Shadows of the Akkadian Sphinx

, the way his fingers absentmindedly tapped against his armrest. There was something different about him now-something more determined, more intense. We didn't speak much during the journey,

woman before us. "What happens if we fail?" I asked. Her lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Then the Sphinx will claim you as it has claimed so many lives before." Back at our camp, I sat alone in my tent, a lantern casting a golden glow across the pages of the diary. The Akkadian Sphinx, the text revealed, had existed for over 4,500 years. Built during the reign of Pharaoh Khafre, it was said to be a gateway-a portal to a hidden chamber beneath the sands. But the warnings were clear. Many had tried to uncover its secrets. Few had returned. I turned the page, my breath catching as I read the next passage. "Only when the blood of the past meets the stone of the forgotten will the door be revealed." A drop of liquid landed on the parchment. I frowned, lifting my hand. It was red. Blood. My heart lurched. I looked up-then gasped. A single drop had fallen from above. From the ceiling of my tent. And I wasn't alone, could this be a sign or a warning I pondered to myself, My breath hitched. I looked up. The ceiling of my tent was empty. No wounds on my body. No explanation. And yet, the blood was there. Something was watching. And it had begun. The candle's flame flickered violently, casting elongated shadows on the fabric of my tent. I stared at the bloodstained page, my breath shallow. My mind scrambled for logic-perhaps an insect had been crushed between the pages? Or maybe my fingers had been nicked without my noticing? But deep down, I knew. This was no accident. I shut the book, gripping its leather cover tightly. The old woman's words echoed in my mind: Your hearts must be pure. If not, the unseen tribulations will consume you. Something was watching. A sudden gust of wind rattled the tent, making me jolt. My heart pounded. This place, this journey-it was already testing us. A gust of wind rattled the entrance flap. My pulse quickened. I wasn't alone. "David?" My voice came out steadier than I felt. No response. I reached for my satchel, where I kept a small flashlight and my pocket knife. Flicking on the beam, I swept it across the ceiling and walls. The light caught something-a faint, rusty smear along the fabric near the top of the tent. A shadow moved. My instincts kicked in. I grabbed the ancient book, shoved it into my bag, and reached for my knife. In one fluid motion, I turned toward the entrance, heart hammering. The tent flap sudden