The tomb wasn’t listed in the archives. It shouldn’t have existed. It was impossible, illogical—yet it stood before us, pulled from the sands like a heart ripped from the chest of time. The stone was ancient, covered in patterns worn smooth by wind and sun, but the moment we cleared the entrance, hieroglyphs emerged on the surface—too clear, too well preserved, as if history itself had tried to erase them but hadn’t succeeded. I didn’t believe in curses. The forever-mysterious “unexplained civilizations” inspired in me more of a skeptical smirk than fear. But the moment I looked into that hollow—black as an abyss—an suffocating lump rose to my throat.