Egypt, 1927

He was running, barely registering where he set his feet, trusting in instinct and short term memory, despite knowing that inside this maze even one wrong step could be deadly. But turning around or stopping, even for just one moment to listen, to look, to think, would be his end. Because what was following him needed not a second to think. Far above him the sun was burning down on the desert, making it too hot to move. But even though there were only a few meters of sand between him and the surface, his hurried breath was turning into clouds, the air around him so cold as if it was night already. Cold and humid, almost icy. He should have known then, when he first felt it, that something wasn't right down here.

The man turned around the next corner, trying not to think about what lay beyond. The room with the altar, a golden ring on a chain, with the symbol of a pyramid and the Eye of Horus in its centre…and his colleagues body, falling down, blood running over the stone, his scream ending in small croaks and then…silence. No, he needed to shove it aside, needed to forget, to remember where to turn, and what lay ahead.

He needed to get out.

The room with the statues above the abyss lay behind him. If he was correct, it shouldn't be should be able to see daylight soon…and maybe that would mean safety. But he wasn't as fit as he used to be, aging despite his constant denials catching up to him. Every step hurt; he could hear his joints creaking, his muscles burning. Every breath felt like torture already, and he had only been running for a couple of minutes. But it felt like eternity, like he was barely moving at all.

Solomon Muto nearly stumbled on the next step, suddenly raising from the ground. Behind him, in the dark, he could hear something—laughter, mad and hissing and full of a dark delight. A hunter knowing his prey couldn't escape.

Sand was rushing up behind him, a miniature sandstorm far away from wind and surface, captured in cold stone tunnels. Like a rope it seemed to move, winding itself around Solomon's ankles, trying to capture him. It felt almost playful, teasing really, as if his hunter was playing with him. Maybe that was it, coupled with the laughter and the confidence of the hunter, which made Solomon angry enough to overpower the fear driving him onward. He was determined to not die down here, in this city of the dead. He had to return; he had promised that much.

With a desperate surge of strength Solomon tore himself away and stumbled forward into the forked path. One, leading deeper into this endless maze, and the other, ending into a final set of stairs.

Even from his position, Solomon could see the daylight streaming down from the door at the end of those stairs. Just a few steps separated him from it; he was nearly there. The nightmare was nearly over. He could leave, bolt the door, and try to hide and forget that he ever found his way into this cursed city. The desert sands would bury it again, and this time for good. There existed only one map, and he had lost it and the box holding it sometime during his mad flight. Nobody would ever find the way back, and he could return home to his grandson, and maybe—maybe he would actually be able to forget what happened.

Solomon had nearly reached the stair when a shadow appeared in the doorway. Long, pale hair, so white the light behind him lit it up like a halo, falling down on small shoulders, framing a shy face with black eyes, which mustered Solomon with an emotionless look. Solomon nearly stumbled over his own feet, and his eyes widened. His colleague's son, the boy had followed them inside the city and…

He opened his mouth, unsure whether to scream or ask for help, but he didn't get a chance to speak. Suddenly a grin, unnaturally wide, split the boy's face, dark delight gleaming in his eyes. He laid his hand on the heavy stone door and without the slightest strain slammed it shut, blocking Solomon's way to freedom. The last thing Solomon saw, apart from the boy's grin, was something golden hanging from a cord around his neck. Then there was nothing but darkness.

Solomon didn't get a chance to react. A roar filled the tunnel behind him, making him turn around to face what had been hunting him for so long. The small stream of sand trying to capture him before had turned into a full-fledged sandstorm. Limited by the narrow space of the tunnels, its contained shape was even more deadly than it would have been on the outside in the desert, all the power of the storm captured into one space.

Solomon got hit within seconds, with no way to flee. Coarse sand filled his lungs and eyes, and settled into every crook of his clothes. It felt like drowning on dry earth. He could barely breathe, barely even think. His grandson's face was the last thing that flashed in his mind, coupled with the realisation that this was it. There was no escape this time. The thought hurt worse than he had thought. He had promised Yugi he'd return with one more story about a great discovery and game. Well, he had lost this one; obviously played with a power he hadn't fully understood, and as punishment he would leave his grandson behind, wondering forever about what had happened to him. The tears inside his eyes weren't entirely from the pain of the sandstorm which seemed determined to tear him apart. Laughter—the same dark, hissing laughter of the tunnels—rang out through the roar of the storm, being as much a part of it as the sand. Solomon closed his eyes, only one thought in his mind: Yugi, I'm sorry.

Then suddenly the laughter stopped, together with the storm. An angry hiss rang out in the disturbingly silent room, and the cold air grew warmer as Solomon slowly dared to open his eyes to see what had happened. For a place trying to kill him, this city seemed to come up with new ideas annoyingly often.

Around him the sand seemed to hang motionless in the air, as if frozen in spot. Only on the far corner of Solomon's vision it still moved, but this time it seemed almost pushed aside like an invisible shape was making its way through the storm. Something gleamed up in the dark, and where the invisible shape was stood something looking like a pair of red eyes, beckoning him. Then another glow appeared, golden like sunlight this time and so bright that Solomon had to close his eyes for a moment. When he opened his eyes again, the sandstorm and the shape visible inside it had disappeared just like the glowing eyes. The tunnel seemed a little bit brighter, warmer even.

Solomon blinked. His anxious breath, shaking with every gasp, sounded tortuously loud in the dark. It was the only thing he could hear; all around him there was only silence. He waited for a moment, listening for any further noises or sign of the hunter—even any movement in the tunnel—

But there was nothing. As if the hunter had simply disappeared.

Carefully and slowly he turned around, his eyes getting used to the dark again. He could see shapes and almost make out the walls around him, but…there really seemed to be nothing more in here with him. Just normal darkness. The hunter had truly disappeared. Carefully he took one step down the stairs, then another—and stopped suddenly. The sandstorm may have disappeared, but the sand at the end of the stairs formed a shape that had definitely not been here before. The Eye of Horus looked back up from the ground.

Solomon took another careful breath and tried with all his might not to think about what this sign could possible mean. What the hell had just happened? He stepped carefully around it on shaking legs. He walked back towards the crossroads of the tunnels, expecting with every step to be attacked and killed. Still nothing.

He stood in the middle of the crossing tunnels, unsure and weary. Fear and anger still coursed through him, but a growing sense of confusion manifested itself more and more. What had happened? He had no idea what was going on, or why his hunter had disappeared, and the boy…

He shook his head, tired, and even more afraid than before. The sudden silence and peacefulness of this place made him even more afraid than he had ever been during his mad flight through the underground city. But he couldn't solve this riddle now, and his goal still remained the same: stay alive and get out of here. And now this goal had become much more urgent. The boy was out there, and god knew what else was with him. He needed to find him, to find a way to make any of this right. Because whatever happened to him and his father, whatever they had let loose…. It was his fault. Him and his wild dream of a hidden city.

With a sigh Solomon squared his shoulders and walked on into the dark, taking the other passage this time. There had to be another way out of here. This place was a ruin; some hole had to lead to the surface.

Hours seemed to pass, though in truth it was probably less than an hour. The tunnels seemed to go on forever, twisting and turning, and Solomon was sure he had walked around in circles at least once. But the air was slowly turning warmer and drier with the taste of the desert. It filled him with a weary hope. It almost felt normal, safe, just the typical desert air again. Using this warmth as a guide, he managed to find a way out in the ceiling of a tunnel long collapsed. The fallen-down stones made a passable path, and with a little bit of effort, and the last of his strength, Solomon managed to climb out.

Outside he immediately collapsed into the desert sand. Hastily he gulped down the air, still warm, but with a hint of the cold night creeping in. On the horizon, just outside the city ruins, the sun was slowly beginning to set with a soft breeze dancing through the air. In this moment it was the most wonderful thing Solomon had ever seen. He closed his eyes, and a slow, disbelieving smile appeared on his lips. He had made it! He had escaped with his life, and now, sitting there in the evening breeze, it almost felt like what happened down there was nothing but a bad dream. Like it had never happened at all.

But it had happened, and no matter how much he might wish for, he couldn't just go home and forget about it. He had to find the boy and figure out what they had unleashed down there, and maybe even find a way to stop it.

He had to get moving; he couldn't stay here.

He opened his eyes, ready to get up, when a shot ringing out through the ruins froze him on the spot. Next to him the sand splashed up where the bullet found its mark, and with wide eyes Solomon looked down to the spot, and the slowly up into the barrel of a rifle pointing straight at his face. A pair of cold blue eyes, surprisingly young-looking, glared down at him, their owner hidden behind a dark cloak. And he was not alone. Others similarly dressed filtered through the ruins, both standing beside and sitting on camels. All of them watched him, motionless like statues, and bearing rifles pointed at him. They didn't really seem happy to see him.

So Solomon did the only thing he could. He slowly raised his arms in surrender.

A few meters away from the scene, a young boy with long white hair hid behind a half toppled column and watched the scene before him with narrowed eyes. So the Medjay were still around…how annoying. And that meant that one of his possible tools had just gotten rendered useless. The old man was as good as dead now. Oh well, there would always be another one. He had someone in mind already; the old man had talked a bit after all. And he had the perfect bait.

With a dark grin the boy looked down at his hand, fingers curled around a sealed iron box shimmering in the last rays of the sun.