The resistance camp was a hidden network of tunnels buried beneath the dunes. From the outside, it was nothing but an ordinary sand-swept ridge—a camouflaged scar in an endless sea of golden grains—but once the cloaked figures led us inside, the world shifted. The cool air hit me like a balm after hours in the sun, and dim torches flickered along carefully carved stone walls. If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought this place predated the pyramids themselves.
"A hidden base? Underground?" I thought, trying not to say it aloud. "Somewhere out there, a conspiracy theorist is fist-pumping the air.""
"Welcome to what's left of the real kingdom," the woman leading us said, pulling back her hood. She was tall, with angular features, piercing dark eyes, and a face that had clearly seen too much hardship. "I am Khepri. We are the Pharaoh's loyalists."
"Loyalists?" I echoed, glancing around as more robed figures emerged from the shadows. There were dozens of them—men, women, even children. Some were sharpening spears, others tending to wounded fighters, and a few were whispering over maps laid across crates. It felt surreal, like I had stepped into some dystopian movie set where ancient Egypt and Mad Max had a baby.
"Loyal to what?" Eris added, casually twirling a dagger between her fingers. Her voice carried that usual mix of curiosity and "I might cause chaos for funsies."
"To the real king," Khepri replied firmly, eyes narrowing like she was daring us to question it. "The rightful Pharaoh of this land. Before they took him."
"They?" Ratatoskr asked, ears perking up. He'd clambered onto my shoulder like my personal mascot of curiosity and snark.
"The Harvesters," Khepri said, her voice dropping like a stone. "At first, they came to trade. They promised gifts beyond mortal comprehension—tools that built cities, lights that could banish the dark, healing that worked like magic. The Pharaoh accepted their gifts, and for a time, there was peace."
She gestured to a nearby crate where alien-like artifacts—orbs, sigil-etched devices, strange tools—lay dormant. "These technologies made our kingdom thrive, but the Harvesters always wanted something in return. At first, it was small things. Crops. Gold. Resources. Then they began asking for people."
I froze. "People?" I repeated slowly, like the word might make more sense the second time.
Khepri's gaze hardened. "They said it was for 'the betterment of all kingdoms'—to teach us the secrets of the stars. But those they took never returned."
Silence stretched as we followed Khepri deeper into the tunnels. The passages widened into a cavernous underground chamber, bathed in flickering torchlight. Makeshift tents sprawled against the walls, wooden scaffolding creaked under the weight of supplies, and a golden shrine sat at the center, draped in offerings.
"This is the Pharaoh," Khepri said, as we stopped before the effigy. It was striking—regal, powerful, yet somehow tragic. "His body may be gone, but his spirit lives in those who fight for him."
Around us, resistance fighters and civilians bowed their heads as they passed. I swallowed hard, feeling like an intruder.
"They're holding onto a ghost, aren't they?" I thought grimly. Still, I couldn't blame them. When you're backed into a corner by flying alien saucers and overgrown stone statues, sometimes a ghost is all you have.
The camp's day-to-day life reminded me of a survival sim: everything was patched together with scavenged materials, and yet somehow, it worked. Blacksmiths hammered makeshift spears out of broken tools. Healers concocted medicines with herbs and alien tech fragments, muttering prayers as they worked. Scouts checked maps, planning routes and raids with grim determination.
Ratatoskr, munching a piece of what looked like stale flatbread, muttered, "It's like XCOM, but with more sand and less hope."
Khepri overheard and shot him a glare. "Hope is the only thing that keeps us alive."
I scratched my neck awkwardly. "So, uh, what's the game plan here? You can't just be holed up forever, right?"
"We aren't," Khepri said firmly. "Every day, we raid Harvester outposts, salvage their tech, and disrupt their operations. Tomorrow, you will see for yourself."
I nodded, though I couldn't shake the feeling that this was all just delaying the inevitable. Every supply crate was a bandaid on a festering wound.
That night, as fires burned low and the hum of distant machinery echoed faintly through the tunnels, I lay awake staring at the rocky ceiling. Eris had claimed a hammock (where did she find a hammock?), Ratatoskr was curled up like a furry troublemaker in a corner, and the owl perched silently nearby, watching everything. Always watching.
"You okay, hero?" Eris asked softly, breaking the quiet. Her voice was softer than usual, less playful.
"I just…" I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "It feels like we're walking into something big. Bigger than a missing Pharaoh. This is invasion-level stuff."
"Good thing we like fixing bugs," Ratatoskr mumbled sleepily, his tail twitching.
I snorted. "Yeah. Too bad these bugs come with laser beams."
The owl spoke softly, its voice echoing in my mind. "The roots of this anomaly run deep. The Harvesters are only the beginning."
"Great," I muttered, rolling onto my side.
Morning came too quickly, and with it, the promise of action. Khepri stood at the entrance of the tunnels, flanked by fighters armed with scavenged weapons.
"Today, we strike their outpost to the east," she said, her voice steady. "You will see the truth of what they have done to us—to our people."
As we walked toward the light of the desert, I felt the weight of the resistance's survival pressing against my shoulders. This wasn't just a fight for their Pharaoh anymore.
"You sure you're ready for this, hero?" Eris asked, her grin returning. "We're about to stir up a hornet's nest."
I adjusted my pack and cracked my knuckles. "Let's debug this mess."
The owl spread its wings, silhouetted against the rising sun. "The truth awaits."
Ratatoskr sighed, hopping onto my shoulder. "This timeline better have a save file."
As we emerged from the tunnels, the dunes stretched endlessly before us—and in the far distance, the dark silhouette of alien structures rose like a scar on the horizon.
Note to self: Always read the fine print when aliens show up with gifts.
To be continued…