The jungle looked to be alive, its thick undergrowth teeming with noise—shrill cries and the snapping of branches and leaves beneath his feet. Ethan could sense the oppressive humidity clinging to his skin as he ran through this fiery wilderness, soaking him as he navigated the untamed atmosphere. The scents of soaked moss overwhelmed his nostrils, rotting wood, and the stinging odor of decaying plants. He could hear his breath. Shallow and panicked, as fast as his heartbeat. Behind him, the noise of pursuit was unmistakable: dogs barking, their sharp yips piercing through the jungle's silence, accompanied by men shouting.
The dense foliage masked their voices while making them sound louder and closer. Scanning his surroundings, looking for a way to evade his pursuers. The voices became louder, and a Spanish shout reverberated through the air. Curses mixed with the dogs' howls, creating a chaotic environment that filled him with dread. Caught in his throat as he realized how dangerous his position was. Ethan understood that being captured could put him at risk of execution. Determined not to let this happen. Despite being driven out by the burden in his backpack, he forced himself to move. He understood the symbol that denoted its contents and was adamant that it never ended up in the wrong hands.
As he continued to run, fatigue set in; his vision blurred, and his body weakened because of the strain and added weight. At that moment, luck smiled upon him: he spotted a large tree root that provided an ideal hiding spot. The man dashed toward the entrance, his heart pounding akin to a war drum. He sank low, his knees skidding on the damp surface. The tight space beneath was full. With thick roots, wet moss, and dirt. He covered himself in mud, the smell of decaying vegetation masking his odor from the pursuing dogs. As time passed, he hugged his knapsack and stared at the limited view of the starry sky. An uncomfortable pressure from the tangled, thick roots and wet ground pressed against his back, sending a chill through his spine.
Lost in thought, he opened his knapsack and took out a palm-sized bronze object. He examined the mysterious item and discovered that it was spherical, with curves and edges that he could sense in his hand. His fingers traced the delicate grooves of the bronze sphere, each curve suggesting more than just decoration. As he turned the sphere in his hand, its intricate patterns appeared to shift under the moonlight, comparable to a puzzle waiting to be solved. In its silent mystery, he saw his own life—layered, uncertain, but significant.
He found something to be unsettling. As he contemplated this, sleepiness overwhelmed him.
Two months ago, in October 1899, the City of London.
The air was thick with coal smoke, damp cobblestones, and the harsh tang of industry. London's vibrant streets hummed with life as street vendors shouted in various accents to promote their wares. The rhythmic hiss of steam engines from nearby railways punctuated, and the Newsboy dashed through the crowd, shouting out the latest headlines. The omnibuses' rattling wheels, which added to the symphony of urban sounds, captured a bustling London. As the train came to a halt at the grand terminal, a young man stepped onto the platform, his boots clicking on the polished stone. The air smelled of coal, damp stone, and a faint tang of the Thames as I took in my unfamiliar surroundings—a city alive with industry and ambition. He adjusted his coat and looked out the station window at the crowded streets. The carriage rattled down cobblestone lanes, weaving through crowds of pedestrians wearing everything from threadbare coats to silk gowns.
As he scanned his surroundings, he noticed a familiar face waiting by the carriage: a man dressed in a sack suit and bowler hat. He approaches the man with a smile on his face. When the man notices him, he looks at him and smirks.
"Oh, Mr. Rivera, it is nice to see you again."
Before reaching out his hand for a handshake. Ethan smiled as he extended his hand to the man. "Mr. Johnson," Ethan stated, holding the man's hand with a firm but cautious grip. It is wonderful to see you once more. I hope everything is in order. His tone was polite, but his gaze searched the man's face for any sign of hesitation."
As Ethan settled into the carriage, he looked out the window, admiring London's architecture and watching the many people strolling down the pedestrian lane. Mr. Johnson cleared his throat awkwardly before asking,
"Mr. Rivera, how was your trip to Egypt?"
Ethan turned to face Mr. Johnson as the carriage slowly moved down the street. "I was in awe of the ancient Egyptian architecture, and I'm overwhelmed by how they built the massive pyramids." The ingenuity and planning that must have gone into such grand structures captivated me. I could not help but picture thousands of laborers working in the sun, their lives entwined with the stones that were thousands of years old, as I stood in front of them. Mr. Johnson nodded, clearly intrigued. I experienced an indescribable sense of connection to history, and each area of those locations had mysteries just waiting to be unearthed.
"It is amazing how much we still have to learn from the ancient civilizations. Did you see any other sights while you were there?" Ethan leaned back.
"Yes, I visited several temples and tombs, each with its own story written in hieroglyphs. It was a journey through time that sparked my curiosity about the past."
As they continued to discuss the trip, time passed without notice. Ethan stepped out of the carriage, followed by Mr. Johnson, as it moved slowly away, disappearing into the distance. "Before them stood the gates of Cambridge, its towering spires reaching for the heavens like a fortress of knowledge. The moonlight cast an ethereal glow over the centuries-old stonework, with each carving and arch whispering stories of scholars long gone.
For Ethan, the sight stirred both awe and trepidation—a reminder of the legacy he sought to honor, and the prejudice he had to overcome. Ethan noticed that was already midnight.
He took a deep breath and approached the entrance, with Mr. Johnson following him. They were both ready to navigate the campus. The campus was quiet. Usually, it's filled with students talking, but now only the leaves rustled in the breeze. The moon was high in the sky, shining a light on the cobblestone paths. The buildings looked large and imposing in the night. "Well then, Ethan, this is the moment we part ways," Mr. Johnson said. Johnson stepped back from Ethan.
Ethan navigated through endless corridors until he reached his office door. A familiar sign hung on it, reading "Professor Ethan Rivera." As he opened the door, he encountered a scene he knew well: his office had remained untouched for months, yet it was surprisingly clean. Ethan walked around, inspecting his office and reminiscing about the first time he had stepped inside.
Ethan was reviewing documents and filling out paperwork while seated at his office desk. As he gazed at the portrait of his family, a small tear suddenly welled up in his eye. Remembering the tragedy that had happened to his parents, he leaned back, relaxed, closed his eyes, and soon or later overwhelmed by sleep.
When he finally opened his eyes, bright sunlight blinded him, and he could feel his back aching as the thick roots of the old tree dug into his skin. He sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of his dreams. Memories from the past flooded back—tangled and painful, like the roots underneath him. The world around him felt vibrant and alive, yet the weight of his thoughts kept him anchored in a sea of unresolved feelings. He took a deep breath, hoping to find clarity in the chaos. As he listened to the leaves dancing in the air, he remembered where he was and slowly stepped out of his hiding place.
Taking a moment, he looked around and noticed the newfound peacefulness in the jungle, starkly contrasting with the chaos that had just pursued him. "Ethan sank against a tree, the tension in his chest unraveling with each shaky breath. The jungle, once a cacophony of threats, now hummed with an almost serene indifference. He pressed a hand to his heart, whispering a quiet prayer to no one in particular. For now, he was safe." After a long stretch to relieve muscle tension, he grabbed his knapsack, the familiar weight a reminder of his purpose.
The need to get back home pulsed within him, propelling him forward. Determined to stay one step ahead of any dangers, Ethan started making his way through the thick underbrush, keeping his senses keen on the sounds of the jungle. Each step felt like a journey through the jungle and back into his own life, where he hoped to face the shadows of his past with renewed courage. A sudden disturbance caught Ethan's attention: many birds were flocking from where he had come and heading toward where he was going. A cool chill struck through his body; something big was going to happen.