"Tell me Damien", his father's eyes were icy cold with their blue. "What is it you're searching for? All these books, your fascination with Egypt, your obsession with the dead".

A sharp disappointed sigh. A hand running through grey-blonde hair. "Damien. It's gothic. It's dark. People think you're mad. There are rumours of the you, the youngest member of the family, our family, sleeping in a coffin".

A thud of a dropped book. "Your smart Damien. Be more like your older brother. Take a interest in socialising. Come out of your study and talk to people. You're twenty one now. High time to introduce you to society. Try and do something before everyone thinks you're some strange, whimsical wastrel".

His father regarded him with those orbs of ice, the sharpness becoming needle pointed as lips pulled back distastefully. "Whatever half-wild dream your looking for, stop. I don't care what it is, who it is, what it means to you. Stop before it drives you insane".

Damien stood stiffly. The frustration and anger in his chest bubbling in his throat. His father looked at him with a steel hardness that Damien knew would not bend. He had no words to explain what he felt. That there was something out there calling him. The very sensation a tugging at his soul. It was as if there was something calling his name, waiting.

Instead of speaking, Damien bit his tongue and stayed silent.

——

"Do keep up Mr Jean!" The professor called, Mr Haynes , shielding his eyes from the harsh glare of the Egyptian sun. The elderly and portly man waved pointedly, his light brown waistcoat blending with the golden dunes around them. Huddling after him like a bunch of ducklings was the fifteen other students. All of them turned and shot various glares and disgruntled looks Damien's way. Annoyed that their posh clothes were being ruined by the sand.

Damien rolled his eyes with a scoff. He squinted through the sun down at the note book in his grip. He brushed a few grains of sand off the paper. Muttering to himself, he concentrated down at the mix of English and hieroglyphics inked on the page. The sand was getting under his shirt and the itchiness was driving him insane. He rubbed his elbows into his sides to try and make it better.

"Damien!"

Damien looked up at the friendlier call. His favourite professor was standing a over by a collection of boulders. The stone sticking out from a dune. Mr Beadle waved at him, glasses crooked on his nose and ginger hair ruffled. The man was in his mid forties, a good decade younger than Damien's other professors. He was the old teacher who encouraged Damien's attitude and his questions.

Damien jogged over, scrambling as much as he could over the sand. His feet unused to the shakiness of the texture. "What is it?" He asked excitedly as he tucked the notebook back into his backpack. Under the sun, his hair was as golden as the surrounding landscape.

"Look here", Beadle pointed at the stone. On the rough surface was the faded lines of etchings carved decades ago. Some were smoothed out from years of weather erosion. But some hieroglyphics characters were still just about visible with the naked eye.

"What does it say?" Damien traced over the lines with his finger, wondering at the history beneath his hands.

Beadle hummed, brow furrowing. "It's a name. Ahkmanrah, I think".

"Ahkmanrah?" Damien exclaimed excitedly. "The pharaoh? He's never been discovered has he?"

"Not yet. But historians know he's buried around here somewhere", Beadle grinned. His aged face looking younger with eagerness.

"He was one of the good pharaoh's, according to the records", Damien added as they both straightened. The rest of the class had disappeared round the corner of the cliff wall. The valley encircled with high red stone cliffs. Damien and Mr Beadle walked leisurely after them, taking their time.

"He was", Beadle agreed. "It is said that he inherited the throne at seventeen and ruled for eight years before he was murdered by his jealous older brother. Kuhmanrah. Since then very little is known about him. His brother tried to wipe his name from the records, so it's all myth and rumours".

"Sounds like a bad family dynamic", Damien joked. Beadle laughed and picked up his pace.

"Come on. I'm supposed to help supervise this trip. Shouldn't get left behind". He began lightly jogging over the sand, leaving Damien strolling along behind by himself.

Damien huffed, disappointed at being by himself again. He didn't much want to rejoin the group. Most of what Professor Haynes was saying, he already knew from books and self studying. Instead he wandered closer to the cliffs. He was about half a football pitch distance away from the rock when Damien felt the ground shift beneath him.

He stopped, eyes widening as the sand began tumbling around his feet. The grains cascading over his shoes as something moved beneath. "Professor!" He called. Beadle still within eyesight.

The man turned in confusion. Just in time to watch as Damien yelled. The ground crumbled beneath him and he was falling. Sand pouring after him like water as he tumbled down into darkness. He fell through cold air for a flew seconds before landing heavily on his back onto stone. His backpack, which was full of papers and his scarf and jacket, mostly cushioned his chest and head. The impact still hurt like a bitch. Bruises sure to come up later with colourful shapes.

Damien coughed, enveloped by dust and sand. He brushed his face down as he sat up, groaning loudly. Above him sunlight shone down from the hole he had fallen through. A area of ground the size of a single bed open to the blue sky above. He could hear distant shouting.

"Damien!" Beadle's face was peering down at him over the edge of the hole. "You okay lad?"

"Afraid so", Damien coughed, still patting dust off his clothes. He picked himself achingly to his feet. All round him was darkness but the air felt like there was space. It was cold, hinting at the size of the hole. Damien peered at it, a niggling feeling on his subconscious.

"We'll get you out", Beadle called. "Just hang in there". Above Damien could hear the chatter of his fellow students and orders being shouted.

"Can someone throw down a light?" Damien shouted. Beadle reappeared and tossed down a chunky object which Damien caught heavily. It was a large silver lighter. Damien flicked it on and held up the little flame.

"What is it?" Beadle asked.

Damien stepped away from the sunlight and held the flame before him. The walls were a golden sandstone carved ornately with twisting hieroglyphics. His blood was pounding in his veins as he slowly took in the room. The flame light dancing off of ornate gold and deep blue of treasures. He couldn't see much with the small light, but what he could see made him giddy with excitement.

"Beadle!" He screamed, voice shaking with joy.

"Damien?"

"You're not going to fucking believe this!" Damien halted at the shape of a filled in door. Above it was one word cared heavily into the stone. His lips moved as he tried to decode the hieroglyphs, still learning the language. It took him a anxious, pulse racing minute before he was gasping loudly. He tripped backwards and fell heavily on his arse on the stone floor.

"What is it Damien?" Beadle's voice was frantic.

"You know that Pharaoh we were just talking about?" Damien's voice was trembling, scarcely able to believe that this was happening. He laughed wildly. "I think we've found him".

Beadle was silent above and Damien wished he could see his face.

"Ahkmanrah? You've fallen into his tomb?" He was disbelieving.

"Beadle!" Damien shouted. "His name is right above me carved into the wall. I think this is his bloody tomb".

"Oh my fucking god Damien! Do you know what this means? You're going to be rich!" Beadle was crowing. "Our names will go down in history! You've found Ahkmanrah!"

"Ahkmanrah", Damien echoed, voice barely above a whisper as he stared up at the carved images. "I've found you".

Unedited