Chapter Text
Dewey woke up was the way he did everything else in life—loudly, enthusiastically, and with absolutely zero regard for anyone trying to sleep within a fifty-foot radius.
Both his brothers had their opinions about this. Although, Dewey hardly noted them with any significant importance.
Could you even call Louie throwing a pillow angrily from the bottom bunk an opinion?
Nah..
He shoved the tangled mess of blankets off with both feet, sending them cascading over the edge of the bed in a blue avalanche. His arms stretched high above his head as he let out a yawn so loud and satisfied it could've woken half of Duckburg.
Looking around their room, he outwardly cringed.
Well, this was a disaster. He thought, tilting his head with a slight hiss.
Not unusual, exactly — the bunk room existed in a permanent state of managed decline — but this was a special disaster, a five-day-adventure-streak disaster.
Above him, he heard the distinct sound of his older brother shifting in the top bunk—a slight creak of springs, a soft groan of someone who'd been yanked from sleep but was trying very hard to pretend otherwise.
Dewey couldn’t help the grin at his beak.
Huey was definitely awake now, probably already mentally composing a lecture about "indoor voices" and "consideration for others."
He lay there a moment in the early morning light and listened.
Huey’s breathing, slow and even, the exact rhythm that had put Dewey to sleep every night of his entire life.
Below him, Louie, snoring like a chainsaw with a personal vendetta, occasionally mumbling.
Dewey complained about both, constantly, for the record. But they were both soothing in a way, that comforted him deeply (he’d never admit that to them of course) but that didn’t make it any less true.
He stretched again, another wide yawn escaping him as he tried to properly wake up.
Scrooge had another adventure planned for today, right? At least this one was supposed to be easy, or so his great-uncle claimed. You couldn’t be too sure with that old man.
…
Okay..maybe he had also been a wee bit distracted last night—he was tired! Who listens to long winded speeches when they’re tired? Nobody!
Dewey had been half-asleep on the plane ride home from yesterday's disaster while his great-uncle explained the boring details, so he'd only caught about half of what was said..
But far as he knew, they weren't about to get chased by monsters, cursed by ancient magic, or nearly die. Which, honestly, counted as a relaxing day by McDuck standards!
Even Dewey—Dewey, who had never once in his life met a cliff he didn’t want to jump off — was quietly, privately grateful for that.
Five days..
Five back-to-back adventures, which on its own wasn’t anything too crazy. But early mornings and late nights too? Uncle Scrooge must be on some kind of tear.
Dewey usually lived for that kind of thing—danger, excitement, the thrill of the unknown—but even he had to admit he was feeling it. His muscles ached in places he didn't know he had muscles. He'd fallen asleep mid-sentence twice yesterday!
Now, in the soft morning light, Dewey could see the evidence of their exhaustion everywhere. Dirty shirts draped over the desk chair. A half-empty bag of chips that had definitely been opened three days ago. Huey's meticulously organized bookshelf, which now had books shoved in backwards and upside down because nobody had the energy to care. One of Dewey's blue shirts was hanging from the ceiling fan for reasons he couldn't quite remember..
Dewey rolled onto his stomach and peered over the edge of his bunk, squinting down at the bottom level.
Sure enough, his youngest brother was sprawled across his mattress like a starfish that had given up on life. Louie's green hoodie—the same one he'd been wearing yesterday, and probably the day before that—was twisted around his torso at an angle that looked deeply uncomfortable.
Dewey grinned mischievously.
Louie’s blankets were tangled around his legs in what could only be described as a fabric crime scene, and his beak was hanging open slightly as he snored.
Every few seconds, Louie would mumble something incomprehensible. Dewey caught the word "shiny" at least twice.
He gripped the bed frame, swung down further, further — until he was hanging fully upside down, face-to-face with his brother, six inches away.
Louie didn't even twitch.
The snoring continued, steady and oblivious.
"Lou," Dewey whispered, barely suppressing a laugh. "Louieeeee."
Nothing. Not even a flicker of awareness.
Dewey reached down and poked Louie's cheek. Still nothing.
"Wow," Dewey muttered to himself. "You really do sleep like the dead, huh?"
He was about to poke Louie again—maybe a little harder this time—when his grip on the edge of the bunk slipped. Maybe he’d been more sore and tired than he initially realized.
Either way, for one glorious, weightless moment, Dewey hung suspended in the air, his brain catching up to what his body already knew.
Uh-oh..
Then gravity kicked in, and he plummeted face-first directly onto Louie.
The impact knocked the wind out of both of them.
The sound Louie made was less a scream than the noise a bagpipe makes when you step on it.
Louie's eyes snapped open, and for a moment, he just stared at the bottom of Dewey’s bunk with the blank, haunted expression of someone who'd been violently ripped from a very good dream.
Then his brain caught up.
"Dewey," Louie growled, his voice rough with sleep and simmering homicidal intent. "I will actually kill you."
Dewey, still tangled in blankets and sprawled half on top of his brother, grinned sheepishly. "Morning?"
Louie didn't even dignify that with a response.
Instead, he planted one webbed foot against Dewey's chest and shoved, sending Dewey tumbling gracelessly off the bed and onto the floor with a loud thump.
"Ow," Dewey groaned from his new position on the floor, staring up at the underside of Louie's bunk. "Rude."
"You fell on me," Louie muttered, already pulling the blankets back over his head. His voice was muffled but unmistakably annoyed.
“You need to get up anyway,” Dewey quickly interjected from the floor.
"Finee, just five more minutes," Louie mumbled, burrowing deeper into his cocoon of blankets.
Dewey sat up, rubbing his head where it had smacked against the floor. "Dude, you know Scrooge is gonna come in here and drag you out of bed if you don't get up."
“Don’t care.”
Dewey stood up. Dusted himself off. Took hold of the corner of the blanket.
One eye slid open again, narrow and warning.
“Don’t,” Louie mumbled. “You. Dare.”
Dewey absolutely dared.
He yanked — and the blankets came off the bed, and Louie came with them, hitting the floor with a grunt and a thud.
There was a long pause.
Then Louie, without opening his eyes, burrowed deeper into the pile of blankets on the floor and settled in.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll sleep here.”
There was suddenly a long, suffering sigh.
A sound that did not belong to either brother currently on the floor. "Can you two please not start the day by giving each other concussions?"
Above them, the top bunk creaked.
Dewey looked up to find Huey peering over the rail at the two of them with an expression of profound, sleepy deadpan— the look of a duck who had watched this exact sequence unfold roughly nine hundred times and had run out of reactions somewhere around number forty.
“I didn't give him a concussion," Dewey protested, brushing dust off his rumpled blue onesie. "I just... fell on him. A little."
"You launched yourself at me like a deranged cannonball," Louie corrected from beneath his blanket fortress, his voice dripping with sarcasm even through the fabric.
"That's a bit dramatic—"
"Dewey." Huey's voice had that particular tone that meant he was approximately three seconds away from launching into Full Responsible Older Brother Mode. "Just help me get him up so we can get ready.”
Even through his exhaustion, a spark of excitement flared in his chest.
Adventure!
Sure, they'd been running ragged all week, but this one was supposed to be easy. Quick in and out, Scrooge had said so himself.
And honestly, after five days of death-defying chaos, "easy" sounded pretty good to everyone.
Huey was already climbing down from the top bunk, moving with the careful precision of someone who'd done this a thousand times. His red shirt from yesterday was wrinkled and dirty, his feathers were sticking up at odd angles, but he still somehow managed to look more put-together than either of his brothers.
He landed lightly on the floor and immediately started scanning the room, probably cataloging exactly how much of a disaster it was.
"Okay," Huey said, more to himself than anyone else. "We need to get cleaned up, get dressed, eat breakfast, and be ready to go in..." He glanced at the clock on the wall and winced. "Forty-five minutes. That's doable. Totally doable."
"Totally doable," Dewey agreed, nodding enthusiastically.
Then he looked down at Louie, who had somehow managed to wrap himself even more tightly in his blankets and was now essentially a green-and-white feathered burrito of denial.
“Uh. Huey? I think we have a problem."
Huey followed his gaze and sighed. "Louie. Come on. Let's just get ready. I'm sure Scrooge will—"
"If you say 'I'm sure Scrooge will make it fun,' you’ll join Dewey in being disowned as my brother," Louie interrupted, his voice muffled but unmistakably grumpy.
“Hey!” Dewey rolled his eyes and exchanged a look with Huey.
His older brother's expression was a mix of sympathy and determination—the same look he got whenever he was trying to solve a particularly difficult problem.
"Look," Huey said, his voice gentler now. "I know we've been doing a lot this week. And I know you're tired. We're all tired." He paused, and Dewey saw him glance up at the top bunk, where his own unmade bed was still a mess of tangled sheets. "But this is supposed to be an easy one. Just a quick trip for Scrooge, and then we're done."
There was a long moment of silence.
Then, slowly, the blanket burrito shifted.
One green-sleeved arm emerged, followed by a noise like a dying engine. But he got up — untangling himself from the sheets and with a great deal of muttering, shuffled toward the bathroom.
“Jeeze,” Dewey said, as the bathroom door slammed. “He’s cranky.”
“Well.” Huey said softly, rubbing his eyes with the heel of one hand.
“Uncle Scrooge has been really… pushy about this week? Pushy’s the right word, I think. If we’re this tired, imagine Louie.”
Dewey turned to his older brother, who was already pulling open dresser drawers and sorting through clean clothes with practiced efficiency.
Unfortunately, as much as he hated to admit Huey was right, he had a point.
Louie complained after just two days of back-to-back adventures, and they'd been going for five straight. Five days of early mornings, late nights, running, climbing, fighting, and generally not getting nearly enough time to just... exist.
Yeah. Okay. Louie was allowed to be cranky, just this once..
Dewey quickly changed out of his rumpled blue onesie and into his signature blue shirts, the familiar fabric settling comfortably against his feathers. Huey was doing the same beside him, smoothing out the wrinkles in his red shirt and carefully tucking his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook into his cap. Even exhausted and running on minimal sleep, Huey still had his routines.
The bathroom door opened.
Louie emerged, eyes still half-lidded, muttering something under his breath that contained the words “great-uncle,” “strangle,” and “sleep schedule.”
Dewey snickered and Huey grabbed a clean hoodie from the bottom drawer and tossed it.
It hit Louie squarely in the chest and dropped to the floor, because Louie’s hands had not been informed the throw was happening.
He looked down at it.
Looked back up at his brothers.
Said nothing whatsoever, in a way that communicated a great deal, then picked the hoodie up off the floor and shuffled out of the room.
A moment later, the old dirty hoodie sailed back in through the doorway and landed on the floor.
“Seriously?—” Huey started.
“Wow,” said Dewey. “Okay come on, we gotta beat him downstairs or there won’t be any bacon.”
They exchanged amused looks and quickly followed their youngest brother out into the hallway.
~
The smell hit them before they even reached the kitchen—Beakley was still setting the table, laying out platters with the brisk, unhurried competence of a woman who could have fed a small army and occasionally did. Eggs, toast, a mountain of cinnamon rolls, bowls of fruit, two pitchers of orange juice — and at the center, glorious and non-negotiable, the bacon.
Dewey's stomach growled loudly, reminding him that he'd been too tired to eat much dinner last night.
He immediately claimed the seat next to Webby, who was already vibrating with her usual morning energy.
Seriously, where did she get it? Did she just not need sleep? Was she solar-powered?
"Dewey!" Webby greeted him with a huge grin, practically bouncing in her seat.
"Good morning! Did you sleep well? Are you excited? I'm so excited! Huey and I were reading about the caves last night on the plane and they sound amazing—there are these bioluminescent plants that only grow in specific mineral conditions, and the crystals themselves are formed through—"
"Webby," Dewey laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "It's like six in the morning. Maybe save some of that energy for the actual adventure?"
Webby's grin didn't dim even slightly. "This is me saving energy?“
“Well anyway, I slept great. Fell off my bunk onto Louie.”
“On purpose?”
No. “Mostly...”
Beside Dewey, Louie slumped into his chair with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. Duckworth appeared at his elbow with a pitcher of orange juice, and Louie—still half-asleep—immediately tried to drink from his empty glass.
Dewey and Webby both burst out laughing.
Louie slowly turned to glare at them, his empty glass still raised to his beak. The look of pure, unadulterated death in his eyes was enough to shut them both up immediately.
"Sorry," Dewey said, though he was still grinning. "Sorry, that was just—"
"Don't," Louie warned, finally setting down his glass so Duckworth could actually fill it.
Huey settled into his seat across the table, already reaching for the fruit bowl with one hand while pulling out his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook with the other.
Mom came through with her plate, her energy matching Webby's as she made her way around the table. She ruffled Dewey's head feathers as she passed, and he leaned into the touch automatically, grinning up at her.
"Morning, Mom!"
"Morning, Dew-drop," she said warmly, moving on to Louie and reaching out to ruffle his feathers too.
Louie, with the reflexes of someone who'd been through this routine a thousand times, gently pushed her hand away with a tired groan. "Mom. Please. Too early."
Della just laughed and continued to her seat between Huey and Scrooge, who was already seated at the head of the table with a newspaper in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.
Dewey loaded up his plate with everything within reach—eggs, bacon, toast, fruit, a cinnamon roll that was probably still too hot to eat but he didn't care. His stomach was demanding tribute, and he was happy to oblige.
Beside him, Louie had claimed approximately half the bacon pile and an entire cinnamon roll, and called the meal complete.
"Save some for the rest of us?" Della asked, raising an eyebrow at her youngest son's plate, but smiling nonetheless.
Louie rolled his eyes, and answered by shoving a piece of bacon into his beak.
The table settled into comfortable breakfast chaos—the clinking of silverware, quiet conversations, Webby enthusiastically explaining cave geology to anyone who would listen.
Dewey was halfway through his eggs when Scrooge set down his newspaper with a decisive -thwap that made everyone look up.
Dewey stiffened slightly.
Beside him, he felt Louie and Webby do the same. That sound—that particular way Scrooge set down his newspaper—usually meant he was about to say something important.
Scrooge took a slow sip of his tea, set it down carefully, and looked around the table at his family. His expression was... softer than usual. Almost apologetic.
Well that’s new..
"I've been thinking," he began, his Scottish accent rolling through the words. "And I may have been getting a wee bit carried away with our adventures this week."
Louie perked up slightly, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "Really? You think?"
Scrooge shot him a look, but there was no real heat in it. "Aye, lad. I know it's been a lot. Five adventures in five days is... well, it's a bit much, even for us." He paused, and Dewey could see something like guilt flicker across his uncle's face. "So I'm making ye all a promise. After today's adventure, we're taking the weekend off. Completely off. No treasure hunts, no ancient curses, no death-defying escapes. Just family time."
Della smiled, reaching over to squeeze Scrooge's arm. "That sounds perfect."
"We could have a game night!" Webby suggested excitedly. "Or a movie night! Or both!"
"I vote anything but game night," Louie said immediately, his voice surprisingly firm despite the exhaustion weighing on every word.
Every head at the table turned toward him.
"What?" Louie asked, lifting his hands defensively.
He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly finding the tabletop very interesting.
"Besides..." he muttered, "our family's got kind of a history with game nights."
There was a beat of silence. Everyone at the table remembered, at the same moment and with varying degrees of trauma, the last game night.
Scrooge’s mouth twitched.
“Fair enough, lad. A film, then. And we’ll see if we can drag your uncle Donald in from the boat and make a proper family night of it. Daisy and the girls too, perhaps.”
Dewey felt a surge of excitement at that.
Uncle Donald hadn't been able to visit in weeks—he'd been busy with his own adventures on the boat. Having everyone together, just relaxing and watching movies, sounded perfect.
Huey was nodding enthusiastically, already popping another strawberry into his beak.
Across the table, Della and Webby exchanged happy glances, and even Louie looked slightly more awake at the prospect of a genuine, no-strings-attached weekend off.
Then Scrooge's expression shifted, and Dewey felt his stomach drop slightly.
He knew that look.
That was Scrooge's "but first" look.
"However," Scrooge continued, and yerp, there it was, "before we can enjoy our well-deserved rest, I have one more adventure planned for today."
Louie visibly deflated beside Dewey, his brief spark of energy extinguishing like a candle in the wind.
He slumped forward until his forehead was nearly touching his plate, letting out a groan that sounded like it came from the depths of his soul.
“—and don’t ye look at me like that,” Scrooge added quickly, pointing his teaspoon. “This one’s a quick in-and-out. Truly. The plane ride there and back is the only real time killer. In, collect, out, home.”
"So?" Della asked, leaning forward with interest. "What are we after today?"
Scrooge gestured vaguely toward Huey and Webby, who both immediately sat up straighter, their eyes lighting up with the particular gleam of people who'd done their research and were dying to share it.
"Cave Crystals to be exact!" Webby burst out, barely able to contain her excitement.
"They're located about two hours north of here, in a mountain range that most people don't even know exists because the entrance is hidden behind a waterfall and—"
"And the caves themselves are filled with naturally occurring crystals that have unique properties," Huey continued, pulling out his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook and flipping to a bookmarked page. "Each crystal type does something different—some store energy, some amplify light, some even have minor magical properties. The Junior Woodchuck Guidebook has an entire section on geological formations and—"
"But the best part," Webby interrupted, her voice rising with enthusiasm, "is that the caves are completely beautiful! There are these bioluminescent plants that grow on the walls and ceiling, and they create this amazing glow that makes the whole place look like something out of a fairy tale. The crystals reflect the light and—"
"And they're worth a lot of money," Scrooge added with a knowing smile, his eyes twinkling.
The effect was immediate.
Louie's head snapped up from where it had been resting near his plate. His eyes, which had been half-closed with exhaustion just seconds ago, were suddenly sharp and focused.
"Money?" he repeated, his voice taking on a tone that Dewey recognized immediately.
This was Louie's "business voice"—the one he used when he was calculating profit margins and investment returns in his head. Boring.
“Lad,” Scrooge said, “there are collectors who’d sell their own mother for a single intact specimen.”
Dewey blinked and Louie was out of his chair.
"Okay. Okay, now I'm interested. Why didn't you lead with that?" He was already heading toward the direction of the plane, moving faster than Dewey had seen him move all morning. "Come on, slow pokes! Time is money! Literally, in this case!"
Dewey sighed, and rolled his eyes but he jumped up from his seat, his own excitement building.
Sure, he was tired. Sure, his muscles still ached from the past week. But this was what they did. This was adventure, family, and the promise of something amazing waiting just around the corner.
"Let’s go!" Dewey yelled, his voice echoing through the dining room as he bolted after Louie.
Behind him, he heard Webby's chair screech against the floor as she jumped up to follow.
Huey was carefully tucking his guidebook back into his hat while simultaneously trying to grab one more piece of toast.
Dewey caught up to Louie in the hallway, and together they raced toward the mansion's entrance, their footsteps echoing off the walls. The exhaustion was still there, lurking in the background, but it was buried under layers of excitement and anticipation.
Behind them, Dewey could hear the rest of the family following—Webby's excited chatter, Huey's reminder to "please be careful and watch where you're going,"
Della's laughter, Scrooge's amused grumbling about ”young people and their energy."
Dewey burst through the mansion's back doors and into the bright morning sunlight, Louie right beside him, both of them racing toward where the plane sat waiting on the lawn.
In and out. Easy, right?
_____________
The plane tilted sharply to the left, and Huey's stomach lurched with it.
He gripped the edge of his seat with one hand while the other instinctively went to his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook, tucked safely in his cap.
The plane righted itself after a moment, settling back into something approximating level flight, and Huey let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
Across from him, Webby didn't even look up from her notes.
"According to my research," she said, tapping her pencil against a diagram she'd sketched, "the bioluminescent plants in the caves are a species that's only been documented three times in recorded history. They require very specific mineral conditions to grow—high concentrations of phosphorus and calcium carbonate, plus complete darkness for at least eighteen hours a day."
Huey nodded, pulling out his own notebook to compare. "The Junior Woodchuck Guidebook mentions them too. It says they're called “Luminaria cavernarum”, and they produce light through a chemical reaction similar to fireflies, but sustained over much longer periods." He flipped to the page he'd bookmarked earlier. "There's a whole section on cave ecosystems and how—"
The plane lurched again, this time dipping forward before leveling out with a shudder that rattled through the entire cabin.
Huey's beak snapped shut mid-sentence.
Webby finally glanced up, her eyes flicking toward the cockpit where Della sat at the controls, humming cheerfully to herself. "Is it just me," she said carefully, "or is the flying a little more... unstable than usual?"
"It's not just you," Huey confirmed, his voice tight.
He'd been trying not to think about it for the past hour and forty-five minutes. Instead trying to focus on his research, on the adventure ahead, on anything except the fact that every few minutes, the plane would tilt or dip or shudder in a way that made his feathers stand on end.
It wasn't that Della was a bad pilot, exactly. She was just... enthusiastic. And sometimes that enthusiasm translated into flight patterns that defied several laws of physics and at least two regulations from the Federal Aviation Administration—plus, he acknowledged that she was also probably exhausted from the past few days.
Another tilt, this time to the right.
Huey's notes slid across the small crate between him and Webby, and he had to slap his hand down to keep them from falling to the floor.
"Okay," Webby said, setting down her pencil with deliberate calm. "Maybe we should put the research away for now."
Huey wanted to argue—they still had at least fifteen minutes of flight time left, and there was so much more to discuss about crystal formation and cave geology—but another shudder ran through the plane, and he found himself nodding instead.
"Yeah. Good idea."
He carefully gathered his notes and tucked them into his hat, making sure everything was secure. Across the aisle, he could see Dewey and Scrooge playing cards, seemingly unbothered by the erratic flight.
Dewey was grinning as he laid down what looked like a winning hand, and Scrooge was grumbling good-naturedly.
How were they so calm?
Behind them, Louie was curled up in his seat, fast asleep despite the turbulence. His green hoodie was pulled up over his head like a makeshift blanket, and he was snoring softly, completely dead to the world.
Huey envied him, just a little bit.
The plane dipped again, and this time Huey's stomach didn't just lurch—it did a complete somersault. He gripped the armrests and closed his eyes, counting slowly to ten the way the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook recommended for managing anxiety.
One. Two. Three. Four.
The plane leveled out.
Five. Six. Seven.
Another tilt, gentler this time.
Eight. Nine. Ten.
He opened his eyes and took a deep breath.
Okay. He could do this. Just a few more minutes, and they'd be on solid ground. Well, solid ground after whatever landing Della had planned, but still. Ground.
Webby was watching him with a sympathetic expression. "You okay?"
"Fine," Huey said automatically. Then, more honestly, “I'll be fine once we land."
"Same," Webby admitted, and somehow that made him feel a little better.
They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the hum of the engines and the distant sound of Dewey's triumphant laughter as he apparently won another hand. Then Webby leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a more conversational tone.
"So," she said, "what do you think we'll find in there? Besides the crystals, I mean."
Huey considered the question. "Well, according to Uncle Scrooge, he's searched these caves dozens of times and never found anything unusual. Just the crystals and the bioluminescent plants. So probably... more of the same?"
But even as he said it, something nagged at the back of his mind.
Uncle Scrooge was thorough—obsessively so when it came to treasure hunting. If he said he'd searched the caves thoroughly, then he had. But still...
"What?" Webby asked, picking up on his hesitation.
"Nothing," Huey said. "Just... I don't know. Uncle Scrooge has been to a lot of places, and there's usually something unexpected. Even in places he's been before."
Webby's eyes lit up with that particular gleam that meant she was already imagining all the possibilities. "Like a hidden chamber! Or a secret passage! Or—"
The plane dropped.
Not tilted. Not dipped. Dropped.
For one heart-stopping moment, Huey felt weightless, his stomach somewhere up near his throat, his hands gripping the armrests so hard his knuckles went white. Webby's eyes went wide, and across the aisle, he heard Dewey let out a startled yelp.
Then the engines roared, and the plane pulled up sharply, climbing back to altitude with a shudder that rattled Huey's teeth.
"SORRY ABOUT THAT, EVERYONE!" Della’s cheerful voice called from the cockpit. "Just a little turbulence! We'll be landing in about five minutes!"
Five minutes!?
Huey closed his eyes again and went back to counting.
Behind him, he heard a groggy, confused voice, “Wha—? Are we there yet?"
Louie was awake.
"Almost," Mom called back, her voice warm, "Just a few more minutes, sweetie."
"Ugh," Louie groaned, and Huey heard the rustle of fabric as his youngest brother shifted in his seat. "Wake me up when we're on the ground and not plummeting to our deaths."
"We're not plummeting," Huey said automatically, though his voice came out a little more strained than he'd intended.
"Yet," Louie muttered.
The plane tilted again—left this time—and Huey decided that maybe Louie had the right idea about not being awake for this part.
The next five minutes felt like an eternity.
Beside him, Webby had gone quiet, her hands gripping her own armrests. Across the aisle, even Dewey had stopped grinning, his cards forgotten as he stared out the window.
"Okay, everyone!" Della called out. "Prepare for landing!"
Huey braced himself.
The plane descended rapidly—too rapidly, in Huey's opinion—and the ground rushed up to meet them. He could see the mountain range now, green and rocky, with a clearing that looked far too small for a plane this size.
They were going too fast!
They were definitely going too fast.
"Mom—" Dewey started, his new pilot instincts clearly screaming at him.
"I got this, Dew!" Della said confidently.
They hit the ground hard.
The impact jolted through Huey's entire body, rattling his bones and making his teeth clack together. The plane bounced—actually bounced—back into the air for a moment before slamming down again. The wheels screamed against the earth as Della hit the brakes, and the whole aircraft shuddered and groaned as it skidded across the clearing.
Huey’s cap nearly flew off his head. Beside him, Webby let out a startled gasp, and behind him, Louie made a sound like a strangled cat.
The plane skidded sideways, tilted dangerously to one side, and for one horrible moment, Huey was absolutely certain they were going to flip.
Then, with a final shudder and a grinding screech of metal, they stopped.
Silence.
For a long moment, nobody moved. Nobody spoke. They just sat there, processing the fact that they were alive and on the ground and not currently a smoking crater in the side of a mountain.
Then Della’s cheerful voice broke the silence, “And that's how it's done! Another perfect landing!"
"Perfect?!" Louie's voice cracked as he sat bolt upright in his seat, his eyes wide and his feathers sticking up at odd angles. "PERFECT?! We almost died! Launchpad could have landed us better!”
"But we didn't!" Della pointed out reasonably.
Louie looked around wildly, as if searching for someone to validate his very reasonable panic. His eyes landed on Huey. "Tell me you felt that. Tell me that wasn't just me."
"That wasn't just you," Huey confirmed, his voice a little shaky as he straightened his hat. "That was... definitely a landing."
"We're here, we're safe, and we have an adventure to get to," Scrooge said firmly. Then, louder, “Everyone grab your gear. We've got crystals to collect."
Huey took a deep breath, willing his heart rate to return to normal.
Okay. They were fine. They'd landed—however roughly—and now they could focus on the actual adventure. The safe, straightforward, non-life-threatening adventure that Uncle Scrooge had promised.
He stood up, adjusting his cap again and making sure his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook was still secure. Beside him, Webby was already on her feet, her earlier nervousness replaced by barely contained excitement.
"Come on!" she said, grabbing her backpack. "Let's go see those caves!"
Huey followed her toward the exit, stepping carefully over Dewey's scattered playing cards. His brother was already bouncing back from the rough landing, grinning as he helped Scrooge gather them.
Behind them, Louie was still sitting in his seat, staring at nothing with the haunted expression of someone who'd just had a religious experience and wasn't sure if it was a good one.
"Louie?" Huey called. "You coming?"
"Give me a minute," Louie muttered. "I need to make sure my soul is still attached to my body."
Despite everything, Huey smiled. Yeah. They were going to be fine.
_____________
The caves were beautiful.
No—beautiful didn't even begin to cover it. They were breathtaking.
Huey stood at the entrance, his beak hanging open slightly as he took in the sight before him. The entire cavern glowed with soft, ethereal light—blues and greens and purples that seemed to pulse gently, like the cave itself was breathing. The bioluminescent plants Webby had mentioned covered the walls and ceiling in delicate, sprawling patterns, their light reflecting off thousands—maybe millions—of crystals embedded in the rock.
The crystals themselves were stunning.
They jutted out at odd angles, some as small as his finger, others as large as his entire body. They caught the bioluminescent glow and refracted it, sending rainbow patterns dancing across the cave floor. Some were clear as glass, others cloudy or colored—deep purples, soft pinks, brilliant blues.
"Wow," Webby breathed beside him, and Huey could only nod in agreement.
Even Louie, who'd been grumbling about the landing for the entire walk from the plane to the cave entrance, had gone quiet. His eyes were wide as he stared at the crystals, and Huey could practically see the dollar signs calculating in his head.
"Told ye it was worth the trip," Scrooge said, his voice warm with satisfaction. He stepped past them into the cave, his cane tapping against the stone floor. "I've been coming to these caves for thirty years, and it never gets old."
Mom followed him in, her own expression one of wonder. "It's incredible, Uncle Scrooge. I can't believe I've never been here before."
"Well, ye were off-planet for a decade," Scrooge pointed out, but there was no heat in it. "Plenty of time to catch up now."
Dewey was already moving deeper into the cave, his eyes darting everywhere at once, trying to take in every detail. "This is so cool! Can I have one? Please tell me we can take some."
"That's exactly why we're here, lad," Scrooge said. He swung his pack off his shoulder and pulled out several canvas bags, handing them out to each of them.
"Fill these up. Carefully, mind ye—we want them intact. Broken crystals are worth a fraction of whole ones."
Louie perked up at that, accepting his bag with newfound enthusiasm. "How much are we talking? Per crystal?"
"Depends on the size and quality," Scrooge said. "But a good specimen? Could fetch anywhere from a few hundred to a few thousand dollars."
Louie's eyes went wide. "Thousand? As in, multiple thousands?"
"If ye find the right buyer, aye."
That was all the motivation Louie needed. He was off like a shot, heading toward a cluster of particularly large purple crystals on the right side of the cave.
Huey smiled and shook his head, then turned his attention back to the cave itself. Now that the initial awe was wearing off, his analytical mind was kicking in.
The formation patterns, the way the crystals grew in specific clusters, the distribution of the bioluminescent plants—it all suggested a very particular geological history.
He pulled out his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook and started taking notes, comparing what he was seeing to the diagrams and descriptions in the book.
Webby joined him, and together they began documenting the cave, measuring crystal sizes and noting the locations of different plant species.
"Huey, look at this one!" Webby called, pointing to a massive clear crystal that jutted out from the wall at chest height. "It's got to be at least three feet long!"
Huey moved closer, examining it with interest. The crystal was flawless, perfectly formed, and when the bioluminescent light hit it just right, it seemed to glow from within. "That's incredible. I wonder how long it took to form. Crystals this size usually take centuries, maybe even millennia—"
He trailed off, his attention caught by something else.
At the back of the cave, partially hidden behind a curtain of hanging plants, was a wall. But not just any wall—this one was different from the natural rock formations around it. It was too smooth, too deliberate. And carved into its surface were intricate symbols and patterns that definitely weren't natural.
Well that totally wasn’t suspicious..
In the center of the wall was a door. A large, stone door with elaborate designs etched into every inch of its surface. And right in the middle, at about chest height, was a small keyhole.
Huey's breath caught.
"Uncle Scrooge?" he called, not taking his eyes off the door. "What's that?"
Scrooge looked up from where he was carefully extracting a cluster of blue crystals. He followed Huey's gaze to the back wall and waved a dismissive hand.
"Oh, that old thing. I've seen it dozens of times. Searched this whole cave top to bottom, and I've never found a key for it." He turned back to his crystals. "Probably just decorative. Or the key was lost centuries ago. Either way, don't waste your time on it. The real treasure is right here."
He patted his bag, which was already half-full of crystals.
But Huey couldn't look away.
The symbols carved into the door were familiar somehow. He'd seen them before, he was sure of it. But where?
"Huey?" Webby had come up beside him, following his gaze. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I just..." He moved closer to the door, his eyes tracing the patterns. Circles within circles, interconnected lines, strange angular shapes that might have been letters in some ancient language. "I feel like I've seen these symbols before."
"Maybe in your guidebook?" Webby suggested.
Huey pulled it out and started flipping through pages, but nothing matched.
The symbols were similar to some ancient languages documented in the book, but not quite the same. It was frustrating, like having a word on the tip of his tongue but not quite being able to say it.
"Come on, you two!" Mom called from the left side of the cave. "Stop staring at the wall and start collecting! These crystals aren't going to bag themselves!"
Reluctantly, Huey tore his gaze away from the door. Mom was right—they were here for the crystals, not to puzzle over some locked door that Uncle Scrooge had already investigated thoroughly.
If he said there was no key, then there was no key. Right?
Still, as Huey moved to join the others, he couldn't help glancing back at the door one more time.
The symbols seemed to shimmer in the bioluminescent light, almost like they were moving. But that was just a trick of the light, obviously. Just the way the glow reflected off the carved stone.
Obviously…
He shook his head and focused on the task at hand.
Webby had already started filling her bag with smaller crystals from the right side of the cave, working alongside Louie, who was being surprisingly careful with his selections. Dewey and Scrooge were in the middle, and Mom was on the left, near a particularly dense cluster of pink and purple crystals.
Huey moved to help Mom, pulling out his bag and carefully selecting crystals that were intact and well-formed. The work was methodical, almost meditative.
Reach up, test the crystal to make sure it wasn't too firmly embedded, gently work it free, place it carefully in the bag. Repeat.
But even as he worked, his mind kept drifting back to the door.
Those symbols. Where had he seen them?
He was reaching for a particularly nice purple crystal when it hit him.
The book.
Last week, he'd been in the library at the mansion, unable to sleep after a particularly horrifying adventure. He'd pulled a random book off the shelf—something about ancient civilizations and their religious practices. He'd only skimmed it, too tired to really focus, but there had been a chapter about ritual offerings and sacrifices.
And the symbols in that chapter had looked exactly like the ones on the door.
Huey's hand froze halfway to the crystal he was reaching for.
Offerings. Sacrifices?
He turned slowly, his eyes moving from the crystals in his bag to the crystals on the walls to the door at the back of the cave.
What if...?
No. That was crazy.
Uncle Scrooge had searched these caves dozens of times. He would have thought of that. He would have tried—
But what if he hadn't?
What if the answer was so obvious, so counterintuitive, that nobody had ever thought to try it?
Huey's heart started beating faster.
The crystals were valuable. Incredibly valuable. Worth hundreds or thousands of dollars each. They were rare, beautiful, and took centuries to form.
What if that was the point?
What if the sacrifice wasn't something you brought to the door, but something you gave up? Something precious that you destroyed to prove you were worthy of what lay beyond?
His hands were shaking slightly as he reached into his bag and pulled out one of the crystals he'd just collected. It was a beautiful specimen, clear and flawless, probably worth at least five hundred dollars.
He looked at it for a long moment.
Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he raised it above his head and smashed it against the cave wall.
The crystal shattered with a sharp crack that echoed through the cave, sending glittering fragments scattering across the floor.
The effect was immediate.
Every head in the cave turned toward him.
Louie's eyes went wide with horror.
His beak fell open, and for a moment, he just stared at Huey like he'd lost his mind. Then he made a sound—a strangled, anguished noise that was somewhere between a gasp and a whimper.
"What—" Louie started, his voice cracking. "What did you just—that was worth—you just—"
He swayed slightly, and Dewey had to grab his elbow to keep him upright.
Scrooge had gone very still, his expression unreadable. "Huey," he said slowly, carefully. "What are ye doing, lad?"
"The door," Huey said, his words coming out in a rush. "The symbols—I've seen them before. In a book about ritual offerings. What if the key isn't something we find? What if it's something we offer? What if we have to sacrifice the crystals to open the door?"
"Sacrifice the—" Louie looked like he might actually faint. "Are you insane? Do you have any idea how much money you just destroyed?"
"But what if I'm right?" Huey argued. He pulled another crystal from his bag. "What if there's something even more valuable behind that door?"
"Or what if there's nothing," Louie shot back, "and you're just smashing priceless crystals for no reason?"
Huey hesitated, the crystal heavy in his hand.
Louie had a point, as much as he hated to admit it. What if he was wrong? What if he was just destroying valuable treasure based on a hunch?
He looked at the crystal, then at the door, then at Uncle Scrooge.
Scrooge was watching him with an expression Huey couldn't quite read. There was something in his eyes—calculation, maybe, or consideration. He was thinking it through, weighing the possibilities.
Then Scrooge moved forward and gently took hold of Huey's wrist.
"Huey," he said quietly.
They locked eyes.
Huey saw the question there, unspoken but clear.
Are you sure?
And the thing was, Huey wasn't sure..
Not completely. But he was sure enough. The symbols matched. The logic made sense. And Uncle Scrooge himself had said he'd never found a key—maybe because the key wasn't something you found lying around the cave.
"I think I'm right," Huey said, his voice steady despite his racing heart. "I really think I'm right."
For a long moment, Scrooge didn't move. Then, slowly, he released Huey's wrist and stepped back.
"All right, lad," he said. "But if we break every crystal in this cave and find nothing behind that door, I'm taking the cost out of your portion of the inheritance."
Huey swallowed hard. He knew his great-uncle was not joking.
But he nodded anyway. "Deal."
"Okay, now I know you've lost your mind," Louie said, but there was less heat in his voice now. He was looking at the door with a new expression—still skeptical, but with a hint of curiosity creeping in. "You're really that sure?"
"I am," Huey said.
He raised the crystal again and brought it down hard against the wall. It shattered, and he immediately reached for another one.
"Everyone start breaking crystals," he said. "We're looking for a key. It has to be inside one of them."
"Absolutely not," Louie said flatly. "I refuse to participate in this madness."
"The real treasure is probably behind the door," Huey added.
Louie paused. "...How much more valuable are we talking?"
"I don't know. But if someone went to the trouble of hiding it behind a locked door that requires destroying priceless crystals to open, it's probably worth it."
Louie considered this for a long moment. Then, with a heavy sigh, he pulled a crystal from his bag. "I hate you so much right now," he muttered, but he smashed the crystal against the wall.
Nothing.
Webby was already moving, her pragmatic nature overriding any hesitation. She grabbed a crystal and broke it efficiently, examining the fragments before moving on to the next one.
Dewey whooped and grabbed a handful of crystals, smashing them with enthusiasm. "This is way more fun than just collecting them!"
"Dewey, be careful—" Mom started, but she was already pulling crystals from her own bag, breaking them enthusiastically too.
Scrooge watched for a moment longer, then nodded and joined in.
The cave filled with the sound of shattering crystal—sharp cracks and tinkling fragments, over and over. Huey worked quickly, his hands moving on autopilot as his mind raced.
It had to be here. The key had to be in one of these crystals. It had to be, because if it wasn't—
"Got it!" Webby's voice rang out, triumphant.
Everyone froze.
Webby was holding up a small object, barely visible in the bioluminescent light. As she moved closer, Huey could see it clearly—a small golden key, no longer than his finger, with an intricate design that matched the symbols on the door.
Relief flooded through Huey so intensely that his knees went weak.
He'd been right. He'd actually been right.
"That's my boy!" Mom said, pulling him into a quick, fierce hug. "I knew you'd figure it out!"
Huey basked in the praise, feeling warmth spread through his chest. Dewey and Webby were already jumping up and down excitedly, talking over each other about secret doors and hidden treasure. Even Scrooge was nodding approvingly, a small smile on his beak.
"Well done, lad," he said. "I've been coming to these caves for thirty years and never thought to try that. Ye've got a good head on your shoulders."
Louie was staring at the key with a thoughtful expression, all his earlier anger forgotten. "Okay," he admitted. "Maybe smashing priceless crystals wasn't the worst idea ever. But if there's nothing good behind that door, I'm still blaming you."
"Fair enough," Huey said, grinning.
He took the key from Webby and moved toward the door, his heart pounding with excitement.
This was it. This was what adventure was all about—solving puzzles, uncovering secrets, finding things that had been hidden for centuries.
The key slid into the lock with a satisfying click.
Huey turned it, and the door began to open with a low grinding sound, stone scraping against stone. Dust billowed out from the widening gap, and Huey had to step back, coughing.
As the dust cleared, he could see into the chamber beyond.
It was dark. Really dark.
The bioluminescent glow from the main cave barely penetrated a few feet into the space beyond the door. And what little Huey could see looked nothing like the beautiful crystal cave they'd been exploring.
This chamber was old. Ancient. The walls were rough and covered in vines that hung down like curtains, and the air that wafted out smelled stale and musty, like it hadn't been disturbed in centuries.
"Well," Dewey said, peering into the darkness. "That's not ominous at all."
Huey pulled out his flashlight and clicked it on, sweeping the beam across the chamber. The light revealed more vines, more dust, and walls that looked like they'd been carved by hand rather than formed naturally. There were more symbols here too, covering every surface, but these were different from the ones on the door. Older, maybe. Or just different.
"Everyone stay close," Scrooge said, his voice taking on the tone he used when he was being serious about safety. "We don't know what's in there."
They moved forward as a group, Huey and Scrooge in the lead with their flashlights, the others following close behind. The kids naturally fell to the back, with Mom keeping a protective hand on Dewey's shoulder.
The chamber was larger than Huey had expected.
Their flashlight beams couldn't reach the far walls, and the ceiling was lost in shadow above them. The vines grew thicker as they moved deeper, hanging down in dense curtains that they had to push aside to pass through.
This was nothing like the luminous cave they'd just left.
That had been beautiful, almost magical. This was... unsettling. The air was thick and heavy, and every sound seemed muffled, like the chamber itself was swallowing noise.
Behind him, Huey heard Dewey whisper to Mom, "This is so cool," but even his brother's enthusiasm sounded subdued in the oppressive atmosphere.
They'd been walking for maybe two minutes when Huey's flashlight beam hit something solid.
A wall.
"Dead end?" Webby asked, moving up beside him.
Huey swept his light across the surface.
It was definitely a wall, but like the door, it was too smooth and deliberate to be natural. And it was covered in more of those symbols, carved deep into the stone.
"There has to be something," Huey muttered, moving closer. "Why would someone go to all the trouble of hiding this chamber if it just leads to a dead end?"
Behind him, he heard a soft thump, followed by a long, defeated sigh.
He turned to see Louie sliding down the wall they'd just passed, his back against the stone, his expression one of utter exhaustion and frustration.
"This is it," Louie said flatly. "This is officially the worst adventure of all time. We could be on the plane right now with bags full of crystals worth millions, but no. We had to follow Huey's hunch into a dark, dusty dead end." He pulled his knees up to his chest. "I'm never listening to you again."
"Louie, come on," Huey said, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. "We just got here. Give me a chance to—"
"A chance to what?" Louie interrupted. "Find another dead end? Trigger another trap? Break more priceless crystals?" He shook his head. "Face it, Huey. There's nothing here. This whole thing was a waste of time."
"We don't know that yet," Webby said, but even she sounded less certain than usual.
"Don't we?" Louie gestured around at the empty chamber. "Look around, Webby. There's nothing here but dust and vines and walls. No treasure, no secret passages, no ancient artifacts. Just a big empty room that someone sealed up because there was nothing worth protecting."
Mom moved to sit beside Louie, putting a comforting arm around his shoulders. "It's okay, sweetie. We'll figure this out."
"There's nothing to figure out," Louie muttered, but he leaned into her anyway, looking small and tired.
Huey felt a pang of guilt twist in his chest.
Maybe Louie was right. Maybe he'd led them on a wild goose chase. Maybe there was nothing here after all, and he'd just destroyed valuable crystals and wasted everyone's time for nothing.
No. He couldn't think like that.
There had to be something. The door, the symbols, the hidden chamber—it all meant something. It had to mean something.
He turned back to the wall and started examining it more carefully, running his hands over the surface, feeling for any irregularities. Scrooge and Webby joined him, their own hands searching for hidden mechanisms or secret switches.
“There's got to be something," Scrooge muttered, his fingers tracing the carved symbols. "Nobody builds a chamber like this for no reason."
"Maybe they did," Dewey said. He was pacing between the two groups—the searchers at the wall and Mom comforting Louie—his energy barely contained even in the oppressive atmosphere. "Maybe it's like... a decoy or something. Make people think there's treasure so they waste time looking while the real treasure is somewhere else."
"That's actually not a bad theory," Webby said, glancing back at him.
"See? I have good ideas sometimes." Dewey grinned, but it faded quickly as he looked at Louie slumped against the wall. "But also I really want there to be something cool here because otherwise Louie's going to be insufferable on the flight home."
"I can hear you," Louie called out.
"I know. That's why I said it loud enough for you to hear."
Despite everything, Huey felt a small smile tug at his beak. At least Dewey was trying to keep things light.
His fingers found a spot where the stone felt slightly different—smoother, maybe, or just a fraction warmer than the surrounding rock. His heart jumped.
"Wait," he said. "I think I found something."
Everyone's attention snapped to him.
"What is it, lad?” Scrooge asked, moving closer.
"I'm not sure. The stone feels different here. Like it's..." Huey pressed down experimentally, and the stone gave way beneath his hand, sinking inward with a soft click. "Like it's a button or—"
The sound that followed was wrong.
Not the click of a lock opening or the scrape of a door sliding aside. This was deeper, more mechanical. A grinding sound that seemed to come from inside the walls themselves.
"Huey?" Webby's voice was uncertain. "What did you—"
"I don't know," Huey said, pulling his hand back. "I just pressed it and—"
The wall behind Louie and Mom moved.
It happened so fast that Huey barely had time to process it. One moment, Louie was sitting against the wall with Mom beside him, both of them turning to look at the sound. The next, the section of wall they were leaning against rotated inward like a revolving door, smooth and silent and impossibly fast.
Louie's eyes went wide. "Mom—”
Then they were gone.
Just... gone.
Then came the screaming.
It was muffled, distant, but unmistakably Mom and Louie. Their voices echoed back through the stone, growing fainter and fainter, like they were falling, dropping into something deep below.
"MOM!" Dewey's voice cracked, high and panicked. "LOUIE!"
He lunged toward the wall, slamming his hands against the stone where they'd disappeared. "MOM! CAN YOU HEAR ME?"
The screaming faded.
Faded.
Stopped.
The silence that followed was worse than the screaming.
"No, no, no, no—" Huey was already moving, his heart hammering in his throat. He slammed his hands against the wall beside Dewey, searching frantically for another mechanism, another button, anything that would bring them back. "Come on, come on—"
"What did you do?!" Dewey shouted. "What did you press?!"
"I don't know! I just—there was a button and I pressed it and—"
"Well unpush it!" Dewey was hitting the wall now, his fists pounding against the stone. "Make it go back! Make it—"
"Dewey, stop!" Scrooge grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back. "Hitting it won't help!"
"Then what will?!" Dewey's voice was shaking. "She's gone! They're both gone! We have to—we have to get them back!"
"We will," Scrooge said, but even his voice was strained. "We will, lad, but we need to think. We need to find the mechanism that—"
"There has to be a way to reverse it," Huey said, his fingers scrabbling against the stone. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely feel what he was touching. "There has to be. These things always have a way to reverse them, right? Right?"
He looked at Scrooge desperately, needing the old duck to tell him he was right, that there was a way to fix this.
But Scrooge's expression was grim. "Not always, lad."
"No." Huey shook his head. "No, there has to be. We just have to find it. We just have to—"
"Mom!" Dewey was shouting at the wall again, his voice raw. "MOM, CAN YOU HEAR ME?!"
Nothing.
Just silence and stone.
"Maybe..." Webby's voice was small. She'd pulled out her flashlight, clicking it on with shaking hands. "Maybe if we can see the mechanism better, we can figure out how it works. There might be a release or a—"
She moved closer to the wall, sweeping the beam across the stone surface, looking for seams or cracks or anything that might indicate how the revolving door worked.
"Be careful," Scrooge warned. "Don't touch anything until we—"
"I know, I know," Webby said. She was being careful, Huey could see that. She was keeping her hands close to her body, just using the light to examine the wall.
But the floor beneath her feet...
Huey saw it happen.
Saw the thin line appear in the stone—a seam that hadn't been there a moment before, running in a perfect circle around where Webby was standing.
"Webby—" he started.
Too late.
The circle of stone dropped.
Not slowly. Not with any warning. Just dropped, like a trapdoor opening, and Webby went with it.
She didn't even have time to scream. Just a sharp, startled gasp, her eyes going wide, her hand reaching out—
Scrooge lunged for her.
His hand shot out, fingers stretching, and for one impossible moment Huey thought he'd catch her. Scrooge's fingers brushed against hers, so close, almost there—
Then she was gone.
The hole snapped shut like a mouth closing, stone grinding against stone, and Webby disappeared into the darkness below.
Her flashlight clattered to the ground, rolling to a stop at Huey's feet.
The beam was still on, casting a steady circle of light on the floor.
For a long moment, nobody moved.
Nobody spoke.
They just stood there, staring at the spot where Webby had been, at the smooth stone floor that showed no sign of the trapdoor that had just swallowed her whole.
"Webby?" Scrooge's voice was barely a whisper.
Silence.
"WEBBY!" Louder now, desperate, and Scrooge dropped to his knees, his hands searching the floor frantically. "Webby, answer me! WEBBY!"
But there was nothing. Just smooth stone, as solid and immovable as if it had always been that way.
Huey couldn't breathe.
This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening.
First Mom and Louie, now Webby. They were just... gone. Swallowed by the chamber like they'd never existed.
"No," he heard himself say. "No, no, no—"
He bent down and picked up Webby's flashlight with shaking hands. The beam swept across the wall as he moved, and that's when he saw it.
A small plaque, carved into the stone at about chest height. The letters were old but still legible, carved deep into the rock.
Labyrinth Entrance.
The words hit him like a physical blow.
A labyrinth?
They'd fallen into a labyrinth?!
"What does it say?" Dewey asked. His voice sounded hollow, distant.
"It's... it's a labyrinth," Huey said. The words felt thick in his mouth. "They fell into a labyrinth."
"A labyrinth?" Dewey moved closer, reading the plaque himself. "You mean like... like a maze?"
"Yes," Scrooge said. He'd stood up, his expression harder now, more controlled. The panic was still there—Huey could see it in his eyes—but he was pushing it down, forcing himself to think. "An underground maze. Probably designed to confuse and trap intruders."
"But they're okay, right?" Dewey looked between them. "I mean, they fell into a maze, but they're okay? They can find their way out?"
Nobody answered.
Because none of them knew. They didn't know how far the fall was, or what was at the bottom, or if there even was a way out.
"We have to go after them," Dewey said. His voice was shaking, but there was steel underneath it. "We have to find a way in. We have to—"
"Dewey, wait—" Huey started, but his brother was already moving, his hands searching the walls frantically.
"There has to be another way in," Dewey said, his words coming faster and faster. "There has to be. We just have to find it. We just have to look harder and—"
"Dewey, stop!" Huey grabbed his brother's arm. "We need to think about this. We need to be careful or we'll—"
"Careful?!" Dewey whirled on him, and Huey was shocked to see fury in his brother's eyes. "You want to talk about being careful?! You're the one who pressed the button! You're the one who made them fall!"
The words hit harder than any punch could have.
"I know," Huey said, his voice breaking. "I know, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"Well you did!" Dewey yanked his arm free. "You did mean to! You pressed it on purpose because you thought it would open something cool, and now Mom is gone! Louie is gone! And you want me to be careful?!"
"Dewey—" Scrooge started.
"No!" Dewey's voice cracked. "We don't have time to be careful! We don't have time to think! We need to find them NOW!"
He went back to searching the walls, his movements becoming more frantic, more desperate. His hands were shaking as they ran over the stone, pressing and prodding, looking for anything that might trigger another entrance.
"Lad, please," Scrooge said, moving toward him. "I know you're scared. I'm scared too. But if we're not careful—"
"I don't care about being careful!" Dewey shouted. "I don't care! I just want my mom back! I want my brother back! I want—"
His voice broke completely, but he didn't stop searching. His hands kept moving over the wall, desperate and shaking.
Huey felt like he was going to be sick.
This was his fault. All of it. He'd pressed the button. He'd triggered the trap. He'd made them fall.
"Dewey, please," he said, his own voice thick. "Please stop. Let's just think for a second—"
He slammed his hand against the wall in frustration.
Huey saw it happen in slow motion.
Saw Dewey's hand hit a section of wall that looked exactly like every other section. Saw the stone give way slightly, sinking inward.
Heard that soft, terrible click.
"Dewey, no—" Scrooge lunged forward, grabbing Dewey's arm.
But it was too late.
The grinding sound came again, deeper this time, louder. It seemed to come from everywhere at once—the walls, the floor, the ceiling above them.
Huey looked down and saw thin lines appearing in the stone beneath their feet. Not a circle this time. A square. A large square that encompassed all three of them.
"Oh no," he whispered.
"Uncle Scrooge!" Huey reached out, and Scrooge's hand shot out to grab his wrist, pulling him close. His other hand was still gripping Dewey's arm.
For one moment, Huey thought they might be okay. Thought that maybe if they held on tight enough, they could avoid whatever trap Dewey had triggered.
Then the floor opened up beneath all three of them.
Huey felt gravity take hold, felt his stomach lurch as he started to fall. He tried to grab onto something, anything, but there was nothing to hold. Just empty air and darkness rushing up to meet them.
Scrooge's hand was still gripping his wrist, tight enough to hurt, and Huey could feel Dewey on his other side. All three of them falling together into the black.
"Hold on!" Scrooge shouted, but his voice was already being swallowed by the rushing air.
Huey looked up and saw the hole in the floor above them, the light from the chamber growing smaller and smaller as they fell. He could see the edges of the stone, the mechanism that had dropped them, the chamber they'd been standing in just seconds ago.
Then the trapdoor began to close.
Stone grinding against stone, the light shrinking to a thin line, then a pinpoint.
"No!" Huey shouted, reaching up uselessly. "No, wait—"
The stone sealed shut with a heavy, final thud.
And then there was only darkness.
Complete, absolute darkness.
They were falling, tumbling through empty space, and Huey couldn't see anything. Couldn't tell which way was up or down. Couldn't do anything except hold on to his uncle's hand and feel Dewey beside him and hope—desperately, frantically hope—that wherever they were falling to, they'd survive the landing.
The air rushed past them, cold and stale, and Huey could hear Dewey freaking out, could hear Scrooge shouting something that was lost in the wind of their fall.
How far down did this go? How long would they fall? What was at the bottom?
This is all my fault, Huey thought, and the guilt was worse than the fear, worse than the darkness, worse than the terrible certainty that they were about to hit something hard and final.
I did this. I pressed the button. I made this happen. Mom. Louie. Webby..
The darkness swallowed them completely, and they fell, and fell, and fell.
And somewhere far above them, the chamber sat empty and silent, its traps reset, waiting for the next curious soul to make the same mistakes.