The morning air was misty, the weak sunlight filtering through the cracked window panes of the humble cottage. Johan sat by the wooden table, carefully counting the few crumpled pounds he possessed. His fingers moved with deliberate precision, lips murmuring faintly as he divided the notes into neat stacks.
"This shall suffice for the month's rent," he muttered, setting a small bundle aside. "Another for provisions... and this— for the journey to Soren City."
He paused for a moment, glancing at the faint reflection of himself in the dusty glass. The man staring back looked worn but determined, the kind of determination that comes from losing everything once before. With a slow breath, he folded the remaining pounds into a small leather purse.
"I shall depart for Soren City by noon," he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. "Thirty miles off, by rail. My team and I shall travel incognito till we reach the outskirts. The operation must not draw attention. If all goes as planned... there shall be bonuses enough for all."
He smiled faintly at the thought— it was a smile neither warm nor cold, but one weighed with memory.
The train from Bramble Junction was set to leave at 12:15 in the afternoon and arrive at Soren City by 2:40. The line was relatively new, a product of the Empire's grand industrial ambitions. Johan could almost hear the hiss of the steam engine in his head— rhythmic, powerful, and oddly nostalgic.
As he packed a small satchel— a loaf of bread, a wedge of cheese, and a flask of water— something flickered in his mind. A name. A voice. A place buried in time.
Julian Becker.
The name struck through his consciousness like lightning. The world around him blurred for a heartbeat, and he was no longer Johan of the poor cottage— but Julian Becker, the young adventurer, founder of Becker Limited, a firm that delved into the hidden veins of history and unearthed its buried truths.
He remembered that day clearly— a cold evening, rain tapping on the window of his college quarters. The glow of the lamp reflected on brass instruments and scattered maps.
"Gentlemen," he had said to his crew, "a newly uncovered tomb has been located in the eastern desert of Almareth. The information came through... unconventional channels."
"Unconventional?" one of them, Lucas, had asked, raising an eyebrow.
Julian had smirked. "A whisper from the dark web, as the modern folk call it. A tomb that predates recorded dynasties, sealed with ancient symbols of warding. They say those who found it vanished before dawn."
The group exchanged wary glances— a mix of fear and fascination. But to them, that was the thrill— the essence of adventure.
"Are we truly going there, sir?" another had asked.
Julian leaned back, a confident gleam in his eyes. "We are. And if fortune favours us, Becker Limited will carve its name into history."
He could still recall the weight of his gear, the scent of old parchment, the rush of wind as their off-road transport sped toward the excavation site. Sand stretched endlessly, golden under the dying sun. The world had felt vast, dangerous— alive.
Then, the last thing before darkness— a colossal stone door engraved with unknown sigils. A faint hum of energy. And then… nothing.
Johan blinked, snapping back to the present. His hands trembled slightly as he fastened his satchel.
"That tomb…" he whispered. "It was the beginning… and the end."
The faint whistle of a distant train echoed through the valley, pulling him back to the now. He straightened his coat, adjusted his collar, and stepped outside. The day awaited him— and so did Soren City.