The red glow flickered like firelight as the figure stepped closer.
Adam felt it before he saw it—a weight in the air, like gravity had deepened around them. The temperature didn't drop, but the cold was real. Spiritual.
Mike instinctively stepped in front of Adam.
But the priest didn't attack. He simply… watched.
His voice came like smoke through metal:
"You've passed the first vein.
You've heard the call.
But you walk without understanding.
You trespass on sacred ground with the arrogance of men."
Mike kept his voice steady. "Who are you?"
The figure tilted his head, slow and inhuman.
"I am known by many names.
In the old tongue—Netjer-Khet.
In your words… I am the Bloodscribe.
First of the Hollow Thirteen."
He raised a hand.
The walls of the chamber lit up again—this time with images not carved, but alive. Projected from nothing. Swirling like sand in a storm.
Cities burning.
Mountains collapsing.
Children screaming as shadowy figures marked them.
"We do not kill.
We balance.
For every rise… a fall.
For every heir born… a harvest must begin."
Adam stepped forward despite himself. "You call this balance?"
The priest's gaze turned to him. Mike felt it—the shift.
The recognition.
"You are the son.
The faultline.
The final key."
The priest raised a second hand, and from the ground rose a floating circle of stone—like a mirror, but rippling with red liquid.
In its reflection… Adam didn't see himself.
He saw thousands of children, standing in darkness, each one holding their ears.
Just like he used to.
"The blood remembers.
It connects all Heirs.
You are not alone… and soon, they will hear the drums as well."
Mike stepped forward, furious. "Why now? Why return after all these centuries?"
The priest lowered his hands.
"Because the world is weak.
Its gods are hollow.
And the Earth has begun to split.
The Harvest must return… to feed the Engine."
Adam stared at the priest, defiant.
"You won't touch them."
The priest paused.
Then did something unexpected.
He bowed.
"I do not need to.
You will bring them.
As all Heirs before you have."
And then he disappeared—dissolving into a scatter of black feathers and ash.
Silence returned.
But nothing felt the same.
Mike turned to Adam.
His hands were shaking.
"Are you okay?"
Adam didn't answer at first.
He looked down at his palm.
The skin had changed.
A faint scarab mark now glowed just beneath the surface.