News
A weekly dispatch from the edge of myth, history, and dangerous knowledge.
- A newly discovered Roman tomb beneath Naples has reignited debate over lost imperial relics.
Archaeologists say the chamber was deliberately concealed, its symbols erased from surrounding records. History, it seems, rarely stays buried.
- Researchers scanning the Scottish Highlands with LiDAR have identified previously unknown stone formations, aligned with solstice patterns older than Stonehenge. The question isn’t who built them — it’s why they were forgotten.
- A sealed medieval manuscript has been decoded after centuries, revealing a map believed to reference an unrecorded pilgrimage route — and a site deliberately omitted from Church archives. Some roads were erased for a reason.
Previously in Bushranger’s Treasure
Some photographs should not exist.
This one survived a flood, a century, and a murder. Michelle Cruise traced it back to forgotten lore — and discovered she wasn’t the only one interested. Ghost lights. A body dated to the 1800s. And someone clearly trying to control who gets close.
Chapter Three - Ghost of Nerang River Part 2
They followed the track along the river, the air thick with humidity, shadows stretching long between the trees.
A branch snapped.
Michelle’s head whipped around. “Did you hear that?”
He had. A faint rustle. He scanned the bushes. “Someone’s watching us.”
“Ooooh,” Michelle hooted with a playful giggle. “The bushranger’s ghost guarding his loot…”
Martin didn’t smile. “Last time I was here, I saw the lights, too.”
A beat.
“A few steps behind me.”
Michelle tilted her head, eyes doubtful. “Following you?”
“I thought—kids, at first. Campers messing around with torches.” His jaw tightened. “But the lights moved too smoothly. Too steady. And they kept the same distance—no matter how fast or slow I walked. Even when I changed direction.”
“Did you report it?”
He snorted softly. “And say what? I've been chased by ghost lights?”
"Fair dinkum," Michelle chuckled, then shook her head. "But something’s off. I don’t think it’s ghosts. Someone’s trying to scare people away from this spot.”
“Then why send you a photo?” he countered. “That would do the opposite.”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Different person. Different agenda. Coincidence? Or someone wants my help finding the stash.”
“Either way, you’re saying all this is just staged.” He scanned the treeline, jaw tight.
“Unless,” she smirked, “you believe in ghosts.”
A faint splash echoed across the water.
Michelle turned sharply — just in time to see a pale fin slice the surface before disappearing again.
“Shark,” he muttered, following her gaze.
“Of course,” she said with a nod. “Nerang—an old Aboriginal word for little shark.”
“Yeah, they wander upstream sometimes.” He stopped and pointed at a boulder. Half-submerged in the water, weathered but unmistakable.
“Here we are.”
Michelle pushed through the reeds, crouching beside it. Her fingers traced the carving. “Looks authentic,” she said. “But we’ll need experts to confirm.”
She leaned closer, eyes narrowed — puzzle‑mode engaged.
Martin watched her, arms folded.
“I think it’s directional,” Michelle said finally. “These two marks are pointing—” She straightened, following the invisible line. “There.”
He frowned. “That ground’s unstable.”
She ignored it — typical Michelle — and rushed ahead to the gnarled old gum on the water’s edge. She circled it slowly, examining the trunk, then pointed up. “Come here, Martin. Check this out.”
“At your service, Princess,” he chuckled, stepping closer.
And there it was. An anchor. Carved into the hardwood.
"Well, Detective," Michelle looked at him, one eyebrow raised delicately. "It looks like I found your treasure. It's buried under the tree.”
He glanced at the exposed roots, the soil soft from last night’s rain, and crouched to inspect the cavity beneath them. "Well, if anything was here, it’s gone now.”
Then something pale caught his eye.
Not wood.
He swore. “Stay where you are, Michelle.”
Of course, she didn't. She crouched beside him.
“We found her,” she said quietly.
“Who?”
“The crying girl from the lore.”
Martin was already reaching for his phone. “I’m calling this in.”
Michelle stood up, her gaze drifting back to the river.
The surface rippled again. A fin broke the water. Then another.
And somewhere behind them—in the trees—a soft metallic click echoed.
Michelle turned, scanning the bushes.
Someone was out there.
They weren’t alone—and the sharks weren’t the most dangerous hunters in the river. More next Friday.
If you’re drawn to ancient symbols, hidden pathways, and legends that refuse to die, Oriana: Legendary Adventure explores what happens when myth collides with destiny — and curiosity could kill.
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