The Forgotten Ones

The Slumber of Kings#

Devidutta looked at his notes, placing the compass by his side. The other members of his archaeological expedition squinted their eyes as Devidutta was engrossed in his deep thoughts. After a quick lapse, Devidutta asked the guide to move the caravan towards a certain direction. The guide suggested to take a detour as there was a sandstorm alert issued by the authority but Devidutta was adamant. What was so special about this place asked the team. Devidutta grinned and spoke in a steadfast manner that what we are looking for is a special tomb, tomb of a great king, forgotten by records, swallowed by the sands. The team comprising of 2 fellow archaeologist and a local guide supposedly the best in Egypt. Devidutta Parikar, the name was enough to prove the stature of the man in his field. A distinguished archaeologist and a notable expert in cryptic lexicography, a man revered by fellow colleagues and general public alike. But taking on the great and mighty Sahara is not a easy task even for a man of such strong caliber as Devidutta Parikar.

The desert was merciless and with each tick of time, the impending sandstorm was gnawing closer and closer over their heads. As they ventured deep into its heart, the sun became an oppressive force, bending time and space with its relentless heat. The shifting dunes seemed to swallow everything in sight, even sound and in this case hope. With every step, Devidutta’s team grew uneasy. Mirages appeared out of nowhere and vanished within a blink of eye. Sweat dripping through the eyelids and the constant pressure of keeping their senses intact. Devidutta pressed on, driven by an unnatural force.

On the third day of their expedition, they found it.

An ancient ruin in the heart of the desert, barely visible beneath the dunes. The ruins revealed themselves like a mirage trespassing the boundaries of reality. The sandstorm was lingering a few kms away. Devidutta’s team looked over the horizons and knew luck was on their side as they had found the place before facing the sandstorm. The wind shifted the sands, uncovering stone steps leading down the earth. The entrance was smooth, indicating the work done by facing centuries of sandstorms yet the air around was still — unnaturally still as if time itself has paused.

Devidutta descended first; his team hesitant but followed close behind. The temple was vast, its walls covered in strange symbols, carved in patterns that seemed to twist on themselves, defying reason. Devidutta’s team pointed out the fact that these symbols are not Egyptian and they don’t match any existing records. There was a tone of excitement as they spoke but Devidutta was unfazed and asked them to move forward.

The deeper they went, the colder it became, though the sun burned fiercely glazing over the desert. The sound of the sandstorm wreaking havoc outside slowly faded out the deeper they went.

It was here, in the deepest chamber, the found the monolith. A gigantic immense stone pillar standing in the centre of room, etched with symbols that pulsed faintly with an ancient energy. Around it, the walls depicted grotesque figures with shifting, formless bodies. Devidutta’s team was perplexed at the site and had no clue of what they are seeing but not Devidutta as a mysterious smile etched over his face as he matched the symbols to a piece of parchment from his personal notebook. The Forgotten Ones, Devidutta whispered after placing his hands over the pillar and consorting his notebook.

The Whisper of the Sand#

Sir Devidutta Parikar, born to a Egyptian Father and an Indian mother, Devidutta’s lineage offered him full course of diversity and history to satisfy his curiosity. Being a devout and disciplined, he had always sought knowledge through the lens of faith. He found his calling in history, but the past was meant to illuminate the present, not obscure it. His beliefs were solid — unshakeable. He spent his childhood in the deserts of Rajasthan courtesy of his mother. He often used to hear stories from tribes of Rajasthan and one such story spoke of the forgotten ones. It left a deep impression on him. He went on to study at a precious university in Egypt in field of archaeology and cryptic lexicography. One of the brightest of his generation.

During what seemed to be a normal lecture, his professor diverted from the usual routine of a class and spoke of the words “There were gods… erased from memory… blotted from history…Buried in sands long forgotten. The Forgotten Ones”. It was a passing comment, a throwaway line, yet it clung to Devidutta like dust in wind. The Forgotten Ones, he scribbled in the margin of his notes as he reconciled with his memories of childhood hearing the same line and same phrase.

That night, the desert came to him in dreams.

A wasteland of endless dunes stretched beneath a scorching sun, a place where even shadows are afraid to linger. And somewhere cloaked between the blue sky and yellow desert lies a place unbeknownst to any man or any civilization. The winds howled in Devidutta’s ears. He could hear the wind calling his name.

Devidutta woke from his slumber drenched in sweat had a difficult time shaking it. The name, the dream, the heat — it consumed his thoughts. From that day onwards, Devidutta became a mad man with mission. He unearthed every civilization lost in time to find clues to that place in desert. He scoured obscure texts, traced fragmented mentions of deities erased from all but most obscure histories. These gods were not simple forgotten but hidden. Locked away, erased from existence as their memory itself was dangerous. Every text spoke of the same thing: desert, sand and ruins. A place where gods slumbered.

Devidutta went on to become one of the most, if not the number one researcher on archaeology winning multiple accolades but Devidutta desired one thing above all. During some previous expedition, Devidutta had came across a parchment that looked like a map. The map pointed to a location deep within Sahara previously uncharted, far from any human settlement. Rum ours swirled by locals about people going missing in the desert, temple to entities that defied human understanding. Hence, an expedition was launched.

The Price of Knowing#

Devidutta’s past trance was broken when he heard a low hum coming from the deepest part of the ruin. It resonated through the stone, echoing through the sand and to their bones. Devidutta felt it in his chest, like a heartbeat not his own. And in his mind, a voice — ancient, deep. I am Yitharoth it said. The desert is my tomb but the sands do not forget.

Devidutta’s companions froze, their faces pale, as the walls around them seemed to shift. The very stones seemed to breathe, and shadows formed where none should exist. The voice spoke again, this time clearer, as though the being were awakening. You sought the forgotten. You sought us, and now we are known again.

The ground beneath them trembled, and the sands outside howled as though in fury. Yitharoth, the god entombed beneath the earth, began to stir. His form was unknowable—a mass of writhing, shifting shapes that seemed to exist both within and beyond the boundaries of time and space. The presence was unnerving and overwhelming, simply put indescribable. Devidutta felt the strength fading away from his knees. This was not the world he knew. It was unfathomable. Yitharoth was neither good nor evil; he simply was. An entity of chaos and eternity, whose very existence defied all understanding.

All the members of his team crumbled into madness, unable to comprehend what was in front of them. Their mind unable to bear the presence of the ancient god which defied all that stood. Devidutta felt Yitharoth’s thoughts pouring into him. Visions of ancient cities, long lost civilizations forgotten by time, gods who roamed earth freely. These gods were not dead — they were imprisoned, sealed away by forces far too ancient to name and now, because of Devidutta, Yitharoth was free. You cannot unlearn what you know, Yitharoth whispered, his voice like the shifting sands. You will carry our memory, or you will be consumed by it.

The temple began to collapse as the entity’s presence grew stronger. The fabric of atmosphere seemed to tear apart as it stirred beneath the earth. Devidutta’s companions, those who remained were no longer human — twisted shapes of what they once were oddly resembling the symbols. Devidutta had no choice. He could not escape. He could not forget.

The sands swallowed him and the looming sandstorm howled over his cries of agony, and with them the knowledge of forgotten gods. He emerged days later, alone and broken, a hollow shell devoid of faith, sanity and soul. The desert had taken Devidutta.

When the rescue team found him, wandering aimlessly across the dunes, his eyes were empty, haunted by what he had seen. He spoke of gods whose names had no place in this world, of truths that no human mind could bear.

But the desert knew. The sands remembered.

And they would never let him forget.