Cindy was a New Zealander working in Egypt, employed by a New Zealand-based newspaper.
His job was to photograph pyramids and craft reports filled with mystical and sci-fi elents to send back ho.
Though the work might have sounded frivolous, the striking and vivid quality of his photos had earned him a fair share of popularity in New Zealand.
After enduring more than ten years of toiling in the endless sands, he had finally received a long-awaited promotion not long ago.
No more running through deserts—he was being transferred from field reporter to office editor.
And so, in November of 1991, as the year drew to a close, Cindy boarded a plane back to New Zealand, carrying his latest photos and report.
As he put on his sleeping mask and prepared to nap until the plane landed, a faint scream reached his ears.
Monts later, the repetitive broadcast over the cabin speakers jolted him fully awake.
"Attention, passengers! Please remain calm and stay in your seats! Our flight crew will do everything in their power to ensure everyone's safety!"
"What the hell is going on with this airline? I'm going to file a complaint!"
Cindy yanked off his mask furiously and sat up—only to find chaos breaking out near the rear of the cabin.
People were gathering in a dense crowd, frightened screams echoing from the back.
A big story!
That was the first thought flashing through Cindy's still-groggy mind.
His instincts as a reporter kicked in imdiately. Grabbing his small hidden cara, he rushed toward the commotion.
"Excuse —move aside—let through!"
He squeezed forward as far as he could, but the path was blocked solid. Quick-thinking, he caught the arm of a pale-faced man rushing out and asked,
"Hey! Sir! Wait—what's happening in there?"
"D-dead… there's a dead body!"
A dead body?
Cindy froze for an instant, then his eyes lit up. Pulling out a notebook, he pressed eagerly, "Who's the victim? How old? Male or female? Cause of death?"
"I don't know!" The man's throat bobbed nervously. "There were… two hearts! I—I only saw two hearts!"
Two hearts?
The tip of Cindy's pen hesitated in midair. He blinked, confused, then asked again, trying to clarify. Slowly, the picture beca clear.
Sothing strange had happened on the plane.
A passenger sitting in the last row had woken up after slling sothing foul. At first, he thought it was spilled food, but the stench grew stronger.
Finally, unable to bear it, he looked around—and in the backmost corner of the cabin, he discovered a large pool of fresh blood… and two bright red hearts.
Cindy scribbled rapidly without looking up. "Hearts? Just hearts? Why are you sure soone's dead? Are you certain they're human?"
The man, seeing that Cindy was clearly a reporter, cald down a little and began to speak more fluently, eager to describe what he'd witnessed.
As it turned out, there was a forensic doctor among the passengers.
After examining the hearts, the doctor confird they were human—and had been removed while still beating less than thirty minutes ago.
That was horrifying enough.
The plane had been in flight for two hours. aning, within this sealed space, there was not only a killer—but at least two victims.
But here was the real mystery: when the flight attendants double-checked the passenger list, not a single person was missing.
And there was no luggage or compartnt on board large enough to hide an extra body.
So where had the two freshly cut hearts co from?
Cindy's skin crawled, but excitent outweighed fear.
He had stumbled upon a major story. His promotion was already secure—but this might earn him fa to match.
Jotting down the man's account, Cindy lifted his cara and pushed further toward the rear.
Then, suddenly, sothing bumped against his thigh.
He frowned and looked down—nothing there.
A trick of the mind?
Muttering under his breath, he brushed it aside.
anwhile, Dawn, still under his Disillusionnt Charm, slipped out of the dispersing crowd.
His steps were unsteady, his face pale. Through the gap between the passengers, he glanced once at the two hearts lying on the floor.
He hadn't had ti to destroy them before they were discovered.
The curse's eruption had been far more violent and prolonged than he had expected.
From the last ti it struck in the tomb until now, less than six hours had passed.
And this ti, the duration was longer.
The curse, though it manifested as his hearts being torn out as if by Apparition, wasn't ant to kill him outright. It was ant to preserve his body in a state of "heartlessness."
And the lengthening of each episode's duration ant that even when he used healing potions to regrow his heart, the new one vanished soon after.
"Troubleso…"
Dawn's expression darkened as he pressed a hand against his chest, feeling the faint, unnatural emptiness beneath his skin.
He didn't understand why the curse still clung to him even though he hadn't deepened his study of natural magic.
Perhaps his prior understanding had already exceeded a certain threshold.
But whatever the reason, he needed a solution—fast.
Judging by the rate of decay in his heart's regrowth, he could estimate one thing clearly:
If this happened three or four more tis, his healing potions would lose effectiveness entirely. He would die before the regeneration could complete.
And yet, the Moutohora Macaws' match was still three days away.
He knew from his research that their phoenix mascot didn't stay with the team year-round—it only appeared during matches.
So even if his plan to record the phoenix's transformation and harness its rebirth power succeeded, he still had to survive three more days.
Three days under a curse that kept ripping out his heart.
"What do I do…"
He pressed his temples, panic rising beneath the calm surface of his face.
At this rate, he might not even last two more outbursts. The next one—or the one after—would kill him.
The cabin lights glead harsh and white on the floor.
As he gazed at the panicking passengers, his eyes narrowed, and an idea began to take shape.
"Attention passengers," the intercom repeated, "for your safety, please return to your seats! Our crew will do everything possible to ensure your well-being!"
"Additionally, we have contacted local authorities through the onboard communication system. Upon landing, there will be a routine investigation. We apologize for any inconvenience."
After much confusion, the flight attendants finally restored order, guiding everyone back to their seats.
Passengers from the rear rows were moved to the front, leaving the scene of the incident sealed off.
Cindy sat back down among the crowd, putting his cara away. He couldn't help smiling with satisfaction—he had captured the perfect shots.
He even overheard the forensic doctor questioning several nearby passengers.
Not a single person had seen when the blood appeared. No one had heard screams. No one had noticed movent.
According to the doctor, the two hearts most likely belonged to a child.
Cindy's scalp tingled, but the thrill of breaking such a bizarre story burned stronger than fear.
He wasn't interested in the truth—only the story.
Already, headlines were forming in his mind:
[Pharaoh's Curse Strikes Again: Two Human Hearts Found Mid-Flight!]
He chuckled to himself, pleased with his own creativity.
But then—
"Sir, do you believe in God?"
The soft voice ca from behind him.
Cindy turned, startled.
In the seat directly behind him sat a young boy.
The child was strikingly beautiful—but his face was as white as paper, and his pupils glowed an eerie crimson in the cabin light.
Had soone been sitting there before?
The thought flashed through Cindy's mind.
He glanced around, expecting to see the child's parents—but the nearby seats were all empty.
He was sitting toward the back of the cabin; hoping to catch more photos, he hadn't moved to the front like everyone else.
Assuming the boy was lost, he raised a hand to call a flight attendant.
But before he could, the child spoke again.
"If I told you that gods can be made by human hands… would you believe ?"
What nonsense was this?
Cindy frowned, uneasy. He wasn't good with children, so he forced a nervous laugh.
"Hey, kid—you've been reading too many stories. It's not safe right now. Where are your parents?"
The boy ignored the question, speaking in a soft, almost dreamlike tone.
"The world has a consciousness. It's ford by the collective will of every living being. If enough people believe in sothing… no matter how impossible, one day it will appear before them."
"What are you even talking about?" Cindy muttered, completely baffled.
Dawn watched him quietly, his face expressionless.
The thought that had co to him earlier—the reason he was talking to this man—was simple: he wanted to spread the curse.
The inspiration ca from what had happened at Akhenaten's tomb, when he, Fatima, and Amir had triggered the curse together.
Although they had all broken the taboo simultaneously, the curse had struck them in a specific order.
Which ant—there was only one Anubis weighing hearts.
So, Dawn reasoned, if the number of cursed individuals increased, the ti between his own curse outbreaks might be stretched.
___________
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