Having returned to 3800 BCE, Amun awakens during the celebration of Kaspum
Coughing, his body wet with perspiration, he struggled to breathe. His throat burned. Opening his eyes, he saw layers of blue haze in the room. Sitting up, he covered his mouth. The smoke burned his eyes. He stood quickly and walked to where the walls were removed. Leaning against lotus painted columns, he gasped. Then, he remembered where he was. He had awakened from a vision. He stood panting, taking deep breaths. His mouth agape as if in a stupor, he could hardly believe it had been a dream.
He still saw them. Humans covered with dust, mindlessly trudging. Gasoline powered engines spewing smoke and carbon monoxide, turning metal mixers in a cacophony of rock, sand and water.
But, music, a lyre, played in passageways beyond this wing of the palace. Dimly sounding, a tinkling of notes, brought him back.
The city celebrated the Days of Kaspum, when the First Ones arrived at the galaxy. Servants struck small drums and burned palm leaves in commemoration of Horus’ resurrection.
The surface of the canal glinted in morning sunlight. Undulating reflections took him again to the vision. Standing among human slaves he was filthy, thin. Those around him moved slowly, as if they would collapse from fatigue. A curving edifice was taking shape. Bricks were carried to scaffolds, buckets of thick sludge brought to masons on boards, bricks held together by river silt and reeds. Covered with mud and dust, a primitive buttress, the curved support joined to an exterior wall. More buttresses, in line with the first, held tall structures in place. Pointed arches, windowed halls, and plastered columns raised onto elevated floors. A shouted command, and a reptilian struck a human woman with a cane. She lay in the mud, collapsed.
Along the river farms turned into pens for raising small animals, food for reptiles. Opening his eyes, leaning against a column, he whispered, “Just a dream.”