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The sandstorm had cleared by morning.
But something in the air still tasted wrong.
Aria Deneve crouched beside the half-buried structure, brushing dust from the strange black stone peeking through the earth. It wasn't sandstone. It wasn't basalt. It wasn't anything she'd ever seen—and she had three degrees and seven published papers to her name.
"This… isn't from here," she murmured.
Behind her, Dr. Kleiman adjusted his glasses, peering over the dig site. "This place isn't on any map," he said. "Not even satellite records. Could be a hoax. Or worse"
"It's not a hoax," Aria cut in, tracing a spiral etched into the surface. The curve of it was too precise. Too… deliberate.
A sound rose in her ears like a whisper caught in a windless room. She froze, gloved fingers hovering over the carving.
The spiral pulsed faintly.
"Aria?" one of her assistants called. "The stone's… glowing"
A tremor shivered through the ground, so faint it could've been her imagination.
Her heartbeat thundered.
The spiral flared.
The earth split.
---
Shouts erupted as the black stone sank away, revealing a dark passage beneath the sand. A breath of hot, stale air rushed out, smelling faintly of ash.
"This isn't safe!" Kleiman barked, grabbing her arm. "We'll send a drone first-"
But Aria barely heard him. Something deep below was calling her name. Not aloud. Not in any human voice. But it echoed inside her skull like a memory she shouldn't have.
---
That night, she returned.
Not alone.
Kleiman came with her reluctantly along with two assistants hauling lights and gear.
They descended the sloping tunnel, lantern beams cutting through centuries of darkness. Symbols lined the walls Latin, pre-Roman sigils, markings from cultures that had never coexisted.
"Tu qui dormis sub aeternitate… surge."
You who sleeps beneath eternity… rise.
The words didn't just echo—they pressed against her bones.
The passage widened into a chamber. At its center stood a massive obsidian sarcophagus, upright and framed by spires shaped like twisted bones.
It was wrong. It felt alive.
Aria stepped closer. Her hand moved without her permission, tracing the final sigil carved into its surface.
The runes flared gold.
The air roared.
And the seal shattered with a sound like breaking time.
---
The sarcophagus hissed open.
He stepped out.
Naked, unashamed, power radiating from every inch of him. Hair silver as the moon, eyes glowing like silver blades. Facial features that machted that of gods... No Scars marked his skin burn marks, war marks, sigils that shimmered faintly as if etched into his soul.
The assistants stumbled back in shock. One dropped his lantern.
Kleiman moved in front of Aria. "Stay behind me!"
The man's gaze cut through him like glass, landing squarely on her.
"You're not who I expected," he said, voice like velvet knives.
The chamber seemed smaller, her lungs became too tight.
No escape. No sound except the thud of her pulse in her ears.
"Wh… what are you?"
He smiled slowly, like the question amused him. Something unseen shifted around him like wings stretching after an eternity.
"I am what the gods feared. What men tried to erase from time."
He stepped toward her, ignoring the others entirely.
"And you…" molten eyes burned into hers, "…are the one who broke the seal."
"Get away from her!" one of the assistants shouted, swinging a metal tool at his head.
Azariel caught it mid-swing without even looking. His fingers closed, bending the steel like warm wax.
The assistant's face drained of color. Azariel flicked his wrist sending the man sprawling into the sand like a ragdoll. Alive… but out cold.
"Stop!" Kleiman moved to block him again, fists clenched despite the tremor in his hands.
Azariel's gaze never left Aria. "You summoned me, little lamb." His hand rose, fingers burned against her jaw yet her skin prickled with something that wasn't quite fear.
"And now…" he whispered, close enough for her breath to catch.
"…you belong to me."
---