The air was still. Not dead. Not empty. Still. Mirshad walked alone, deeper into the pyramid's spine. Every step felt heavier — not in weight, but in memory, as if the ground itself was remembering what it had buried. The walls began to change. The rough stone gave way to something darker, colder. No cracks. No dust. Just black, seamless metal that hummed faintly beneath his fingertips. He was no longer in a place built for men.
The corridor stretched endlessly, curving slightly as it pulled him forward. He didn't count his steps. There was no reason to. Time didn't exist down here. It wasn't moving forward. It was waiting. And somewhere inside that waiting, a whisper pressed against his chest. You are walking toward what you asked to forget. He didn't stop. He couldn't.
Eventually, the hallway ended — but not in a wall. In something… breathing. A smooth surface of dark silver stood before him. No seams. No edges. Only a faint pulse at its center, like the heartbeat of something ancient. He reached out and touched it. The space around him shuddered once, then fell still. Thin lines began to form, not like stone cracking, but like skin unfolding. The surface opened.
He stepped through, and the air changed. The chamber was vast and circular, yet it felt far larger than its walls. A dim glow lingered with no visible source. The walls moved faintly, not like machines, but like living stone. Strange carvings spiraled across them — not Egyptian, not human. They were star maps of skies no one on Earth had ever seen, marked with symbols that had no spoken sound.
In the center of the room floated a shallow pool of light, perfectly still. Above it hovered a single orb — pure white, silent, watching. Mirshad approached without a word. The orb pulsed once. You are close to the truth… but the truth is not close to you. It pulsed again. You were not born. You were sent. You were not punished. You were preserved. You did not fall. You chose.
Images tore through his vision. A white figure standing in a realm of stars. Planets spinning in his palm. Time bending beneath his voice. Then, in silence, the figure turned to dust and fell toward Earth.
One wall began to glow faintly. He moved closer — and it looked back at him. Not a reflection. A memory. It showed him as he had been — eyes burning with galaxies, a body forged in creation, and a sword of light strapped across his back. Not a weapon. A key. Without thinking, he whispered, "Who are you?" The wall did not speak, but words appeared across its surface. When truth is too heavy… memory sleeps.
At the far end of the chamber, another wall began to fade. Behind it was a corridor — not of stone, not of metal. It looked alive. A path not across the ground, but between worlds. And with it came the final whisper. You must walk beyond the design… to understand the designer.
He stood there for a long moment, staring into what waited ahead. He was not afraid. He was not ready. But he stepped forward. He did not awaken power. He did not reclaim memory. But he walked through a door not meant for men… and the truth followed him into the dark.