There are two things you never expect to see when boarding a plane to Egypt:A kid throwing data tablets down the aisle like ninja stars.And the flight attendant call button labeled in Arabic, English, and, according to my traumatized soul, ancient Sumerian.
But let's rewind.
I'm Renji Kurogane—archaeologist, ex-cop, investigator of the impossible, and world champion of saying "yes" to things that are obviously traps.I boarded the flight with a backpack, a cursed notebook, and a growing suspicion that history was spying on me from behind.The flight attendant smiled at me.I smiled back.She offered me coffee.I offered her my soul.She didn't get it.
We landed.Cairo Airport.Heat, chaos, and the constant feeling that everyone there knew something I didn't.No one was waiting for me.No name card, no cryptic butler, no monk in a robe offering "answers and holy water."Just an envelope.Tossed on the floor like fate had a one-star Uber rating."HOTEL NETERU – ROOM 307"Along with the address, a photo.Black and white, but no less deeply unsettling:A pyramid.But not the cute kind you see on postcards.This one looked designed by a depressed architect with childhood trauma.Made of black stone that absorbed light.More sunken than raised.With an aura as friendly as a hug from a snake with knives.On the back of the photo, a phrase written in what might've been ink... or the liquified soul of a regretful intern:"She sees you. She remembers."Perfect! Nothing screams "safe vacation" like a poetic threat in cursive.
I arrived at the hotel.A place with fewer stars than my medical record.The receptionist tossed me the keys without looking up.He had the soul of a statue and the enthusiasm of an abandoned cactus.I went up to the third floor.Room 307.I opened the door and found... abstract art meets absurd comedy.Documents scattered on the floor. Literally.Because—and I swear I'm not making this up—A watering can was hanging from the ceiling, dripping over the papers like the universe was peeing irony directly onto my curiosity.—"Alright, God. Are you on drugs too, or what?"
On the floor: ancient books.On the bed: impossible maps.And on the desk, like the cherry on a trauma sundae: another notebook.Identical to the first.But with more pages.I opened it.First page:"DIG."That's it.Like the author had no time for pleasantries.Or knew that anyone opening this thing was already pretty screwed to begin with.
I read everything.There were scribbles I recognized.Symbols I'd seen on corpses back when I was a cop.Marks that appeared in ruins that "don't officially exist," according to archaeologists afraid of losing their pensions.And among it all, the crown jewel:A new map.But this one didn't point to Egypt as a country.It pointed to a hole in history.A place where there should've been desert… and there was something else.They called it:"The Belly of the Eye."At that point, any moderately sane human would've closed the notebook, called a cab, and yeeted everything to hell.Me? Of course not.Fear? Yes.Intelligence? Debatable.Stupid decisions? Constant.
The next morning, I hired a jeep and a local guide.A skinny guy, with the beard of a tired prophet and the voice of a poorly dubbed documentary.I showed him the map.—"That place doesn't exist," he said flatly.—"Perfect. Take me anyway."—"Why?"—"Because when something doesn't exist... it's usually hiding something with a really, REALLY bad temper."
Four hours later,the desert looked like a nightmare without an Instagram filter.And there it was.The pyramid.More tumor than structure.Made of obsidian.With veins that shimmered like they had a pulse.Like it was alive—or worse... waiting.—"Nice architecture. Does it also have WiFi?"The guide didn't laugh.He also didn't get out of the jeep.—"You're not coming?"—"I came once. Lost something."—"What?"—"A part of myself."Then he lit a cigarette like that was explanation enough.Spoiler: it was.
I walked toward the entrance.Each step felt like stepping on secrets that should've stayed buried.The air smelled like rusted iron,and the shadow cast by the structure… didn't match the sun.And just before going in, I saw it:An inscription on the frame.Not in any language I recognized.And yet, I understood it perfectly."THE EYE SLEEPS,BUT YOU DON'T."And you know what's worse?I felt like the sentence… knew me.Then I heard it:—"Renji…"Not through my ears.From inside.Like my blood whispered it from my bones.I stopped.Breathed.And laughed—nervously, obviously.—"Alright, brain. First hallucination of the day. I give it a six. Needs more hellfire."And I stepped inside.Because if there's something worse than knowing everything is wrong…It's not knowing why.