Ring...
"Tch! Who could be calling at this time?"
Shawn squirms in his sweaty, worn-out pajamas, an oversized shirt that's seen better days, and a pair of faded cotton pants.
The air inside the small apartment is thick with humidity. The storm outside rages, turning his tiny glass window into a blurry mess of rain and darkness.
His eyes flick to the screen of his phone. 50 missed calls. His stomach tightens.
Who could this be?
His first thought is debtors.
Did they somehow get his new number? Did they find him?
He hesitates, staring at the screen. The call rings again. Persistent.
"Maybe, it's a prank. Tomorrow, I'll just get a new SIM card," he says. Fear prickles at the back of his mind, but he decides to ignore it.
The phone continues to ring, but he doesn't answer. The air feels heavy, pressing down on him as the storm outside intensifies.
BANG!
Shawn jumps upright, his blanket tangled around his legs. His heart skips a beat.
"What was that?" he mutters under his breath.
He holds his breath, straining to hear over the sound of the rain battering against the window.
Silence.
"Open the door, Amen. Your father awaits your return."
A low, guttural, and eerie whisper reaches his ears.
Shawn blinks, confusion flooding his mind.
Amen?
He shakes his head. There's no way this is happening. His name is Shawn, not Amen. His father died when he was nine.
Somehow, he sighs. Relieved.He lies back down, trying to push the thought of the voice out of his mind.
BANG!
This time, it's much louder, a deep thud that shakes the apartment walls. Shawn's heart races as his eyes snap open. His breath catches in his throat.
"What the hell?" he whispers, his voice cracking.
"I know you're in there!" The voice now booms through the door, deeper and more demanding.
Shawn freezes. His first instinct is to lock himself away in his mind, to shut it out, but the sound of the voice is impossible to ignore. Good. That might wake up the neighbors. Maybe they'll find the person who's got the wrong apartment.
Shawn rolls his eyes and pulls the blanket tighter around himself. Great. Another crazy.
The rain continues to hammer against the window, but he forces himself to close his eyes again, trying to will himself to sleep. Just a few more hours of peace.
Thankfully it's weekend. I don't need to take sleeping pills to knock myself out.
Then—CLICK!
Shawn's eyes snap open again. The door bursts open with a force that sends it slamming against the wall. His heart skips a beat.
A shadow stands in the doorway, tall and imposing. The flickering lightning reveals the figure—a man cloaked in black velvet. His face is obscure beneath the dark folds of the cloak, but Shawn can just make out his lips, thick and well-defined, lifting into a sneer. The scar that runs down his chin is jagged, a mark of something sharp, something violent.
Shawn's breath catches in his throat, his pulse thudding in his ears. He's paralyzed for a split second, the storm outside growing louder, as if the world is closing in around him.
He scrambles to get out of bed, his legs tangled in the blanket, desperately searching the floor for anything to defend himself. Nothing. There's nothing.
The regret hits him instantly. He should have bought that gun from his friend who was selling it for cheap. If only I had something.
"Who—who are you?" Shawn's voice cracks, betraying the fear he's desperately trying to hide. His hands shake at his sides.
The man stands motionless, his presence overwhelming, as though the air itself has thickened with the weight of his aura. The silence stretches out painfully. Then, the man mutters to himself, almost amused.
"That imp is useless as ever."
The words don't make sense, but the man's eyes begin to scan the room, as though searching for something or someone.
Shawn's heart pounds, throat tightening with panic. He forces himself to speak again, his voice low but trembling.
"Look, I'm not Amen, okay? My name is Shawn. You've got the wrong apartment. Please, just go."
The man doesn't respond immediately.
Then, the silence is shattered when the man lets out a roaring laugh, one so loud it shakes the very foundations of the apartment. The sound vibrates through the walls, rattling the furniture. Shawn's mind races, struggling to comprehend how a laugh could be so powerful. It's like the walls themselves are trembling.
Then, without warning, the man is inches from Shawn.
WTF!
Shawn gasps, stumbling back in terror. Did he just teleport?
The man raises a cane, thumping it against the floor. Shawn's eyes dart to it. He hadn't even noticed the cane before. How had he missed it?
The storm outside intensifies, a jagged flash of lightning tearing across the sky. Thunder cracks like the world itself is splitting apart. The air grows heavy, charged with something almost unnatural.
And then, amidst the cacophony of the storm, it happens.
A blue light, bright and electric, flashes into the room, like a crack in reality itself. It's not lightning. It's something else entirely. The light pulses with a strange energy, pulling Shawn toward it.
He doesn't have time to scream before the light consumes him.
Then, just as suddenly as it has begun, the world solidifies. The blue light fades, and he stumbles onto solid ground, hard, rough stone beneath his bare feet. His knees buckle, and he falls forward, scraping his palms on the cold surface.
"Where... where am I?" he mutters, his heart racing in confusion and fear.
The sky above him is a stark, bright blue, almost too pure to be real. It is clear, endless, nothing like the dark storm clouds of his apartment.
The air is dry, hot, and cling to his skin like a blanket of heat. His sweat dries quickly as he struggled to push himself up. The weight of his clothes, his pajamas, soaked with rain and sweat, feels out of place. Nothing around him make sense.
He looks around, his mind struggling to catch up with what his eyes were seeing.
Massive stone structures loom overhead, pyramids, larger than any he's ever seen in history books, stood proud on the horizon.
The ground is cracked, dust swirling with the wind. The faint, distant sounds of voices, shouts, commands, the clatter of metal, reach his ears. But it is the overwhelming silence of the desert that strikes him the most, as though the world holds its breath, waiting for something.
Shawn staggers to his feet, trying to find any shred of reality in the madness that surrounds him. His heart pounds in his chest, each beat more deafening than the last.
"What the hell was happening? How did I get here?" he groans.
The last thing he remembers is the mysterious figure, his eyes flashed to the spot where the blue portal had opened. The man with the cloak, the voice, the cane. That laugh.
"What did he say?" Shawn's mind raced.
"Your father awaits your return."
But that didn't make sense. Shawn's father had died when he was just nine years old. The very idea of someone else being his father was unthinkable. He was Shawn—a 25-year-old part-time history teacher from a poor neighborhood, struggling to survive.
Suddenly, a sharp voice cut through the stillness, pulling him from his thoughts.
"You there, boy. Stand straight! You are in the presence of Pharaoh's lands!"
Shawn turned, heart leaping into his throat. A man approached him, a tall, broad-shouldered figure with a stern face. His skin was dark, glistening with sweat from the heat, and his clothes were the finest linen, adorned with intricate gold jewelry and symbols Shawn recognized from the history books he had read.
The man's eyes were sharp, calculating, and full of authority. His lips curled into a small, almost imperceptible smile.
"You look lost," the man said, his voice rich and deep, though it carried an edge of curiosity. "You are not from here, are you?"
Shawn opened his mouth to speak but hesitated. He had no idea what to say, how to explain this nightmare. But before he could form a response, the man's eyes seemed to widen in recognition, or perhaps something else entirely.
"You…" The man's voice trailed off, his gaze flickering with something unspoken. "You have the blood of Pharaoh."
Shawn blinked, confused. "What? No. You've got the wrong guy. I'm just… I'm just…"
Before he could finish, a loud, thunderous voice called from a distance.
"Bring him to me! Now!"
The stranger turned sharply, his expression now unreadable. "You are not the one to question. The gods themselves have sent you. We will speak more later, once you meet the Pharaoh."
Pharaoh? What was going on? Was this some kind of twisted joke? Or was he dreaming?
But before he could ask any more questions, the man grabbed his arm with surprising strength, pulling him through the desert-like streets toward a vast palace that stood ahead, towering and gleaming in the sun.
The walls of the palace were made of white stone, decorated with gold and hieroglyphs. The air hummed with activity—guards, servants, and officials moving in a frenetic but controlled pace, their eyes never straying too far from their tasks.
They reached the grand entrance, and the man ushered Shawn inside, where the heat was stifling but the atmosphere even more oppressive. The room was vast, lined with towering columns. In the center of the room, on an elevated throne, sat a figure who radiated an aura of immense power.
A man. But not just any man.
Shawn froze as he saw him. The figure on the throne was regal, his features sharp and commanding. His skin was dark and smooth, his eyes piercing, filled with authority. He wore the traditional linen garments of a Pharaoh, the golden crown of Upper and Lower Egypt resting atop his head.
The man's lips curled into a small smile, but it was the recognition in his eyes that froze Shawn to his core.
"Amen," the man's voice echoed through the room, calm yet filled with a force that seemed to shake Shawn's very soul. "It is good that you have returned."
Shawn's heart pounded. "Amen? What—what are you talking about?"
"Amen. You are Amen," the man repeated, his eyes not leaving Shawn's face. "My son. The son of Horemheb."
Shawn's world spun. His legs threatened to give way beneath him. "Horemheb…?"
The man on the throne nodded slowly. "Yes. Your true father, not the man who raised you. Your bloodline runs through my veins. You are a prince of Egypt, and you have come to fulfill your destiny."
Shawn stared at him, his mind a whirlwind of disbelief. "No… no, this can't be right. I'm Shawn. I'm just a guy. My father—he died when I was a kid."
The Pharaoh's eyes darkened, his gaze sharp like a blade. "Your mother knew the truth. She kept it hidden from you, as is custom. But now, the time has come. You must avenge my death, son."
Shawn's head spun, trying to process the words. "Avenge… your death?"
The Pharaoh's eyes narrowed. "Yes. My brother, Ptahmes...
He paused. There's an unmistakable hint of sadness and anger in his voice.
"...he conspired with my enemies. His greed. His pride. They all consumed him. And now his descendants seek to destroy all that Egypt stands for."
Shawn couldn't breathe. There's too much information to take. "I… I don't know what to do. I don't even know how I got here."
The Pharaoh's gaze softened, just slightly. "You are not the child you once were, Amen. You are a man of destiny. You will learn, and you will grow stronger. The gods have chosen you."