"How did we get here?" Vikram's voice cut through the silence, his eyes locked on the bodies splayed across the ancient floor. The smell of decaying flesh mixed with the staleness of the pyramid's air, but no one moved. No one answered.

Vihaan crouched near the dark stone at the center of the room, his fingers grazing its cold surface. Words—ancient symbols—were written beneath it in blood, long dried. His breath hitched. This stone had seen centuries, yet it looked as though it had only just been tainted by death.

Five corpses lay at their feet, each a twisted mirror of the other. Eyes frozen in eternal horror. Skin shriveled, stretching over bone. Matthew nudged one with his boot, grimacing. "These people died bad deaths," he said, voice rough, a mixture of awe and disgust. "What the hell happened here?"

Dr. Ming Yu, the only one who dared take a step closer to the bodies, knelt down and reached for one of their hands. He touched the leathery remains gingerly, his brow furrowed. "Rigor mortis passed long ago. Whatever killed them... it wasn't recent."

Vihaan's voice broke through their observations. "This writing..." he said, standing and gesturing to the stone, "it's older than any recorded Egyptian script."

Vikram's analytical gaze shifted to the hieroglyphs. "Older than history itself," he whispered, the weight of those words filling the room like lead.

Oliver, his fingers tracing a faint crack in the pyramid wall, turned toward the others, curiosity ablaze in his eyes. "Do you think… whatever killed them is still here?"

An uneasy silence settled over the group. They had been briefed—warned, even—that this pyramid was unlike any other on the plateau. The government's insistence on secrecy, the low survival rates of previous expeditions—all of it rang with a dark foreboding that was now manifesting in these five corpses.

"We should've listened," Matthew muttered, almost to himself, eyes darting toward the entrance that no longer existed. The path they'd entered through had vanished, replaced by smooth, featureless stone. There was no way out.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been two weeks since their initial briefing.

Seated in a sterile, windowless room, the five of them had listened to the government's lead archaeologist, a stern woman with a tight bun, outline the details of the mission.

"You have been selected for a reason," she had said, pacing in front of them like a general before battle. "This pyramid has remained hidden for millennia, and we have reason to believe its discovery was not accidental. There are... mysteries within. Possibly dangers. This is not a task for the faint-hearted."

"Possibly?" Oliver had quipped from the back, earning a few nervous glances from the others.

Her eyes had narrowed. "The last expedition was lost. All of them. Their bodies were never recovered, and we lost contact shortly after they descended into the pyramid. You're going into the unknown."

Vihaan, sitting closest to the front, had taken careful notes. "And if we find something dangerous?" he'd asked, voice steady but tinged with curiosity.

Her answer had been cold. "You deal with it. Your mission is to discover, document, and return. Nothing else matters."

Back in the pyramid, the team's growing tension was palpable. Each of them stared at the stone, at the corpses, at the walls that seemed to pulse with ancient energy. Matthew had taken the lead, moving toward a narrow tunnel just beyond the dark stone, determined to find a way out of the room. "Standing around won't save us," he growled, the urgency in his voice pushing the others to follow.

The tunnel was tight, forcing them to move single file. The further they went, the colder the air became. Ming Yu, walking near the back, shivered and pressed a hand to his chest. His breath quickened with each step, the weight of the pyramid's oppressive silence settling on him like a shroud.

Suddenly, Vikram stopped. "Wait," he whispered, barely audible. Ahead of them, the tunnel opened into a circular chamber, empty save for a large wooden door on the opposite side. And etched into the stone around them were more symbols—more warnings written in blood.

Matthew was the first to approach the door. "This looks like a way out."

Vihaan, however, stepped in front of him, shaking his head. "No. We need to be careful. This door... it's not just an exit."

"It's the only way forward," Matthew snapped, but before he could argue further, the ground beneath them shook violently.

The door creaked open on its own, revealing another chamber—darker, colder, and filled with mechanical devices unlike anything they had ever seen. The room hummed, the low vibration sinking into their bones.

A voice echoed from the walls, deep and menacing. "Only one may pass."

Vikram's eyes narrowed. "A trial."

Oliver's voice quivered. "What kind of trial?"

"One of survival," Vihaan replied, his voice barely a whisper.

The stone mechanisms whirred to life, and from the ceiling descended a cage-like contraption, with blades that glittered in the dim light. Its purpose was clear.

The team froze, fear clutching at their throats. But it was Matthew who spoke first. "No. We go together."

He stepped forward, grabbing onto the doorframe, bracing himself as if preparing for the worst.

"Matthew, wait!" Ming Yu called, his voice urgent, but it was too late. The room's ancient machinery responded to his presence, gears grinding with a horrible screech.

The trial had begun.

The stone walls seemed to close in with each passing second, the ancient air thickening with dread. Each breath tasted of dust and decay, the bitter remnants of those who had come before them. Five corpses lay twisted on the floor, their silent screams etched into the gaunt skin pulled tight across their skeletal faces. This wasn't just a tomb—it was a trap, crafted by minds darker and older than any civilization they had ever studied.

"How much time?" Vihaan asked, his voice low but urgent, eyes flicking to Vikram.

Vikram didn't respond at first. His mind was already racing, an engineer's cold, logical process clashing with the panic gripping his chest. He crouched, fingers trembling, drawing invisible lines on the floor. Each groan of the shifting mechanisms in the walls, each pulse of energy from the ancient machine was part of a larger system—one designed to kill them, slowly, methodically.

"Vikram!" Vihaan snapped, more forcefully this time.

Vikram exhaled, his eyes calculating—running numbers, comparing intervals, counting beats between the tremors. "We have less than five minutes. Maybe four." His voice was hollow, void of emotion, like he was running through a math problem. "This room… it's resetting itself. Every vibration is a countdown, and once the cycle ends..." He didn't need to finish the sentence.

The others went quiet, their breaths quickening in unison. Four minutes. That was all the time they had left before whatever force had twisted the bodies at their feet came for them.

"What are you saying?" Matthew demanded, his bravado fraying at the edges. "That we're just supposed to sit here and die?"

"No," Vikram said quietly, standing up, eyes fixed on the grinding walls. "We move, but not randomly. If we push against it without thinking, the mechanism will snap shut faster. We have to time our movements with the cycle… be part of it." His voice lowered, cold with the weight of his realization. "This thing isn't just a trap—it's a system. If we fight it, we lose."

The grinding noise became louder, filling the chamber like the guttural roar of some ancient beast. It wasn't just the walls—it was the floor, the ceiling, everything around them coming to life with malicious intent. Vihaan's heart raced, and his hands trembled at his sides, but he didn't let himself panic. He couldn't.

"Vihaan!" Matthew's voice cut through the rising clamor, sharp with fear. "What the hell is happening? We're not getting out of here alive, are we?"

Vihaan didn't answer immediately. He couldn't—not with the machine's deadly cycle growing more erratic, the mechanisms that had spared them for just a moment beginning to spin faster and faster. The walls were trembling now, as if eager to crush them.

He turned sharply, staring at the floor, the walls, and then his eyes caught something. An inscription, almost hidden by dust and the shifting stone, written in jagged, uneven script. It wasn't hieroglyphs—it was something far more recent.

German.

"What the..." Vihaan murmured, his breath hitching. He hadn't expected this. The ancient architecture surrounding them had led them to believe this was some ancient death trap—but this inscription didn't belong here. It was a puzzle, a riddle etched by someone who had come before them. Someone who had survived, or at least tried to.

Vikram's eyes followed Vihaan's gaze. "What is it?" he asked, voice sharp with desperation. "What does it say?"

Vihaan squinted, the words coming into focus. They were written in old, formal German—a language he barely understood but could still piece together. His heart dropped into his stomach as the meaning became clear.

"Man muss fallen, um frei zu sein."

One must fall to be free.

His pulse quickened. The air was thick with the smell of ozone and oil, as the grinding of the ancient machinery intensified. The time they had left was rapidly slipping away. Vikram had said four minutes, but judging by the growing whine of the gears and the pressure building under their feet, Vihaan knew they had less.

"What's it say?" Matthew demanded, wiping sweat from his brow, barely able to stand still as the ground shook beneath them.

Vihaan hesitated, the weight of the words hanging in the air. He swallowed hard, his mouth dry. "It's a riddle. It says... 'One must fall to be free.'"

"Fall?" Oliver's voice was barely a whisper. "What the hell does that mean?"

Before Vihaan could respond, the room gave a violent shudder. The ceiling above them cracked, dust raining down, and with it, the mechanisms above whirred to life—sharp metal blades descending slowly, spiraling as they neared the floor. This wasn't a test of patience anymore. It was a test of time, and they were running out of it.

"We need to move!" Vikram shouted over the noise, his eyes wild. "We don't have time to stand around. We've got to solve this—now!"

Vihaan's mind raced, piecing together the symbols, the riddle, the mechanics of the room. The grinding machinery was designed to kill them, yes, but there was something deeper at play. The riddle wasn't just poetic—it was a literal instruction. One must fall.

"It's a choice," Vihaan murmured, his eyes narrowing as the realization set in. "The room… it's designed to spare one of us if someone—if one of us sacrifices themselves."

The team stared at him, horror dawning on their faces. Matthew's fists clenched, his knuckles white. "No way. We're not doing that. We've made it this far together!"

Vikram shook his head, his jaw tight. "But if we don't do something, we all die."

"No." Vihaan's voice was firm. "That's what it wants us to think. We're missing something. The riddle—it's a trick. It says one must fall, but it doesn't say someone has to die."

He pointed to the floor beneath them. "There's got to be a trapdoor, or something below us. A literal fall. This place was built to mess with us. It's playing with the idea of sacrifice."

The noise around them was deafening now. The walls had begun to close in, inch by inch, and the ceiling blades spun faster, casting deadly reflections across the stone. The floor vibrated violently, but Vihaan's eyes were locked onto the center of the room, where faint outlines formed a perfect square.

"A fall…" Vikram echoed, the gears in his own mind turning. "You think there's an actual way out through the floor?"

Vihaan nodded, his confidence growing. "It's the only thing that makes sense. The riddle—it's designed to make us panic, to make us believe we have to sacrifice someone. But this floor, it's thin—there's something beneath it. We just have to trigger it."

"How?" Oliver's voice cracked, wide eyes scanning the chaos. "We don't have time—"

"Everyone move to the edges!" Vihaan yelled over the din, his brain working furiously. He pointed toward the corners of the room. "Get to the edges, and jump in sync. If we create enough force—if we shake the floor hard enough—it'll give."

Matthew looked ready to argue again, his face flushed with adrenaline, but the encroaching walls left him no choice. "This better work, Vihaan, or I swear…"

They scrambled to the edges of the room, hands pressed against the cold stone walls for balance as the ground trembled beneath them. The blades above were descending faster now, sharp enough to split them in half if Vihaan's plan failed.

"On three," Vihaan called, his heart pounding in his throat. He felt every muscle in his body tense, the weight of the room pressing down on them.

"One…"

The walls groaned, the ceiling so close now that the sound of the spinning blades was deafening.

"Two…"

Vihaan's mind raced with calculations. The timing had to be perfect—if one of them hesitated, if one of them didn't jump, the floor wouldn't crack, and they'd all be dead in seconds.

"Three!"

They leapt.

The impact sent a shockwave through the room. For a split second, nothing happened. Then, with a sickening crack, the floor beneath the center of the room splintered, giving way as dust and debris rained down. The ground opened up into a dark chasm, deep and endless. The machinery above them ground to a halt, the blades shuddering in place just inches above their heads.

Vihaan didn't hesitate. He lunged toward the opening in the floor, his body propelled forward by sheer instinct. The others followed, each of them tumbling into the void as the walls slammed shut behind them.

They plunged into darkness, the air thick and cold around them as they fell, the sound of the grinding machinery fading into the distance. For a moment, there was nothing but the rush of wind and the beat of their own hearts pounding in their ears.

Then, with a bone-jarring thud, they hit solid ground.

Vihaan groaned, pushing himself up slowly. His entire body ached from the impact, but they were alive. The others lay around him, coughing and gasping for air, bruised but not broken. Above them, the floor had resealed itself, the trap reset for the next poor souls to enter.

They were safe. For now.

But as Vihaan glanced around, his heart sank. They had escaped the immediate danger, but the room they now found themselves in was darker, colder—and even more ominous than the last.

On the walls, more inscriptions glowed faintly, this time in an even older language. One Vihaan didn't recognize at all.

But beneath the symbols, scratched into the stone in jagged, desperate handwriting, was another riddle.

"Nur der Schatten überlebt."

Only the shadow survives.