Eden

The storm suddenly arrived.

Rain hammered against the windows of Anora Kingsley's office as she sat buried beneath stacks of books, journal articles, and unfinished research.

Most archaeologists dreamed of uncovering lost cities.

Anora spent her days proving why everyone else's discoveries were impossible. She preferred facts.

Facts didn't disappoint you. Facts didn't leave. Facts didn't die.

A sharp knock echoed through her office door.

She glanced up. "Come in."

The door opened, and a university assistant stepped inside, holding a sealed envelope. "No return address."

Anora frowned. "Who delivered it?"

"He wouldn't say."

"Who?"

The assistant hesitated. "I don't know."

"How do you not know?"

The young woman looked genuinely confused.

"He was standing right there one second and gone the next."

Anora raised an eyebrow. "Convenient."

The assistant laughed nervously. "That's what I thought."

The moment the door closed, Anora's attention returned to the envelope.

Heavy parchment, no stamp, no sender.

Only her name written across the front.

Not printed, either. Written.

The handwriting looked ancient, as though it belonged in a museum.

A strange chill crawled up her spine.

She tore it open, and inside was a single photograph.

At first she noticed the symbols. Her heart stopped.

The photograph slipped from her fingers...

Impossible.

The symbols etched into the black stone were unlike any language officially recognized by archaeology.

Yet she knew them. Not from research...

From childhood. A memory resurfaced.

She was eight years old, sitting beside her grandfather during a thunderstorm. His weathered Bible resting open on his lap.

"Every language came after Babel," he had said.

"But before Babel?"

Young Anora smiled.

"There was only one."

Her grandfather nodded.

"The first language spoken by mankind."

She had laughed. "Can anyone still speak it?"

"No."

Then, after a long silence: "Not anymore."

The memory faded, and Anora swallowed hard.

No one should know about that conversation. No one.

The symbols in the photograph seemed to twist under the office lights.

Almost moving... Almost alive.

A second sheet of paper slid from the envelope.

Three words.

Meet me tomorrow.

Below it was a location. Coordinates...

The middle of the desert, several thousand miles away.

Anora stared at them, then laughed.

Absolutely not!

She crumpled the note and tossed it into the wastebasket.

The storm outside intensified.

Thunder rattled the building, the lights flickered and went out, and then darkness filled the office.

For several seconds, only rain and distant thunder remained.

Then she heard breathing. Not her own.

Somewhere behind her, slow and deliberate.

Anora froze.

Every instinct screamed at her not to turn around.

The room suddenly felt crowded, as if something enormous occupied the darkness. Watching... Waiting...

A flash of light illuminated the office, and for the briefest instant, she saw it reflected in the window.

Wings. Eyes... Hundreds of eyes.

A silhouette far too large to fit inside the room.

Then darkness returned, and the lights flickered back on.

The office was empty, and Anora shot to her feet.

Her pulse thundered in her ears. Nobody was there.

No open door... Nothing.

Only the photograph lying on her desk, and beneath it...

Something that had not been there before.

A single feather. White as fresh snow.

Its surface shimmered faintly in the fluorescent light.

Anora stared at it... The chill returned.

Slowly she looked back toward the coordinates.

Toward the invitation she had already thrown away.

Outside, thunder rolled across the heavens... and somewhere beyond the storm, unseen by human eyes, ancient powers began to move.

The search for Eden had begun.