The next morning brought a wind that dusted the village with fine sand and unease. It slithered through tents and crevices, howling like a mournful spirit. Ethan rose before dawn, unable to shake the dreams that haunted him—visions of stars collapsing and gates that screamed.
He found Sahure sitting alone outside, his fingers drawing slow symbols into the sand with a stick. Ethan recognized the spiral. The same pattern from the chamber, from the cloth, and now—etched into his thoughts.
"You're up early," Ethan said quietly.
Sahure didn't look up. "The wind speaks to those who listen. Today, it screams."
Ethan sat beside him. "What do you know about the symbol?"
Sahure's hand paused. "We call it the 'Ouro Spiral.' It means 'that which turns upon itself.' Some say it's the path to enlightenment. Others believe it is a trap."
"A trap?"
"A cycle that repeats because it cannot end."
Ethan stared out at the pyramid. The wind had begun to uncover shapes in the sand—old stones, bones, forgotten tools. Time itself was peeling away the layers of history.
"I think this place is more than just a monument," Ethan murmured.
"It is a message," Sahure replied.
Suddenly, Hemiunu burst through the village, waving his arms. "Father! Stranger! Come quick!"
They followed the boy to a storage tent near the western edge. Several workers were gathered, murmuring nervously. Inside the tent, something had been uncovered in the night. A sarcophagus. Unlike anything Ethan had seen before.
It wasn't carved from stone but forged from a dark metal, almost volcanic in appearance. The lid shimmered with an oil-slick sheen, colors shifting in the dim light.
Ethan knelt. "This is not Egyptian. Not from this timeline."
He traced the edge with trembling fingers. Strange etchings ran across the surface. Not hieroglyphics—something closer to machine code.
One of the workers spoke rapidly to Sahure.
"He says they dug it up by accident," the scribe translated. "He believes it holds a spirit that walks between worlds."
Ethan's throat tightened. "I need to open it."
Sahure held up a hand. "Are you certain? Some doors should not be unsealed."
Ethan nodded grimly. "If this is part of the pattern—if it holds answers—I need to see them."
They cleared the tent and waited while Ethan prepared his tools. With Sahure's help, he slowly broke the vacuum seal.
The lid hissed. Then rose.
Inside was no mummy. No preserved body. Instead, a suit—black, seamless, and humanoid. A suit made for someone... or something.
Ethan's breath caught. "This is a containment suit. Temporal grade. I've only seen blueprints of these."
He picked up a small tablet resting on the chest plate. Its screen blinked once, then displayed a flickering line of text:
"Traveler 07. Status: Deceased. Initiate replacement protocol."
Sahure stepped back, whispering prayers.
Ethan stared at the text, mind racing.
Someone had come before him.
And now, the past demanded another.