Ardeth's Dream: The Ring of Nuit Prologue
Dimly, vaguely, he heard a loud explosion. He turned towards the sound, his clothes billowing straight out behind him.
Beige dust, much like a khamsin, billowed up into the air, then roared down upon Ardeth. Sand, grit, stone, debris, even people were jumbled in together, screaming. Keening wails of thousands, a million, echoed in his mind, his ears.
He raised his hands up to protect his face but he was caught up in the dust storm, screaming, hearing the echoes of other screams, tumbling, turning, twisting in the terrifying demon khamsin.
Grit filled his mouth and he involuntarily swallowed. He tried to squeeze his lips together but the force of the demon khamsin forced his mouth open and grit poured itself down his throat, filling up his stomach.
"Chosen One, find me," a female voice, weak, whispered in the swirling demon khamsin.
"Help us, Ardeth!" a voice, a million voices, whispered.
"Find what?" Ardeth tried to ask but his mouth was filled with more grit.. "Help who?" he said through a mouthful of grit.
Soon, Ardeth's screams were stilled.
As always after this dream, Ardeth sat up, soaked with sweat, his eyes wild with fear. Fear. He used that word when he thought of the High Priest Imhotep to Pharoah Seti I. Fear was not defined as a bad dream.
But still the meaning of the dream eluded him. Who was he supposed to find? And exactly whom was he supposed to help?
Dimly, vaguely, he heard a loud explosion. He turned towards the sound, his clothes billowing straight out behind him.
Beige dust, much like a khamsin, billowed up into the air, then roared down upon Ardeth. Sand, grit, stone, debris, even people were jumbled in together, screaming. Keening wails of thousands, a million, echoed in his mind, his ears.
He raised his hands up to protect his face but he was caught up in the dust storm, screaming, hearing the echoes of other screams, tumbling, turning, twisting in the terrifying demon khamsin.
Grit filled his mouth and he involuntarily swallowed. He tried to squeeze his lips together but the force of the demon khamsin forced his mouth open and grit poured itself down his throat, filling up his stomach.
"Chosen One, find me," a female voice, weak, whispered in the swirling demon khamsin.
"Help us, Ardeth!" a voice, a million voices, whispered.
"Find what?" Ardeth tried to ask but his mouth was filled with more grit.. "Help who?" he said through a mouthful of grit.
Soon, Ardeth's screams were stilled.
As always after this dream, Ardeth sat up, soaked with sweat, his eyes wild with fear. Fear. He used that word when he thought of the High Priest Imhotep to Pharoah Seti I. Fear was not defined as a bad dream.
But still the meaning of the dream eluded him. Who was he supposed to find? And exactly whom was he supposed to help?
