The boxes’ traps no longer pose any issue now that their inner mechanisms are clearly understood. Wait long enough, and the bored, sleepy goblins guarding and servicing the area will also all eagerly leave. The walking sticks only come for a brief moment to perform whatever music they muster, then immediately leave via portal. That behavior has also been thoroughly confirmed. It’s not exactly challenging to find a safe, quiet moment to finally risk peeking inside.

  However, two important issues still do remain. First, what exactly is it that the sticks are doing? Is it dangerous? Will it tattle on me? Second, the boxes are all firmly shut. At least, that’s what it looks like when inspecting from a safe distance. There doesn’t even seem to be any seam between the lid and base, as if it’s all one solid piece.

  Regardless, all these silly problems will inevitably be solved by my clever genius. Today’s the day. It’ll only take a little bit of patience, careful observation, and an adequate test subject.

  “Ha’koff!” I yell over to the corner where I’ve hidden him, masquerading as an oversized, slumbering ground shrew.

  As he stirs from his usual cowering, the simple, covering illusion shatters to pieces and reveals the haggard, dark eyed goblin.

  Perfect, he’s ready. Scurrying over to his side, I grab his leash and lead him over near the chest.

  “Der! Gew. Tak,” I encouragingly explain, vigorously nodding my head and pointing at the golden opportunity. “Con hol. Gew fras.”

  Ha’koff pauses, sullenly staring at me, then at the box, and then back at me again. His forlorn, sunken face clearly indicates a total unwillingness to follow my command, but it’s no matter. All it takes is a sharp kick to send him splaying perilously towards the box. Simply seeing what happens when someone touches it is most of this experiment anyways. No finesse required!

  Clumsily tripping on his own two feet and stumbling, Ha’koff topples over onto the box. Luckily for the both of us, the cavernous room stays completely silent. Nothing happening, right? No suddenly appearing angry sticks? No sticky arcane traps? Good, good. That almost certainly means that nothing will happen to me either.

  Scrambling over to join, I carefully run my hands all along the sides of the box, searching for anything that might meaningfully stand out. The material feels exactly like the wood that the big ones love so much, but nowhere near as weak and brittle. Sadly, that rules out smashing it open with a rock.

  Squatting down and concentrating, power runs from core to eyes, opening up an entirely new existence around me. Then a little jolt rocks my body.

  Oh! It’s been so, so long for these songs. They’re so frustratingly difficult to improve. Unlike my beautiful hands. Generally, the higher and higher that songs go, the more they resist further composition. Regardless, the timing of this fortuitous gift in particular is very prescient.

  Riffling through all the different conceptual filters in my possession, not so much as a tiny crack appears on the box. What gives? Are they only meant as decorations? Knocking a few times on various different spots, it certainly sounds hollow inside. There must be a way in. Otherwise, why bother with all this effort?

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  About to miserably give up, I realize that there’s still one perceptual concept that I left out: the ladder. After all, that’d be weird, wouldn’t it? The ladder’s an incredibly personal thing. A part of one’s own will and status. Therefore, it’s supposed to be inside not outside. That first stick did use it to write to me though. Desperate times call for desperate measures!

  Casually switching over to my last, slim chance for victory, the room brightly lights up all at once. My eyes are raging in a fiery pain induced by the sudden, amplified signal. My body responds automatically, pushing more and more energy to my eyes in a desperate attempt to save them. At first, the confused, swirling, internal energy only makes the situation worse, adding total chaos to fan the flames. However, a few seconds later, the pain recedes. Much dimmer, little lights now appear, happily dancing in my sorely clearing vision.

  Ugh. The muscles in my eyes are far more important than I realized. In this case, they appear to have helped by heavily restricting what the pupils allow inside? Ow, ow! No more sudden, speculative movements to check. At this rate, I’ll need another mud rest soon.

  Curious. So, the walking sticks really were using the ladder during their performances on the boxes? That’s bizarre. Does that mean that the boxes themselves may sing if prompted properly? Can they also sneak and steal? Can they stab and burn? Oh, oh! Can they make pockets?!

  Freshly motivating energy overflowing, I comb over every square inch of the intricate patterns embedded into the box. The threads here don’t make a lick of sense, but oddly, a few of them spread out onto the floor. Following one of the errant threads, I trace it all the way over to a slumbering beast in the corner. One of those brought here by the goblin teams.

  What gives? Why would the sticks tie the beasts to the box? Are they meant as guards? Maybe in order to open the box, the beasts must first be defeated. No, no, no, that won’t do. That won’t do at all. If I bother them with a single stab or slash, then they’ll awake and smash me to pieces. They’re far, far too big and strong for one tiny goblin. Even if it’s a particularly amazing one.

  Thinking hard, I decide to directly intervene in the construction. First, Ha’koff gets dragged outside into a side tunnel and redisguised as an innocuous, inedible pile of dirt. Hurrying back to the box and crouching down low, I add one more innocent, ignorable rock to the room. Even if it is a little funny looking and misshapen. Finally, power moves from core to claw, and I begin my precarious experiment.

  After a few minutes, sawing at the thread has proven incredibly ineffective. Even with an empowered claw. What’s wrong? This works so well with the spacial energies. It’s practically second nature by now.

  Tensing up in a sour annoyance at myself, I’ve done it again. The ladder demands mud. Proper mud! Not this silly, toyish energy. Pricking a finger, I draw my blood out onto a claw and return to my work. This time, progress is very clearly made. It still takes a great deal of time, but the threads clearly thin and thin and thin until eventually snapping. Four beasts, four threads. Done!

  As soon as the last thread breaks, the box briefly glows a soft, purplish hew as if celebrating my courageous victory. The rejoicing light traces around the sides of the chest, carefully outlining a clear seam between the top and bottom. Jolting up and out of my disguise, I rush to open the box.

  However, as my hands lift the heavy lid, tiny ladder threads pounce out from the crack and into my eyes. In shock, I tumble backwards, waving my arms in front of my face to fruitlessly mount a desperate defense. A moment later it’s over. The threads are gone, and the box finished opening on its own.

  Giant beasts, dangerous big ones, and immeasurable, mystical existences hiding in the void. Danger hides around every corner, menacingly threatening to snatch my precious first mud away from me. However, despite all this, it never ceases. This terrible, terrible greed will certainly be the death of me.