Part One: The Echo Behind the Darkness
Mohamed had lived his entire life inside a darkness that most people feared—but for him, it was a silent kingdom he learned to rule. He had lost his vision at the age of six, after a fever that struck like a thief in the night. Since then, the world had been shapes of sound, maps of air, and whispers of sensations that ordinary eyes could never understand. But Mohamed… he had something far greater than sight.
He saw the unseen.
Not with eyes—those had long betrayed him.
He saw with something deeper, something ancient and frightening… a gift or a curse, he never knew. But he felt it pulsing every time he walked alone at night or brushed past old stones that remembered secrets.
Mohamed was calm, gentle, beautifully composed. People often forgot he was blind. His voice carried a warmth that settled storms. His features—soft but striking—made half the girls in his neighborhood secretly dream of him. Yet he never allowed himself to get attached. Love, he believed, was a mirror, and mirrors were useless to him.
He lived in a small apartment on the edge of Cairo, close enough to feel the heartbeat of the ancient city, far enough to escape its constant noise. He preferred stillness. In the quiet, he could hear other things—things that didn't belong to this world.
And recently… those things had been calling him more often.
---
On the night it all began, Mohamed was sitting on his rooftop, listening to the city breathe. The wind carried fragments of conversations, laughter, fights, life. And underneath all of that, like a faint whisper beneath a drum…
Someone was calling his name.
"Mohamed…"
He froze.
The voice was neither male nor female—an echo, like sound trapped behind a wall.
He tilted his head.
"Again?" he muttered to himself with a tired smile. "You spirits never rest, do you?"
But this time, the whisper didn't fade. It grew clearer, coming from the east side—an old, abandoned house that he had always avoided.
The house that even stray dogs refused to approach.
The house where kids swore they saw lights flicker at midnight.
The house that hummed with ancient, buried hunger.
Mohamed stood slowly, uncertain. His cane rested beside him, but he didn't need it. He could navigate a maze with his eyes closed—but then again, his eyes were always closed.
He stepped toward the rare presence tugging at him.
But before he took a second step, a hand gripped his shoulder.
"Where are you going, ya Mohamed?"
It was Kareem—his childhood friend, always loud, always intrusive.
Mohamed smiled softly. "Just stretching my legs."
"At midnight? On the roof? Don't tell me you're meeting one of the girls who like you," Kareem teased.
Mohamed shook his head with a calm sigh. "You always think it's about girls."
"Because for normal men it is about girls. And you're… not exactly normal."
Mohamed paused. Kareem realized the mistake and quickly added:
"I mean—normal in the eyesight way. The rest… you're basically better than all of us."
Mohamed chuckled. "I know what you mean."
But the whispering voice behind them grew stronger.
"Mohaaaamed… help… it's time…"
He stiffened. Kareem felt it.
"What? What is it? Are you hearing… something?"
Mohamed never lied, but he also never explained too much.
"Nothing. Just the wind."
But deep down, he knew:
Something was awakening.
Something older than pyramids.
Something that wanted him.
---
The next morning, Mohamed's life changed forever.
He woke up with a strange pressure on his chest—as if someone had been watching him all night. His senses were sharper than usual. He could hear footsteps in the hallway outside his apartment. Three men. Heavy boots. Military? No. Too quiet. Too careful.
They stopped at his door.
A soft knock.
Mohamed sat upright. His hand instinctively felt for his cane.
"Who is it?"
A calm voice answered, too calm:
"Friends who need your help."
He didn't like the way the man said it. There was no warmth in the tone—only calculation.
"I don't remember inviting anyone."
"You didn't," the voice said, "but you're coming with us."
Before Mohamed could move, the door burst open. Three men rushed in, fast, precise. Not amateurs. Not thieves.
Armed.
Mohamed stood still. "If you wanted to rob me, you picked the wrong house."
"We don't want to rob you," the leader said. "We want your eyes."
"My… eyes?" Mohamed smirked. "They're useless."
"No," the man said sharply, "they're not. You see things no one else sees."
And suddenly, Mohamed understood.
The whispers.
The calling.
The house.
The ancient presence.
Someone else knew.
The leader stepped closer. "You're going to guide us, Mohamed. You're going to take us to places no map shows. To tombs no archaeologist knows exist."
Mohamed's voice stayed calm, but his pulse hammered.
"You think I'm some kind of treasure detector."
The leader chuckled. "You're much more. We've been following you for months. Recording the places you walk near. The anomalies you sense. You're valuable."
"And if I refuse?"
The man leaned in and whispered:
"We have your mother. She's safe… for now."
Mohamed felt the world narrow. His breath shook. His mother—his only family—was the one person he could never gamble with.
"What do you want me to do?" Mohamed asked quietly.
"Guide us to the tombs," the man said. "The forgotten ones. The ones buried in shadow."
Mohamed felt something cold slip into his heart.
They did not understand what they were asking for.
Some tombs were sealed not to protect treasures…
but to contain what should never breathe again.
Still, he nodded. "I'll help you. Just don't hurt my mother."
The leader smiled. "Good boy."
---
Within an hour, Mohamed was in the back of a black SUV, hands unbound but watched closely. He had no blindfold—because what was the use? Still, the irony stung.
"Where are we going first?" one man asked.
Mohamed ignored him. He listened instead—to the patterns in the air, the shifting presence around them. Something was following them. Something old.
He whispered under his breath: "Are you the one calling me?"
A faint reply echoed in his mind:
"Soon… soon you'll understand."
He shivered.
One of the men noticed. "What's wrong with him?"
"He's listening," the leader said. "He always is."
---
They arrived at their first destination—an abandoned desert area near Fayoum. Mohamed stepped onto the sand, letting grains trickle through his fingers. The ground vibrated faintly.
He felt it.
A doorway.
A sealed passageway beneath.
"There's a chamber here," he said softly. "Deep. Untouched."
The men exchanged greedy smiles.
"Open it," the leader ordered.
They began digging like hyenas around a corpse. Mohamed stayed still, his face unreadable.
The deeper they dug, the colder the air grew.
Too cold.
The leader approached him again. "We know you can sense things. Tell us what's inside."
Mohamed inhaled slowly.
"There is gold… yes."
The men cheered quietly.
"But also something else."
"What?"
Mohamed hesitated. "A shadow that doesn't sleep."
The leader's smile faded. "Explain."
Mohamed's voice was calm, painfully calm. "Some tombs weren't hidden from humans. They were hidden from spirits."
The men didn't care. Greed drowned wisdom.
An hour later, the ground opened into a stone passageway.
They went down with flashlights—except Mohamed. He followed the echo of spirits brushing against ancient stone.
Inside, carvings lined the walls—carvings of screaming faces, twisted figures, warnings that no one could misread.
"What do they say?" the leader asked.
Mohamed touched the wall. The stone pulsed beneath his fingers.
"It says… 'Do not wake the Watcher.'"
The leader rolled his eyes. "Superstitions."
But Mohamed stopped breathing. His senses exploded with dread.
"What have you brought me here to do?" he whispered.
"To find treasure," the leader said coldly.
"No," Mohamed murmured. "To unleash something."
The lights flickered.
Then died.
Darkness filled the chamber.
For the first time, the men around him were as blind as he was.
Something crawled down the walls.
Something ancient.
Something hungry.
The men panicked.
"Turn on the lights!"
"Where's my flashlight?"
"What's touching me—HEY—AHHH!"
Screams echoed.
The leader grabbed Mohamed. "WHAT IS THAT?!"
Mohamed's voice was steady. "The Watcher."
"But why can't we see it?!"
"Because you were never meant to," Mohamed whispered. "But I was."
The leader shook him violently. "HELP US!"
Mohamed tilted his head, listening—calm, composed, eerily serene.
"You forced me to open its tomb."
A breath brushed against Mohamed's cheek—cold, relieved.
"Finally," a voice whispered. "I am free."
The screams stopped.
The darkness settled.
The tomb fell silent.
Mohamed stood alone.
And then… a soft whisper crawled into his ear.
"Now it's your turn, Mohamed. Your destiny begins."
He felt a shadow curl around him—not attacking, but claiming him.
And in that moment, everything he thought he knew about his gift shattered.
This was no gift.
It was a bargain.
A bargain made long before he was born.
And the price was about to be paid.
---
END OF PART ONE