John was the wealthiest man in the city of Arch, controlling about two-thirds of its economy. His son, Brian, was only seven years old and widely disliked for his bullying and bad attitude. No one dared to discipline the boy, fearing John's immense power.
One fateful day, John was driving to his company, which was engulfed in flames. He never made it. His car was in a fatal accident, and he died on the scene. By the time emergency services arrived, his company was a total loss.
With John gone, his wife, Felicia, and their son, Brian, were left with nothing but their house. All of John's assets were tied up in complex investments that only he knew how to access. Felicia was left with her own personal bank account, which contained a significant two hundred million dollars. She believed it would be enough to start over.
At John's burial, a sudden storm descended upon the city, scattering the mourners and blowing away the coffin. The next day, the coffin was nowhere to be found. It was a mystery that remained unsolved.
Years passed, and Brian, now thirty-two, had left home to make his own way in the world. He lived alone in a tent on the Mount of Olive in a place called Rone. Brian had become the most skilled fisherman in the area, a trade he learned from a kind man named Mr. Stone. He had lived with Mr. Stone for two years after leaving home, but eventually, he felt the need for his own space and moved to the mountain.
One night, Brian was pulled from his sleep by a bright light. He found himself in a strange, cold place with an iced-over ground. A man approached him, holding only a fishing hook. Brian prepared for a fight, but the man spoke gently. "Do you remember me?" he asked. Brian said no, and the man revealed that he was John, Brian's father.
John explained that he had been granted the grace to wait for Brian in this place so that he could offer him a wish. He told Brian to make the wish himself, as he was no longer a child. John then instructed Brian to crack the ice, cast his hook into the water below, and pull out what he found. Brian did so and caught a fish that could talk—a wishing fish, a genie. John told Brian to place a piece of ice on the wound caused by the hook, and the fish instantly healed. In that moment, John disappeared.
Brian woke up in his tent, two days having passed. The most surprising thing was the talking fish in his basket. He rushed to Mr. Stone to tell him what happened, but his friend didn't believe him. Frustrated, Brian went back to his tent and asked the fish what he should do.
"You're my master; your wish is my command," the fish replied. When Brian asked what it could do, the fish said, "Anything that deals with wealth." It explained that while other magical fish existed, it could only grant wishes for wealth. The fish also told Brian that his wishes were unlimited and that he would be its master forever. Overjoyed, Brian wished for one hundred dollars, and it instantly appeared. The fish then revealed that there were only two options to keep it alive.
Brian stared at the talking fish, a small, shimmering creature with scales the color of a hundred-dollar bill. "Two options?" he repeated, his mind racing. He had already tested the fish's power, and the crisp note now in his pocket felt very, very real.
The fish, its tiny gills fluttering, explained. "To sustain my magic, I require one of two things: a sacrifice or a promise. Every time you make a wish, you must either offer me a personal possession of great sentimental value, or you must make a promise to someone and then break it."
Brian was silent, the excitement draining from his face. "Break a promise? You mean, lie?"
"A promise broken is a promise unmade," the fish responded simply. "It provides the energy I need. As for the other option, the sacrifice must be something you truly cherish. The more you care about the item, the more powerful my magic becomes. A simple item will grant a simple wish; a cherished heirloom will grant a wish of great magnitude."
Brian thought of the hundred dollars he had just wished for. He hadn't given the fish anything in return. "What about the first wish I made?" he asked.
"That was a test, a greeting," the fish said. "From now on, the rules apply. You must choose.
For days, Brian wrestled with the choice. The idea of breaking a promise to someone felt wrong, a reminder of the boy he used to be. He thought about his old friend, Mr. Stone, and how much he valued their friendship. The last thing he wanted was to deceive him.
He looked around his tent. He had so little, but he did have one thing he truly cherished: the fishing hook John, his father, had used in the strange, iced-over land. It was the only tangible link he had to his father's last moments, a hook that now felt like a relic. It was a simple, tarnished piece of metal, but to Brian, it was priceless.
That evening, a terrible hunger gnawed at him. He hadn't fished in days, distracted by the talking fish. He made his choice. Holding the hook in his hand, he felt a pang of sadness but knew what he had to do.
"I wish for a feast," he said, holding the hook out to the fish. "A meal so grand it could feed a king."
The fish's scales shimmered brightly as if absorbing the energy from the hook. The hook itself seemed to grow duller, its metal losing some of its sheen. And just like that, the small, cold tent was filled with the aroma of roasted meat, fresh bread, and sweet fruits—a spread that was almost obscene in its abundance. Brian ate until he was full, the weight of his choice heavy on his mind. He had sacrificed his most cherished possession for a meal.
That night, Brian dreamt of the iced land again. His father, John, was there, but this time his face was clouded with sorrow.
"My son," John said, his voice echoing, "do you understand what you have done? You have the power to make wishes, but that power comes at a cost. The wishing fish does not simply give; it takes. The things you sacrifice, the promises you break—they are pieces of yourself, fragments of your soul that you will never get back."
Brian, shocked, tried to defend himself. "But I need this power. I don't want to be poor anymore. I don't want to live in this tent."
John sighed, his form growing faint. "Wealth is a tool, not a measure of a man. The fortune I had meant nothing in the end. The storm took my coffin, not because it hated me, but because what lay inside was not my body, but a clue. A final message, a warning that wealth without a soul is just an empty vessel."
Before Brian could ask more, the dream began to fade. John's last words echoed in the cold air: "The coffin is not lost, Brian. It is a puzzle. Find it, and you will understand the true meaning of what I left for you."
Brian woke up in a sweat. The dream felt more real than his waking life. The scent of the feast was still in the air, but the feeling of joy was gone, replaced by a deep sense of dread. The fish lay motionless in the basket, its scales now a muted, faded color. Brian looked at his hands, thinking of the sacrifices and broken promises that lay ahead. He had his wish, but he also had a riddle to solve, and the first step was to find a coffin that had been lost for twenty-five years.