The Mantle

I was in the middle of delivering a lecture when a piercing voice crackled through the speakers, announcing that I was being summoned to the head dean’s office.

Was it not enough that I was pulled back from the field job that I had to take lecture after lecture every day because people were pulled from their teaching positions to check for newly unearthed relics from the Sahara?

I finished the last note in my class before exiting into the hall and moving towards the dean's office.

Before heading to the main office, I stopped by my own to drop off some materials and retrieve my phone, which I had somehow forgotten earlier.

I knocked on the door and entered the spectacular scene of all the other lecturers for whom I had to do twice the work I was paid for.

The dean’s office smelled faintly of ink and dust, as though secrets had been sealed in its walls for decades. Rose sat stiffly, her pulse quickening as the dean’s gaze lingered too long.

Rose- you called for me.

Dean- Yes, you didn't answer my call.

Rose- I forgot my phone in my office.

Dean- Alright, let’s set aside these trivial matters. As you all know, the relics have become a pressing concern. Rose, I want to inform you that you’ve been invited to join the team in the Sahara. These gentlemen have reached a dead end.

“Despite your age,” the dean’s voice dropped, almost reluctant, “your knowledge surpasses theirs. That’s why the Sahara team needs you.”

Rose- are there any documents I should be aware of?

I was handed a stack of photographs along with several texts written in a foreign language, one I recognized faintly, though I couldn’t quite place where I had seen it before.

Rose- when am I supposed to reach the site?

Dean- all the arrangements are made here. These are your flight tickets, and I suggest you leave now so you can pack and catch your flight.

“Your father’s journal,” he said at last, voice low. “It speaks of things best left buried.”

I left the institute and rushed to my dorm to pack my stuff, and while packing a few clothes, I picked up my late father's journal.

Then it suddenly clicked: the writing and the entry in my father's journal were the same.

I picked up my stuff and went to the airport.

On the flight, my fingers trembled as I opened the worn leather cover. The handwriting was jagged, urgent—her father’s voice etched into every line.

“The ocean beneath an ocean…waits in silence.”

Rose’s breath caught. It wasn’t just research. It was a warning.

Our family photo fell out. I missed my parents after they died in a car accident. I was left all alone. I didn't give up on my studies and became the best in the field.

Shaking out of my thoughts, I flipped through the pages and found the script I was looking for. Below it was written the secret buried beneath the ocean.

My curiosity deepened, as somehow in all my life I had never opened these pages, and it should not have happened, as I had opened this journal many times during expeditions.

I kept on reading and found that the last trail to the mantle was a vase found in a tomb in Egypt. The writing was similar, and the only word comprehensible was mantle, as all the other script was too worn off.

And then nothing- blank pages. I closed the journal and decided to take some rest.

Soon, the flight landed. I went to the washroom and wrapped myself in a scarf so the harsh winds of the Sahara would be easier to handle.

I stepped out of the airport and hailed a car to help me reach the desert, as the archeological team was there to accompany me to the site.

The desert stretched endlessly, heat shimmering like molten glass. I wiped the sweat from my brow, ignoring the team’s muttered doubts. The compass needle spun wildly, refusing to settle.

Something beneath the sands was interfering—something alive.

On the way to the site, I was briefed on the relics recovered so far.

The relics were a vase, a bangle, and a scripture on a stone.

The bangle was pure gold with intricate carvings that pointed to no specific era, which was quite surprising, and it was clear from the photo they provided.

And the scripture on the stone and the vase was similar to the photos I already had.

We reached the site, and anyone could get lost this deep in the desert, where the sand keeps shifting.

I made my way to the makeshift station, where researchers were already at work, carefully cleaning the relics and coating them with protective liquid to prepare them for shipment to the labs.

I left them to their work as I had already made a copy of the scripture during my flight. I assigned an intern to transcribe the inscriptions from the stone.

I moved towards the flagged area, and then suddenly I saw a sharp tip, more structured and polished than a random rock.

I approached it and started removing sand bit by bit.

Astonishing carvings on the stone started appearing. Then, after brushing the carvings, it looked like a temple top. I called others after flagging, as I couldn't risk it being swallowed by the Sahara once again.

Soon, as everyone began clearing away the sand, the outline of the temple slowly emerged, an ancient structure rising from its burial, as though it had guarded a million secrets within. Whatever those secrets were, I knew they were destined to change my life forever.

IT took about 2 whole days to clear up enough sand for us to enter the temple.

On the 2nd day, night had already fallen, and the temple glowed when moonlight fell on it as if it were made of luminous pearl. Even after being buried for centuries, it looked as if it was standing here for a long time, glowing, waiting for someone to find it.

I was able to recognise the word NYX on it, which was surprising for me, as it was way too far for Greeks to make a temple, that too for the goddess of night, and glowing like the moon here.

I moved cautiously inside, as there was sand left here.

The deeper I moved, the more intricate the carvings were; this place left me stunned and kept luring me further inside like a rhythm, and suddenly, a floral scent started wafting around like whispers in the wind.

Which was odd, as this temple has been buried deep; due to the harsh conditions, the growth of flowers is impossible.

Then I reached the statue of Nyx, which seemed to be made of fine marble, finer than that used in most Greek sculptures.

Moonlight spilled across the ruins, turning stone into silver. The statue of Nyx stood at the heart of the temple, marble so fine it seemed to breathe. At its base, carved letters whispered a single word: Atlantis.

My Breath caught—then froze. Somewhere deep within the temple, stone shifted, as if something had awakened.

I moved further inward, then I saw it: a very different kind of map portraying a land never recorded, and then I saw the flowers that were impossible to exist in this area, covered in sand.

And under it, written was the ocean beneath. My eyes locked on the inscription

I was gonna take a gamble on this one, as I knew exactly which ocean was being talked about: the Mantle.

Before she could take another step, the ground trembled. Dust rained from the ceiling, and the statue’s shadow stretched unnaturally across the floor. Rose’s pulse hammered—something deep within her had awakened.