I didn't hear the lab's door open. I was too deep in the scratches on a clay shard, each line pulling me further from the present. The lab wasn't just a room; it was a world of relics and whispers, an island I never wanted to leave. Sunlight slanted through the narrow windows, catching on the dust that always seemed to float here, like time had a physical presence.
The markings were faint, almost worn smooth by whoever had handled this before me--centuries ago, maybe more. My journal lay open, my handwriting cramped and uneven, running like an excavation report of my own thoughts. Linear B? Maybe. Or something older. The edges of the shard were brittle, crumbling like parchment in my hands.
"Do you ever blink?" Emily's voice sliced through the quiet. I flinched, my fingers tightening instinctively around the fragment, and looked up to see her leaning against the doorframe. She held two coffee cups in one hand and a bagel wrapped in grease-stained paper in the other.
"Do you ever come in on time?" I shot back, pushing my glasses up. They slid down again before I'd even finished speaking.
"Rude." She walked in, setting a coffee down beside me without asking if I wanted it. "You're welcome, by the way."
"For being late or for the coffee?"
"Both." She dropped into the chair next to me, her leather jacket creaking as she leaned back. "And here I was thinking about inviting you out tonight. But if you're going to be like this..."
"Some of us have work to do," I said, turning back to the shard. The truth was, I wanted to keep talking. Emily had this way of bringing the world with her, like a tether to reality I didn't know I needed until she showed up.
"'Work,'" she said, dragging out the word. "You mean squinting at rocks and pretending you don't love it."
I didn't answer. She was right, of course. She always was.
"What is it this time?" she asked, leaning over to peer at the fragment. "Please tell me you're not inventing another cataloging system. The last one almost got you banned from the department."
"That system was perfect," I said, half under my breath. "And no, this is... something different."
Her curiosity shifted, sharpening into something genuine. "What am I looking at?"
I hesitated. "Possibly proto-Linear B. Or a forgery. I haven't decided yet."
"'Haven't decided' sounds very godlike of you."
"It's the job," I said, shrugging. But my chest tightened as I stared at the shard. Something about it wasn't... normal. "Anyway, thanks for the coffee."
"I knew you'd come around." She grinned, taking a bite of her bagel and scattering crumbs all over the desk. "You're welcome, by the way."
Her phone buzzed, and she glanced at the screen. "Damn it, gotta run. Meeting in ten minutes. Don't sit here all day, Stephen."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
She laughed, soft and low, and then she was gone, the lab door swinging shut behind her. The quiet settled back like dust, heavier now.
I stared down at the shard. For a second, I thought I felt something--like the hum of a tuning fork just out of earshot. But it was probably nothing.
The sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway pulled me back. Something about their weight--slow and deliberate--didn't feel like a student rushing to class. The delivery came seconds later, a sharp knock on the lab's door. I froze, hand still resting on the fragment.
"UC Archaeology?" a gruff voice called out.
The courier stood in the doorway, a slab of a man with arms folded like he'd been chiseled out of stone. His uniform was rumpled, and his expression said he didn't care much about what was in the massive wooden crate at his feet.
"This the archaeology lab?" he asked, already scanning the room like he had better places to be.
"Yeah," I said, pushing my glasses up.
"Sign here." He shoved a clipboard at me. His pen dangled by a threadbare string, threatening to snap.
"What is it?" I asked, scrawling my name.
He shrugged, already turning to leave. "Crate says 'fragile.' You people order a mummy or something?"
The question hung in the air as he disappeared, his boots echoing down the hallway. I stared at the crate. It towered over me, its wooden panels rough and streaked with black scuffs. The emblem burned into one side--a lion's head encircled by ornate letters--looked familiar but didn't immediately click.
I grabbed a crowbar from the tool rack and set to work. The wood groaned under the pressure, each crackling snap of nails pulling free only fueling my curiosity. Inside, layers of straw and crumpled parchment clung to my hands as I sifted through. The faint smell of mildew and old earth wafted up, thick and cloying.
First, the scrolls. Fragile, some barely held together by time and luck. Then the chipped vases, their painted motifs faded but still beautiful in their intricacy. My fingers itched for my notebook, but something about the crate demanded my undivided attention.
Finally, my hand brushed against something cold and solid. I pulled it free--a rectangular stone tablet, heavy in my hands, its surface etched with deep carvings. The language wasn't one I recognized.
"Imperial Aramaic?" I muttered, though I knew it wasn't quite right. The symbols twisted in ways that felt... wrong, like they didn't want to be read.
I turned to place it on the nearest table, but my grip faltered. The tablet slipped, falling to the floor with a sharp crack.
"Damn it!" I dropped to my knees, panic surging through me. The corner had broken clean off, fragments skittering across the tile. But as I reached for the largest piece, something caught the light.
At first, I thought it was just another shard. But no, it was too smooth, too deliberate in its shape. An obsidian ring rested in the middle of the broken corner, its black surface gleaming like it had been waiting for me.
The air shifted. It felt heavier, charged, like a storm had pressed itself into the room.
I reached for the ring. The moment my fingers touched it, a shiver climbed my spine, sharp and electric. The ring's surface was unnervingly warm--almost alive. Its intricate carvings spiraled around the band, designs I couldn't place, symbols that seemed to shift when I tilted it in the light.
I shouldn't have. I knew that. But my hand moved anyway, slipping the ring onto my middle finger.
It fit perfectly.
The warmth melted into my skin, and for a moment, the room felt far away. I caught myself holding my breath, waiting for... something. But nothing came.
I let out a shaky laugh, running my thumb over the band. "Just an artifact," I muttered, though the words felt hollow.
Back at my desk, I tried to shake the strange weight of the morning. The ring was still on my finger, its presence impossible to ignore. It didn't glow or hum or do anything overtly magical, but I couldn't stop touching it. My thumb ran over the carvings compulsively, tracing the unfamiliar patterns like I might suddenly decipher their meaning through touch alone.
The tablet I'd dropped lay to my right, hastily reassembled. The jagged break mocked me, but my focus wasn't on it anymore. The ring pulled at my thoughts, a constant nudge in the back of my mind. Every time I glanced at it, the symbols seemed different--sharper in some places, blurred in others.
"Hey."
Emily's voice startled me. I jerked upright, knocking a stack of catalog cards to the floor.
"Jesus, Emily."
"Relax." She crouched to scoop up the mess, shooting me a grin as she stacked the cards haphazardly. "You're jumpier than usual. What's up?"
"Nothing," I said too quickly, shoving my hand under the desk.
Her eyes narrowed. "Uh-huh. Nothing. You've been zoning out all morning."
"I've been working," I corrected, pointing at the now-broken tablet as if to prove my point.
"Uh-huh." She dropped the cards onto the desk and perched on the edge of the chair across from me. "So, what's that thing you broke? It looks intense."
"Tablet. Came in with the crate this morning." I glanced at the tablet, then at her, and sighed. "I don't recognize the language. It's like... Imperial Aramaic, but not."
Emily tilted her head, leaning in for a closer look. "Huh. Yeah, I see what you mean. Definitely not standard Aramaic. Those curves are all wrong. Could be some obscure offshoot? Or maybe it's not even Semitic at all."
"Great." I slumped back in my chair. "More questions."
"Isn't that what you live for?" She smirked, but her eyes stayed on the tablet, her curiosity mirroring my own.
We worked in silence for a while, side by side. It was a familiar rhythm, one we'd fallen into countless times before. The faint hum of the lab and the scratching of pens filled the air, and for a moment, I almost forgot about the ring. Almost.
But then I caught myself spinning it around my finger again, and a sharp pang of guilt struck me. I should've told her. Emily would've known what to do--or at least, she would've made me laugh about how ridiculous I was being. But instead, I kept quiet, the ring hidden under the desk where her sharp eyes couldn't pry.
"Alright, I'm calling it." She stood, stretching. "You're no fun today. I'm gonna go grab lunch. You coming?"
"Not yet," I said, forcing a smile. "You go ahead."
She gave me one last suspicious glance but shrugged it off. "Your loss. Don't let the dust monsters get you."
The lab door clicked shut behind her, and the quiet rushed back in, heavier than before.
I turned to the tablet again, but my eyes couldn't focus on the markings. All I saw was the ring. It was as if it had embedded itself in my thoughts, seeping into every corner of my mind.
And the strangest part? I didn't want to take it off.
The lab was silent, the kind of silence that stretched out during the lunch hour when most people vanished to recharge. My desk was still a mess--catalog cards scattered, broken fragments of the tablet arranged in a sad mosaic. But all I could see was the ring.
I slid my chair closer to the desk, pulling out a magnifying glass from the cluttered drawer. The weight of the ring on my finger was constant now, not just physical but something else--like a low hum just at the edge of hearing.
I angled the magnifying glass over my hand, bringing the ring's carvings into focus. The symbols didn't just sit on the surface; they seemed to sink into the obsidian, as if the band held layers I couldn't quite access. When I tilted my hand, the patterns shifted subtly, shapes flickering just beyond recognition.
Not just shapes--words.
I muttered to myself, "What the hell are you?"
The room felt warmer suddenly, the air heavier. I tried to steady my breathing as I grabbed my notebook and sketched the ring. Or at least, I tried to. My pen faltered, the symbols resisting every stroke, like they were alive, writhing just out of reach. I scrawled the same line over and over, but when I looked down at the paper, the designs were wrong--simplified, flattened, lifeless.
