Renji Kurogane: 23 Fragments of Fate and Misfortune

I woke up lying on the stone floor.Mouth dry, like I had slept with a sandstorm inside me and my tongue was made of sandpaper.Muscles? On strike.Back? Folding like a cursed accordion.And my mind...Well, my mind was broadcasting in another language with broken subtitles.

—"What the hell was that? A dream? A vision? Netflix without a license?"

I tried to stand.Spoiler: failed.So I crawled like a retired gargoyle searching for its pension.The first thing I saw was the altar.Still there.The book—still there.The diamond—yep, also still there.And the wall...

Now had an eye.Not painted.Carved.Sunken in.Watching.

It wasn't looking directly at me, but I could feel it, like when someone checks your browser history and suddenly avoids eye contact.

—"Alright, Renji… you walked into a cursed pyramid. Touched a cursed gem.Now what?"

My brain: "Run!"My legs: "We haven't decided if we exist yet."

The room was no longer silent.Now there was a hum, like someone had left the cosmic oven on low heat.The air was heavier.Denser.More… guilty.

And my mind started doing weird things.I began to hear whispers.Not in my ears.In my bones.As if my vertebrae were passing interdimensional gossip to each other.

One said:—"He touched us."Another answered:—"He's not whole yet."

And me, out loud:—"Look, if this is part of some demonic ritual… at least bring me a coffee! Or some bread! Something!"

I stumbled out of the room.Hallway after hallway seemed different.It was like the pyramid was playing with me.Like it thought: "Let's see how long before he pees in a corner out of fear."Spoiler: I was close.

I got out of the structure two hours later.Or two days.Or two alternate realities.I have no idea.

The sun hit my face like the universe was slapping me for surviving.And there was the guide.The same one who left me alone and smoked like he had a pact with gods who don't ask questions.

—"You okay?" he asked.—"Define 'okay.'"—"Can you walk?"—"Barely."—"Stable mind?"—"…next question."

We got into the jeep.I was sweating cold.He? Calm. Like a man who's seen too much to care.

I asked:—"What is that thing?"—"They call it 'the tomb of the eye that never sleeps.'"—"Who buried it?"He lit another cigarette.—"A pharaoh who saw too much… and wanted the world to never see it again."

I didn't reply.What could I say?"Thanks for the trip to hell in 4x4"?Or maybe something more honest like:"Do you have any idea what I just saw in there?"Spoiler: he did.

I went back up to the hotel like a man climbing into his tomb with a minibar.Passed the reception desk, half-smiled with the face of someone who's seen God in a bathrobe and unshaven, and opened my room door.

And then I saw it.

The documents I had left before I left were scattered all over the floor.Not dropped. Not messy.Scattered. Literally.

Because, hanging from the ceiling with a rusty chain worthy of a basement in a possession movie…there was a watering can.Dripping on the documents with the patience of a minor god of absurdity.

—"Perfect," I muttered.—"Now the universe is growing paperwork. What's next? Crying paper?"

I didn't try to dry them.Didn't pick them up.I took off my shoes like a zombie on strike.Collapsed on the bed.And just as I felt the mattress trying to hug me in a suspiciously maternal way…I fell asleep.

Darkness.And in the darkness…the pyramid.