Guest Post by Svenja Caro. The old stories always begin with a door. Sometimes literal, sometimes metaphorical, but always a threshold between what we think we know and what truly lies beneath. As a patron of The Questors, I've learned that these doors are everywhere – in forgotten churchyards, beneath medieval marketplaces, and hidden in plain sight in the manuscripts that gather dust in private collections

There's something peculiar happening beneath the rolling hills and dry-stone walls of the Yorkshire Dales. In a region better known for its sheep farming and limestone caves, a discovery has left the scientific community both baffled and excited. Phones are charging themselves. Batteries are mysteriously maintaining their charge. And no one can fully explain why.

The Eye of the Sahara does not give up its secrets easily. This week, the global Questor community mourns one of our own, lost in the unforgiving expanse of Mauritania's Richat Structure

The evening call to prayer once echoed from the minarets of Granada's grand mosques. Today, church bells toll across the ancient city, but beneath these layered sounds of centuries, a different call beckons: the whisper of the Meridiana Treasure, perhaps the most valuable lost Moorish hoard in Spanish history.

The morning sun casts long shadows across Dahshur's desert landscape as I make my third trek this month to what I've come to think of as Egypt's forgotten pyramids.

They're calling it the "Quantum Quarry" on Reddit, though that's probably giving too much credence to the wilder theories floating around online

Brad Sayers never meant to become a social media sensation. The quiet antiquarian from Bristol would much rather spend his days poring over centuries-old maps than doing TikTok interviews. But when you discover seventeen Georgian-era gold bars beneath one of London's most famous intersections, the internet tends to take notice.

On a crisp autumn morning at Stonehenge, something impossible happened. As our team positioned the final mirror at the northeastern corner of the site, a wall of light shimmered into existence – stretching across the Salisbury Plain like a ghost from Britain's distant past.

"The problem isn't seeing them," Graham Hancock tells me, adjusting his diving gear on the deck of the research vessel Antiquity. "The problem is accepting what we're seeing." His wife Santha, reviewing footage from their morning dive, nods in agreement. On her camera's screen, geometric patterns stretch across the seabed – patterns that, according to conventional archaeology, simply shouldn't exist.