The cafe was quieter than usual.
Elian sat across from Selene again, his gaze lost in the steam rising from his untouched cup.
The thrill of witnessing Sumer its mudbrick ziggurats, the solemn chants of priests, the warmth of the market still lingered in his chest like an echo refusing to fade. It wasn't just awe. It was a stirring, a shift, as though his place in the world had subtly changed.
Selene sat poised as ever, her eyes scanning him as if reading lines he hadn't yet written.
"You're quiet," she finally said.
He looked up. "I don't know how to explain it. That... experience. It's more than I imagined."
Selene nodded, unfazed. "Most people think of history as pages and facts. But when you step inside it, feel it, smell it... it becomes real. Intimate"
Elian hesitated before speaking again.
"Sumer was incredible, but it left me with questions. About the portal. About you. About why I was chosen."
"I told you," she said calmly. "The past called you. And I listened."
He frowned. "You're still being vague."
"Because the answers aren't meant to come all at once. You must earn them through understanding. One era at a time."
She reached into her coat and placed an old bronze amulet on the table. It shimmered faintly in the light, engraved with a shape Elian didn't immediately recognize a triangle with an eye inside.
"Elian," she said, her voice low. "Are you ready to go deeper?"
He took a deep breath. "Yes."
She stood. "Then come. It's time to meet the architects of eternity."
The world twisted.
One moment Elian was stepping out of the cafe into the alley. The next, the sky exploded into gold. Sand stretched for miles in every direction. The air felt dense, dry, sacred. And the sun was brutal.
They were in Egypt.
But not the Egypt of postcards or faded documentaries. This was the Egypt of ancient breath the kind written in stone and whispered by desert winds.
They stood near the banks of the Nile. The river flowed steadily, life-giving and eternal. Fishermen guided reed boats across the calm water, their voices rising in rhythmic songs.
Children ran barefoot through the silt, laughing. Nearby, a procession of workers carried baskets of limestone on their backs, walking in unison toward something colossal rising in the distance.
Elian turned slowly, mouth open.
The Great Pyramid unfinished, monumental climbed toward the sky.
"Oh my god," he whispered. "It's really being built."
Selene watched the scene as if greeting an old friend. "This is Giza. Circa 2570 BC. The reign of Pharaoh Khufu. You're standing in one of the most ambitious projects humanity ever attempted."
He watched the workers, the scribes, the soldiers directing teams. The heat shimmered off the limestone blocks being hauled with ropes and wooden sleds. Even from this distance, the effort felt overwhelming.
"No machines. No cranes. Just human hands," Elian murmured.
"And ingenuity," Selene added. "And belief. That something could last forever."
They walked closer, blending into the flow of activity. Elian noticed the system how ramps were used to move the stones, how water was poured on sand to reduce friction, how dozens of men pulled in unison like parts of a living machine.
He was absorbing everything the scent of stone dust, the hum of the crowd, the etched commands on clay tablets passed between scribes. Here, history wasn't just alive it was breathing against his skin.
As they passed near the base of the pyramid, a foreman in linen robes shouted orders to a group of slaves and workers. His eyes caught Elian's for a second but passed over without suspicion.
Time was forgiving to observers.
"Selene," Elian said. "Were these people slaves?"
She looked at him. "Not all. That's a modern myth. Many were laborers, paid in food, beer, and shelter.
They believed in the pharaoh's divine purpose. It was service, yes, but not always bondage."
He studied the faces tired but focused, not beaten. Men laughed as they passed water skins. A child handed his father a small amulet for luck. There was struggle, yes, but also purpose.
Then a new voice called out.
"Elian!"
He turned.
A man in deep red robes with bronze jewelry approached. He was tall, with a shaved head and sun-darkened skin. His eyes were piercing.
"Who?" Elian began.
But Selene stepped forward. "This is Meretkhut. An architect of the pyramid. He will show us more."
Elian followed the man into a shaded area under a linen tent. Inside were scrolls, wax tablets, tools, and detailed plans of the pyramid angles, weight measurements, even stellar alignments.
"Do you know why we build so high?"
Meretkhut asked, motioning to the plans.
Elian shook his head.
"To pierce the sky. To let the soul of the king ascend to Ra, the sun god. Every stone we place is part of his path to eternity."
Elian was stunned by the reverence, the scale of belief.
Back outside, they stood again in the golden light. The workers sang a new song. It echoed through time.
"This…" Elian said quietly, "this is what people forget. The human soul in the work. Not just facts in a book."
Selene didn't answer. She didn't need to.
Because Elian understood now.
The past wasn't dead.
It was waiting to be seen.
And he had just begun to see it.