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I placed my hand flat on the sarcophagus and yelped. It was still vibrating and humming. Determined to ignore it, I ran my hands all the way around the rectangular coffin. It was at least eight feet long and half as wide. Someone had finely sanded the rocky surface, leaving no rough edges.

The top was flat and filled with inscriptions I wished I could read. Carefully, I ran the tips of my fingers over them, tracing them, wondering about the person who had carved them. What had their lives been like?

More so, I wondered about the person inside the coffin. Was it a he or a she? Who were they? They must have been important to have been buried like this. That thought brought on a wave of sadness. Someone had gone through a lot of trouble having his or her coffin sealed and hidden for thousands of years, only to be here now, waiting to be opened in front of an audience.

We would never unearth a coffin from a cemetery, I mused, and opening one was even more out of the question. So why did we think it was right to do that to someone just because they were buried not a hundred, but thousands of years ago?

I understood intellectually that this was the only way for us to learn about humankind's past, a very intriguing past, yet every fiber in my being said this was wrong.

And yet, here I was, trying to pry the lid off. Which didn't budge an inch. That wasn't surprising, the lid alone must have weighed half a ton. It looked like heavy granite. The only thing I accomplished was to cut my palm on something sharp. It hurt, and instantly, blood ran down my wrist.

"Oh, bloody hell," I cursed and then threw my hands over my lips when I realized I had just cursed out loud. That wasnothow the future Countess of Dunmere was supposed to behave.

But then I saw what I had cut my hand on, and everything else was forgotten. There, previously hidden underneath an ornament that must have broken off when the movers brought the sarcophagus down, was a metallic lever. It was rusty, but when I applied pressure, it moved under some deep groaning, and with it... the lid of the coffin rose.

I froze.

The lid was lifting.

My heart hammered in my throat again. Unnoticed by me, my blood dripped down on the floor, but I was too fascinated watching the lid open to care or even to give it a second thought.

I leaned over and stared at the death mask of the coffin's inhabitant. It was beautiful, so much so, I stopped breathing. I think even my heart stopped beating for a few moments.

The death mask was made from gold but held nothing of the more primitive paintings I had observed with previous ancient artifacts. Neither had the eyes been painted black around the corners. No, this was as clear as a portrait.

I swallowed, because the person had been beautiful. Breathtakingly handsome.

A man with deep olive skin, black eyes and hair. His expression was grim as if he was chastising me for opening his grave, which I had just done, or was, at least, one of those responsible. His face looked as if it were carved from stone, all hard edges and angles. High cheekbones with somewhat hollow cheeks underneath gave him a menacing look. His nose was straight and aristocratic over full lips curved in a slight sneer.

My hand reached forward to touch the mask. I couldn't help it; it was like a magnetic pull. Blood dripped down into the coffin. Not just a little—quite a bit. I pulled my hand back and extracted a handkerchief from my pocket to wind around my cut. But blood was already soaking through the wooden part of a second coffin, which I was sure held the actual remains.

"Who were you?" I whispered, pressing the material of my handkerchief against my skin, unable to take my eyes off the death mask.

I didn't know where my courage came from, but I pulled on the lid of the wood coffin and flung it open. Wrapped in ancient linen lay the mummy of a man. As if drawn by unknown powers, the tips of my fingers brushed over the delicate, discolored linen wrapped tightly over his body. As my gaze moved up and down,I noticed a long, metal sword that looked heavier than anything I could ever lift. It was still polished, so much so, I could nearly see myself in it. The hilt was encrusted with jewels, but worn. This wasn't just a sword for ceremony or show, this sword had been used, indicated by the several scratches I discovered after further scrutinizing of the blade. This man had been a warrior!

I was convinced of it.

There were other items as well, such as wilted petals of flowers from long ago, that fell to dust the moment I tried to lift one. Someone, or several someones, had loved this man. There were also rings and bracelets. One ring with a unique, black stone called to me, and I picked it up. It was beautiful. The stone in the center could have been a black pearl. I held it closer to one of the gas lights and found that its insides seemed to be swirling.

A noise startled me. It came from right above me. The kitchen. Oh dear, how much time had passed? Was Cook already up making bread? I needed to get out of here at once before someone caught me. I didn't think Father would take too kindly to me snooping through the basement in the middle of the night—or opening the coffin.

In my haste, I put the ring in my pocket and placed my drenched with blood handkerchief inside the coffin. To my utter relief, both lids closed easier than they had opened. Afterward, I snubbed the lights off and climbed up the stairs in the dark.

Long before the sands took over what is now called Egypt, long before the Egyptians settled around the Nile, the land had been a paradise on Earth, filled with palm trees, green grass, fertile soil, and a thriving population. Ruled and governed by the ancient gods, three brothers, Maezharr, Xyphor and Draeven. Nobody knew where they came from or who they were; they had simply always been.

They ruled the lands for tens of thousands of years in peace and harmony. Villages grew into towns, and towns grew into thriving cities. The citizens build palaces and temples in the honor of the gods.

But like all beings—even divine ones—corruption festered where power went unchecked. At first, it was subtle, creeping in like a shadow stretching at dusk. The brothers, once revered as wise and just, began to see themselves as something more—not just gods, but kings of kings, rulers above all. Their pride swelled, and their desires sharpened into something insatiable.

Worship was no longer enough.

Their temples became fortresses of excess, filled with golden thrones, towering statues in their own likeness, and halls lined with the spoils of mortal labor. What had once been a divine bond between god and worshipper turned into something darker—a kingdom where the gods took and mortals gave until there was nothing left.

Their greed knew no limits.

The need for gems, gold, and offerings grew with every harvest, their appetites as endless as the heavens themselves. They surrounded themselves with chosen ones, mortals plucked from their lives and adorned in silks, living in luxury within the gilded prisons of palaces and temples.

Taxes rose, year after year, until the hands that once offered prayers in devotion now trembled with exhaustion. No matter how bountiful the crops, no matter how overflowing the storehouses, the people were left to starve at the feet of their gods.