The world never knew I existed.
After taking me in, Professor Thornwood made it clear—my life would stay in the shadow of his name.
Reporters often swarmed his estate gates, eager to photograph his discoveries or ask about his timeless genius. But not once did the cameras capture me in the frame.
He said it wasn't secrecy. It was protection.
"I deal with knowledge people aren't ready for," he explained. "The fewer who know of you, the longer you remain safe."
So I stayed unseen.
No public records, no official biography. In every speech or conference, the professor stood alone. Behind the screen, I wrote the code for his presentations, translated the ancient languages, decrypted files stolen from museums … and smiled quietly to myself.
When I turned eighteen, he called me to his study. The room was lined with relics—artifacts humming with quiet energy. Bronze masks, sandstone tablets, fragments of forgotten faith.
He handed me a sealed folder.
Inside lay his will, already signed, stamped…and witnessed by his lawyer.
"All of this will be yours," he said simply, "if I don't return from a mission one day."
I shook my head. "That's not going to happen."
He smiled softly. "We don't chase treasure, Mukul. We chase truth. And truth is often deadlier than gold."
That same night, a coded message arrived from the Global Archaeology Council—coordinates for an uncharted temple site in South Sudan. The message contained one strange phrase:
"Divine Mark resonance detected. Possible link to Phoenix Pattern."
My own body froze. I looked down at the scarlet mark burned into my chest since childhood.
The same six‑curved phoenix design.
For years, the professor had avoided asking about it directly; now it seemed fate had forced the subject.
He looked at me over the holographic schematics. "That mark on your skin wasn't random, was it?"
"I don't think so," I answered. "When I was a kid, it used to glow when I touched anything ancient or metallic. It felt like it was trying to remember something."
He nodded slowly. "Then this isn't a mission. It's a homecoming."
We flew under security‑proof clearance using our world passport—an asset few humans held.
At the professor's insistence, no one else came with us. Not the press, not researchers, not even the pilot after we landed.
Two shadows against an endless desert. That's how he preferred his missions—silent, vanishing before history noticed.
The site lay half-buried beneath dunes, its entrance marked by carvings that shimmered when moonlight hit them. They weren't hieroglyphs or Latin symbols—they were mathematical patterns, like codes from another era.
I ran my fingers along the wall and felt the mark on my chest pulse.
The stone shifted audibly, revealing a doorway none of our equipment had detected.
Professor Thornwood stared in pure wonder. "The mark is a key."
Inside was darkness so thick it breathed. We descended by lantern, the air cool with the smell of metal and salt. At the bottom stood a pedestal carved in the shape of a cube—perfectly geometric yet refusing to reflect light.
"It's made from no known element," the professor murmured. "Not iron, not stone… something else."
When his hand hovered near it, the cube lit with pulse lines—and the mark on my skin answered. They glowed together in synchrony, like two hearts finding the same beat.
The pedestal rotated and revealed a smaller object resting inside—a pendant woven of crimson threads and crystal. At its centre spun a miniature sphere of light.
"That's your birthright," the professor whispered. "Or your burden."
As soon as I lifted the pendant, the temple shook. The cube's surface rippled like water and projected hundreds of symbols around us—each representing coordinates beyond Earth itself.
"Parallel world data recognised," a soft voice echoed—not from any device. It came from inside my mind.
The professor stumbled back, shielding his eyes from the glow. "Mukul, what is that voice?"
"I…don't know. But it knows me."
The mark on my chest flared blood‑red, and for a moment, I was no longer in that temple.
Instead, I saw a plain of gold and shadows, cities floating in the sky, and a figure of a woman made of light reaching toward me.
"Find me," she said. "Before they find you."
Then everything snapped back—sand, air, stone, and reality.
When I woke, the professor was kneeling beside me, eyes wide. "You were gone," he said quietly. "For six minutes. Your body was here, your mind—somewhere else."
I touched the pendant. It was cold now, but alive.
He helped me stand. "The world has always whispered about lost realms and heavenly gates, but you've just proved they're real."
I met his gaze and nodded. "It wasn't a dream, Father. It was a message."
As we left the temple, the desert horizon was streaked with red light not caused by the sun—an aura rising from the cube's buried energy.
The professor looked back only once. "We need to study this quietly. No public records, no Council reports. If the world learns you exist, they'll destroy you before you uncover why you were born."
I smiled faintly, watching lightning gather in the far sky. "I've lived hidden my whole life. One more secret won't hurt."
He nodded, and for the first time, I saw pride in his eyes—and fear.
Because we both knew our first mission had not ended. It had just begun … and somewhere across the stars, the Divinity Goddess System had already awakened.