky. The familiar smell of the mountain's pine and earth was gone, replaced by the scent of a bustling city. The sound of wagons on cobblestone and the distant cries of market vendors filled the air. He was standing in a small alleyway, his tent and the basket with the fish still miraculously beside him.
He had arrived. He had also already broken his new promise to himself. He stood up, feeling a profound weariness, and stepped out of the alley. The city was different, taller buildings and new faces, but some things were the same. The lion's head fountain was in the distance, just as he remembered it.
Brian walked toward it, his heart pounding. The boy who was once the wealthiest, most hated child in Arch had returned, not to reclaim a fortune, but to find a forgotten coffin and a lost piece of his soul. He reached the fountain, and as he stood before the stone lion's eye, he saw that the spiral was not just a carving; it was a deep indentation, a small hole. He reached out and touched it, wondering what to do next.