Julia’s eyes flicked to the antique clock above the fireplace, its brass pendulum swaying with an almost mocking patience. The ticking grew louder with anticipation with every passing second.
It was 4 PM.
The weight of waiting pressed down on her chest like an invisible hand. The study’s rich, dark wood gleamed under the filtered light, but Julia barely noticed. The room’s elegance was lost on her, her mind tangled in a web of anxiety and anticipation.
Outside, the wind howled, battering the windows like a restless spirit. The fire crackled in the sleek, modern hearth. She was acutely aware of the leather couch beneath her, her mind swirling with thoughts about their decision to invite the stranger.
Across the room, Sam’s pacing grated on her nerves. He ran a hand through his hair, his brow furrowed deep with worry.
“This could be a mistake,” he muttered, more to himself than to her, his voice low, thick with tension. “We might’ve just invited a whole lot of trouble by inviting him here.”
“What’s done is done,” Julia said, inhaling deeply, her gaze remained locked on the clock, watching the minute hand crawl forward. “Besides, we’re safe here. The security team is on high alert. This place is a fortress.”
Sam halted mid-step, meeting her gaze. For a moment, neither spoke. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken fears and shared understanding.
Then she heard footsteps approaching, as the door creaked open. A security guard stepped inside, his expression impassive, professional.
“There’s someone here to see you,” he announced, clipped and efficient. “He’s clean.”
Julia’s pulse quickened. She and Sam exchanged a glance, Sam nodded at him, “Send him in please.”
The guard retreated, and suddenly, the room felt smaller, the air dense with expectation. Julia tightened her grip on the couch, as the door swung open, revealing a man in a black tweed jacket and dark jeans—the same attire as the motorbike pursuer? She noted, a chill ran down Julia’s spine.
Could it be him?
The man moved with a deliberate, almost predatory grace, pausing just inside the doorway. As he stepped out of the shadows and into the dim light, Julia saw his face for the first time. He was older than she had expected, forty perhaps, but there was something timeless about him, as if he carried the weight of centuries in his dark brown eyes.
Streaks of gray ran through his unkempt slightly long hair, framing a face lined with exhaustion and something far deeper.
His gaze swept across the room, sharp and calculating, as if taking in every detail. The firelight cut shadows across his face, sharpening the stubble and the weary lines. Beneath the composure, Julia sensed urgency.
He removed his gloves with slow deliberate precision, the soft creak of leather cutting through the silence. Then, at last, he looked directly at them. His expression was unreadable.
“Good evening,” he said, his voice low and edged with a rough, gruff quality, as though speaking gently was an effort. “I believe we have something to discuss.”
Sam, leaning against the couch’s armrest, straightened. “First thing's first, you know who we are, but we don’t know you. Introduce yourself.”
The man's lips twitched, “That’s not important.” His voice was steady, unshaken. “What matters is that you have something you don’t understand, something that doesn’t belong to you.”
Julia’s pulse quickened, “And what makes you so sure we found anything like that at all?” she kept her voice measured, but sharp.
His eyes flicked between them, studying, calculating. “You wouldn't invite me here if it weren’t the case.”
She looked the stranger straight in the eyes. “You were the one following us on the highway that night. Why would we tell you anything?” Julia accused, folding her arms, her gaze sharp, meant to pierce through his confidence.
The man didn’t flinch, “Hmm, Yes, It was.”
Julia blinked. She hadn’t expected him to admit it so easily.
His voice remained calm, matter-of-fact. “To contact you, to warn you. You ignored my emails. I had to make sure you understood the gravity of your situation," he paused for a moment, "This crystal, it isn’t just an artifact."
His gaze shifted to Sam, who looked momentarily caught off guard, “If you don’t see reason, it will fall into the wrong hands.”
Julia refused to let him see even a flicker of fear. She leaned forward slightly, her voice unwavering, “And... how do we know you’re not the wrong hands?”
His hardened exterior cracked—just a fraction, as though her words had struck a nerve.
“Because...” He exhaled slowly, grounding himself before continuing. “I know what it is. I’ve seen what it can do. And I’m telling you now—if you keep it, you’re gambling with your lives.”
Julia’s mind raced, parsing his words, “You’re the one who tipped me off in the first place,” she reminded him, her voice firm. “Why would you help me find it if it was so dangerous?”
He sighed, rubbing his temples, as if the conversation itself was draining him. “Because it had to be done. The site had to be excavated, and you were the right person for the job. But I didn’t anticipate things would turn out this way.”
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Sam let out a short, incredulous laugh, the sound sharp in the tense air. “So, you used us? Put our lives on the line just to dig this up? That’s rich. And now what... you expect us to just hand it over?”
“Finding it didn’t endanger you,” the stranger said, voice low and steady. “Broadcasting it to the world did. You painted the target on yourselves, not me.” His eyes shifted to Julia. “Give it to me now, and you can walk away. Safe. No one will ever know.”
Julia balled her fists, nails biting into her palms. “I didn’t spend months on this discovery just to walk away. This is the biggest find of our careers— we’re not giving it up.”
"That interview has you both marked," the man’s expression turned grave. "If you try to go public with it, you’ll end up in a body bag. Powerful people will come for it and they won’t hesitate to kill you. Or worse, they’ll discredit you, make you look insane. Either way, you’ll lose, and the crystal will end up in hands that could destroy everything.”
A chill ran through Julia, but she didn’t let it show. She couldn’t afford to. “How did you know the exact coordinates of its location? What is this crystal?” she demanded, her voice edged with both challenge and curiosity. “Who are you? Speak plainly.”
For the first time, the man hesitated. A flicker of regret crossed his face. His gaze dropped momentarily to the floor. When he looked up, his voice was low, raw, almost pleading.
“The crystal holds the power to warp reality itself.” His eyes narrowed, “Your work, my identity—none of it matters if even one person at that party you attended suspects you’ve stumbled upon something like the Aether.”
Julia’s breath hitched. “Aether...” She repeated it softly, almost to herself. The word resonated, like a distant echo in her mind.
Sam remained unmoved, tightening his posture, arms crossing over his chest. “Speaking in riddles, following us, stalking us, trying to scare us without the decency of introducing yourself or a shred of logical explanation?" Sam shrugged as he concluded, "This is a waste of time.”
The man’s face hardened, his frustration palpable. He took a step closer, his presence suddenly imposing.
“Time is exactly what it cost you,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “The moment you decided to attend that party.”
Julia’s pulse thundered in her ears. She glanced at Sam, whose bravado wavered beneath the man’s scrutiny.
“Why do you think you two were invited?" The man continued, his voice was raspy, "Every powerful person in this state was in that mansion that day; politicians, corporate magnates, military leaders, media… and then, there was you, two archaeologists in a room full of the establishment. Do you really think that was a coincidence?”
Julia’s mind raced, trying to piece together the implications. The idea that they had been deliberately invited, that they were being watched, judged—it sent a chill through her.
The man’s gaze bore into them, unyielding. “They probably know you’ve found something and consider you a threat already, unless you're already working with them.”
Julia pushed back, “Or you’re just playing us,” she shot back in defiance, “Trying to scare us into handing it over to you. I don’t trust you any more than I trusted them at that party.”
His jaw tightening as he exhaled a long, weary sigh. “If you had responded to my emails, I would have given you every explanation. I would have told you everything, given you time to let it sink in, to understand what you were dealing with.”
He paused, eyes narrowing slightly. “You want me to speak plainly? Fine. I will tell you everything. But first, I need you two to come clean, who else knows about the Aether?”
Julia and Sam exchanged a quick glance, their nerves frayed by the intensity of the conversation.
“No one,” Julia finally said, her voice firm but edged with unease. “We haven’t told anyone.”
His gaze flickered with doubt, lips pressing into a thin line. “I doubt that,” he muttered, more to himself than to them, his tone filled with quiet resignation. He seemed to be wrestling with his thoughts, weighing his options.
“If you read the documents I sent you," the man began, "you would know, the original excavation of Mohen Jo Daro in 1965 wasn’t stopped for the reasons we’ve been told.” His voice was low, forcing Julia and Sam to lean in slightly, their skepticism momentarily overridden by his intensity.
“George F. Dales was guided by someone,” the man continued. “I don’t know who, but someone wanted him to dig at a specific location. That dig in 1965 wasn’t just an archaeological expedition, it was a deliberate mission.”
Julia’s eyes narrowed. “Like how you ‘guided’ us?” she retorted, her voice sharp, cutting through the thick air.
He met her gaze without flinching, “I sent you the notes, Julia,” he said, his voice firm but devoid of defensiveness. “The email had all the files, every piece of information you needed. It wasn’t to manipulate you; it was to prepare you. I gave you a glimpse into the dangers, a warning of what lay ahead. To say you were misled… that’s not fair. You knew the risks, and you chose to proceed.”
Julia’s memories of those late nights flooded back—poring over the documents, feeling the undeniable pull of discovery despite the countless red flags. Her lips pressed into a thin line. There was no rebuttal to offer.
The man’s voice softened, "The tablets you’ve uncovered are already monumental. I can help you decipher them, you could be the first to truly understand the script of the Harappan civilization."
He leaned forward slightly, "Even without the crystal, your findings are groundbreaking. With the script, you’ll have something remarkable. Isn’t that worth everything you’ve worked for?"
Julia averted her gaze, he was right but she couldn’t bring herself to admit it, or his proposition of letting crystal go.
Sam, who had been pacing by the window, finally turned, his voice laced with skepticism. "And we’re just supposed to believe you? Trust that you know how to decipher it? You, who we don't even know by name... the same man claiming Dales quit Mohen Jo Daro because of some conspiracy theories you probably found on the internet?"
A flicker of anger crossed the man’s face, but it was quickly buried beneath a calm, resigned expression. He reached into his coat’s inner pocket, withdrawing a small, weathered object. Without a word, he placed it in Julia’s hands.
The leather-bound journal was old, its pages yellowed and frayed at the edges—handled too many times by restless fingers.
Julia hesitated, brushing her fingertips over the worn cover before opening it. The scent of aged paper rose to meet her, thick with the weight of forgotten secrets. Her eyes scanned the neatly penned entries, detailed sketches of excavation sites, annotated maps marking key locations, descriptions of artifacts, pottery shards, tools, and symbols yet to be understood.
Then she reached the final page.
The handwriting was smaller, hastily scrawled, as if written in a rush of fear. The words were few, but they landed like a hammer blow:
"I’m receiving death threats. It’s no longer safe to continue. With a heavy heart, I’m saying goodbye to Mohenjo Daro and ending my journey here."
A heavy silence settled over the room. The journal trembled slightly in Julia’s hands. The writing was unmistakably George F. Dales’. She had studied his notes too many times, there was no mistaking it. This was real.
Her heart beat faster, her mind reeling with implications. But one question burned through the haze of shock, "How… how do you have this? How did you know the exact coordinates?" Her voice was barely a whisper, thick with disbelief. "Who are you? And what exactly is the Aether?"
The man inhaled sharply as he took a step back, "You want the truth?" He hesitated, choosing his words carefully, as if knowing there would be no turning back.
The silence stretched for a moment, as the fire crackled in the hearth. Then he locked his gaze onto Julia’s, then Sam’s, his eyes filled with something neither of them could place.
"My name is Arion Faris," he said, his voice steady. "I come from a time long before your history was written."
Julia blinked. The words didn’t make sense. They shouldn’t. Yet, something in the way he spoke made her stomach twist.
It had to be a lie. A misunderstanding. But deep down, in a place she wasn’t ready to acknowledge, a part of her believed him.
***
Corrupted Lands
by Christopher Vincent
Murder. Greed. Corruption.
Only one thing is certain.
Readers can expect:
- High Fantasy with ever-expanding world building.
- MC that goes through it, but getting stronger along the way, magically, physically, and mentally/emotionally.
- Unique magic with extremely creative uses and adaptations by the MC.
- Slow-burn progression: Hard work and tenacity leading to growth for both the MC and side characters.
- Release schedule: Every other day, sometimes back to back. Between 2,000-3,500 words per chapter, but sometimes more for the juicy stuff.