Olympian Awakening

Preface: This is the first meeting between Alice, the narrator, and Robert, the two immortals that have been gathering immortals to Mount Olympus.

This was different. Slightly. I was usually asleep. Why was I awake? Oh, my coffin is opening, that would explain it. Who was that looking at me? Definitely not of my time, but I’m not sure what that would even be. “Hello,” I said, or rather, tried to say. It sounded more like gibberish to him.

He screamed.

I sat up. “Oh, that’s right, you wouldn’t speak my language, would you? That’d be too easy.” I’m paraphrasing, of course. The Egyptians didn’t have quite the sense of sarcasm that we do today.

He ran back down the hall.

Oh well, I thought, best start catching up. This little tomb they built for me isn’t much to look at. It was built for purpose, not elegance. I do like the sandstone, though. It’s always had a pleasant quality that modern concrete lacks.

I suppose it didn’t help first impressions much that I had all the mummification getup on. I soon untangled myself from the outer wrappings my people had constrained me with and walked out of the opening the man had made to get in. That’s another thing, my tomb didn’t have any openings, in the hopes that if I did wake up, I would simply die again since I would have no breathable air.

It was a little bright outside. I say a little, it was a lot more than my eyes were used to considering they had been closed for a couple thousand years. So it took me a few minutes to get used to it again. I did notice that the man’s screams had stopped, and when I could see clearly again, I saw that he was lying on the ground with his throat slit. Standing over him was an old man with a knife in his hand.

“Hello,” I said, even though I didn’t think he would understand me.

He looked a little startled, but then replied in perfect Ancient Egyptian, “Good afternoon. You are not dead.”

“And you speak my language.”

“Which has not been spoken for at least 2000 years. You were in the tomb?”

“I was. You killed him?”

“I did.”

I think he could tell this wasn’t getting us anywhere. Neither of us was going to admit what we knew, so he threw the knife into my chest. I was out of practice, so it hit me, and it hurt. I pulled it out and the wound sealed, but it still hurt some. I threw it back, but into his leg. He didn’t espect it, so it found its mark. He, of course, pulled it out, and the wound sealed.

Now that we had established ourselves as immortal, we continued our questioning.

“You are immortal,” he said.

“It used to be common,” I replied.

“It’s not anymore.”

“How do you know that?”

A question that isn’t simple stops banter like nothing else. As such, he didn’t reply for a while. Eventually, though, he conceded, “I don’t know.”

“Let’s go find them, then.”

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