The First Journal

PREDATOR.

15 Akhet 1450-1449 BCE, Catacombs of Thebes

I returned to the palace disoriented and lost. Pharaoh Hatshepsut finds me covered in blood and bathes me; we do not speak as she washes my trembling body in oils and to my contentment she does not ask questions... but I see them etched into her features.

I can scarcely recollect the sequence of events that brought me here... It began when I unearthed a tome, an artifact so ancient that I believed it held the wisdom capable of saving our Kingdom. Perhaps it was the allure of power that drove me to unseal its secrets... or perhaps it was an insatiable greed.

My fingers gently grazed the tome's cover, a rugged slab of stone adorned with a golden scarab. As I made contact, the stone prickled my fingertip, drawing forth a small bead of crimson. I watched in awe as my blood pooled into the scarab's carved shell, and with an audible, almost taunting click, the golden lock surrendered its hold.

In that moment, I felt one with its contents, as though a realm of knowledge had unfurled itself before my very eyes - as though it had always been made just for me. But as I immersed myself and delved deeper into its pages, translating its obscure symbols... I realized what I had unearthed was not enlightenment but death.

The ancient words, as I painstakingly translated them, unveiled a grim reality. The tome held the secrets of the afterlife, a domain where the living were mere spectators in the eternal cycle of existence and rebirth. The lines of power etched within its pages whispered of a world where even the most intrepid of souls would find themselves irrevocably bound to the embrace of death, an unending journey into the abyss.

But I had not merely unearthed a tome; I awakened its guardian, Osanekht. In my arrogance, he cast a curse upon me—he'd spoken without words, his essence a sliver into my mind as he said I would never again bask in the warm embrace of daylight, I would be eternally plagued by an unquenchable thirst for the blood of those I had devoted my life to protect.

For my audacity in tampering with forces beyond my comprehension, Osanekht exacted a heavy toll. He stripped away all that I held dear, leaving me with nothing but the echoing emptiness of this cursed existence. He took from me the very essence of life itself for I was neither dead nor living, but something empty in between.

As I pen down these words, the weight of my discovery bears down upon my conscience, for I have glimpsed the unfathomable, and I fear that the secrets contained within this tome may hold both the salvation and doom of our Kingdom.

As Hatshepsut's hands, graceful and knowing, glide over my shoulders, bringing forth the soothing flow of water. I sense her tension as her fingers brush against my back, and though the scorching pain that once consumed me had since dulled to a mere ember, I can tell from the tremor in her touch that she bears witness to its message.

I have since discovered the meaning behind the tremor of her fingers. My skin now bears the scarred etchings of hieroglyphics, a cryptic message etched along the length of my spine; a haunting testament to the life I had taken, now irrevocably inscribed upon my very flesh. I am marked.

My heart aches with fear, for I fear that my newfound nature hungers for more than the realm of the living can offer. I worry the consuming thirst may return. It is that same hunger that I cannot risk bestowing upon Hatshepsut, my dearest friend and confidante. The weight of my newfound darkness gnaws at my conscience, and I dread the thought of condemning her to the same fate that now haunts me.

Come night, I leave what I have called home and I find solace and seclusion in the ancient catacombs beneath Thebes.

To sustain myself, I feed on nocturnal creatures; bats and rats, scorpions, serpents and snakes - their blood meager and stale but it sustains my existence. These venomous creatures once feared were not as poisonous as I - for I was reborn a predator. I dare not prey on the living, for fear of exposing my true nature, one I did not yet understand but feared.

Within this desolate realm, I have forged a sanctuary deep within the bowels of the catacombs beneath Thebes. It is a world of perpetual night, a realm where shadows dance like ancient spirits, and the very air is thick with must and mold.

The catacombs bear the forgotten memories of eons, a musty, earthy stench that clings to every crevice and corridor. It is the scent of history itself, of forgotten tombs and untold stories, mingling with the decay of ages past. It permeates my senses, a reminder that I am no more than a corpse in these halls.

The catacombs are rough and unforgiving, a labyrinth of stone and earth, cold to the touch as I was. The walls, carved with intricate hieroglyphs and adorned with relics of a bygone era, tell tales of a civilization long gone. They bear the scars of time, and I, the scars of my curse. Their once vibrant colors faded into somber hues of age and neglect.

Isolation becomes my only companion. The darkness that envelops me is unyielding, broken only by the feeble glow of the candles I have arranged in my makeshift sanctuary. Their soft, flickering light casts eerie, elongated shadows that seem to breathe and sigh, whispering secrets that may never be known.

The hardships of solitude weigh heavily upon me, as I grapple with the curse that has transformed me into a creature of the night. I dare not venture beyond the sanctuary's fragile border, for fear of encountering the beast that now resides within my very being. The solitude is both a refuge and a torment, as I wrestle with the memories of my mortal life. They linger like phantoms, haunting the recesses of my mind, and I am left to ponder the eternal question—what have I become, and for what purpose?