The Lost Letter or Captain Morrow

They speak of my death because they can’t explain my absence.

Let them.

The kings, the cartographers, the petty captains who begged for their lives —
They all watched me burn the charts, scuttle the fleet, and vanish into open sea.

Not out of fear.
Out of design.

The gold was real. The relics were older than language.
But none of it was ever meant for fools with clean hands.

I didn’t bury the treasure.
I enshrined it.

The signs remain — carved into rock, bone, and salt.
The marks still holds, though blood’s been spilled over it tenfold.

If you’ve found this, you’ve passed the first test.
Say the word: EORRGORFN

But say it only once.
The gate doesn’t open twice.

— Morrow

 

***Hint: Not all letters sail straight. Some drift three knots east.