Khetum: The forgetten ones

When I opened my eyes, an overwhelming rush of unfamiliarity hit me. I found myself standing in the middle of a bustling market, surrounded by a surreal blend of noise and chaos. The air was thick with the pungent aroma of exotic spices, mingling with the unmistakable stench of livestock. The cacophony of bleating goats, chattering merchants, and creaking wooden carts filled my ears, amplifying the confusion swirling in my mind.

The scene looked ancient, almost like I had stepped into a history book. Everything appeared worn yet functional—wooden carts with cracked wheels, jars of grain spilling over, and colorful woven fabrics hanging on crude wooden frames. But why did it look like this? Why were people using wooden carts when technology existed? Panic gnawed at my chest. Where am I?

Thankfully, my fascination with Egyptian history had gifted me one advantage—I could speak their ancient language, though it had been an arduous skill to master. Taking a steadying breath, I approached a man seated beside a weathered stall piled with dried fruits. His deep-set eyes glanced up at me, brows furrowing as he took in my bizarre attire.

"Iwi-ank aq tef?" I asked hesitantly, my voice trembling as I tried to recall the phrase. (Where am I?)

His gaze lingered, judgment flickering across his face, before he answered gruffly, I asked him again "Re mery ta sat djesef?" (What is the name of this place?)

For a moment, he paused, scrutinizing me like a merchant appraising faulty goods. "Pn nsw n Khastor" he finally replied with a clipped tone, his lips curling slightly in suspicion. (This is the Kingdom of Khastor.)

Khastor? The name felt foreign, even to someone as familiar with Egyptian lore as I was. "Khastor?" I echoed, confusion etched on my face. The word rolled awkwardly off my tongue.

Before I could ask further, a sharp voice pierced through the crowd. "Ir.k, p: ẖrd!"

I froze. (You, that boy!)

My heart stuttered, and I turned toward the source. A man, tall and imposing, was cutting through the crowd with purposeful strides. His face was obscured by a mask carved with strange patterns, and his hand clutched a gleaming dagger that caught the sunlight menacingly. Instinct told me to run, but fear rooted me to the spot for a moment too long.

Adrenaline surged as I bolted, weaving clumsily through the throng of people. The rough cobblestones beneath my feet felt sharp, and I stumbled, crashing to the ground. Pain jolted through my body, a sharp reminder that this wasn't a dream. Gritting my teeth, I scrambled back up, stealing a glance over my shoulder. The masked man was gaining on me.

"Wait!" he shouted, his voice unexpectedly clear. I nearly stopped in shock. English? How could he—

Before I could process, he was in front of me, his chest heaving from the chase. Slowly, he removed his mask, revealing a sharp jawline and piercing eyes that locked onto mine.

"Who are you?" he demanded, his tone edged with suspicion. "You don't look Egyptian."

"I…" My words faltered as I scanned my surroundings, unsure of what to say. "I don't know where I am. I just…"

His eyes narrowed. "You're from the modern world, aren't you? You time-traveled here through a book." He leaned in slightly, his expression unreadable. "A book called Khetum."

My breath hitched. How did he know that?