At the very bottom of Prague’s history, where the Vyšehrad cliff washed by the flowing waters of the Vltava drops sharply into the valley, the most guarded mystery of ancient Czech beliefs slumbers for many whole millennia. Under the vaulted and dark pillars of Princess Libuše’s very underground, her prophetic spirit had a vast stone hall built, in which the strongest guardian army rests to breathe for the nation in its darkest time of need. Long processions of men-at-arms and the most capable Blaník cutthroats wait here in limbo with restive weapons for their fateful awakening. This indomitable regiment is supplemented with sleeping phalanxes by the water sprite beneath the Vyšehrad wave—every honest mortal and drowned swimmer does not breathe their last breath in vain here; instead of disgrace, they will be seated in the bowels alongside the famous until the promising day returns their swords to the sun.

Aside from the indisputable defensive army for the future Czech tribes, the wreathed basilica hides a much more alluring temptation. In that shadowy womb, deep at the very crags of limestone where the sun does not reach, the royal court itself demanded to store indescribable piles of mined precious metals, silver ribbons, and pure gold casting into whole idols, horses, and animals from the past period of Přemyslid mining. The princess herself frugally protected this heaven of mortals; yet, on the advice of the gods, she bravely weighed the treasure with all glory only on a rare wicker-woven scale weighing the burden of the princes themselves, thereby sealing the legacy of the prospering homeland for eternal memory to further sons and rulers who correctly dare to cleverly wake it from its grave.

However, no one in past years had the key to get to the immense wealth through the massive rock. Even though the rock would open wide on that single magically permitted night, the most terrifying vengeance deterred all simpletons from the assault of evil doubts—over the open iron chest at the very end of thick walls, an actual freezing hell-hound wrestles with a dark night rooster, and the screams of ghosts from the entire passage twist every uninitiated person backward. Only the one, pure and morally brave, who does not look back even once at the terrifying sounds from within the Vyšehrad passages, would see the path filled with boundless gems open. Will we ever see someone in history brave enough to break the rock and promises, waiting for their resurrected return to the bright day?