A voice, barely audible, whispered, “Closer. Come closer.” Its message seemed to dissipate with an imperceptible wind.

I found myself standing before a cave, its golden tendrils glowing and illuminating a path to the entrance. Though every instinct in my body urged me to retreat, curiosity pulled me forward.

“Just one look. Come now,” the voice called again, this time louder and more feminine.

Its enchanting quality enticed me further. Step by step, I approached the cave’s entrance, my neck hair standing on end as if pulled by an invisible force. The sight inside was breathtaking — tendrils adorned the cave’s walls like tapestries in a grand cathedral, and at its center lay a pool, as blue as the summer sky. It whirled mysteriously, as if stirred by an unseen hand.

“Closer!” the voice echoed, now clearly within earshot. I circled around, and before me stood a woman, her skin as dark as the night and her eyes as blue as the pool itself.

“Wake up,” she commanded, her voice resonating with otherworldly authority. With a sudden forceful push, she propelled me into the pool.

***

“Merisha, wake up,” Harun’s voice boomed in my head. As consciousness returned, I found him squatting beside me, his face a map of scars that told the story of the harrowing day we had endured.

“Where are we?” I asked groggily, my head throbbing like a sprinter’s heart after a race, still dazed by the dream that had just unfolded in my mind.

“I don’t know precisely, but we must leave soon. We can’t be sure if those goons are still searching for us,” Harun replied, his face etched with strain, as if he had aged in a matter of hours.

“Why are they after us?” I enquired, struggling to sit upright as he offered me a bottle of water.

“It’s the mark on your back, Merisha,” he answered, with a sense of urgency.

“A mark? Why would I have a mark on my back?” The memories of the dreams flooded back into my mind like a rogue wave crashing upon the shore.

“In ancient times,” Harun began, his voice carrying the weight of a long-held secret, “The Greek Emperor, Alexander The Great, sought immortality. He defeated enemies and crushed those who opposed him, yet even he could not conquer death.”

Harun rose to his feet, his gaze intense as he continued, “He tasked his shaman with finding the Well of Immortality, some called it The Elixir of Life, a myth passed down through generations. The shaman cast a spell so powerful and wretched that the ancestors struck five chosen individuals with lightning, branding maps on to their skin.“

As Harun’s words sank in, my face shifted from wonder to perplexity. Sensing my unvoiced questions, he provided an answer.

“The men from the hospital are called The Brotherhood, tasked with finding the piece of the map,” he said, “and they will stop at nothing to get it.”

I wanted to scream and ask why this had to come to me, but I remained deathly silent, listening to him speak.

“You’re probably wondering why the map is on your back, even though you weren’t there all those years ago,” he said, a smile slowly forming on his face. “Your ancestor was one of those five individuals struck by lightning. The electrical surge was too powerful to be extracted, passing the map down through generations to you.“

A myriad of questions swirled in my mind, but before I could voice them, a ringing phone shattered the moment, its shrill sound cutting through the room.

Tell us: What would you do if you found out you’d inherited some mythical mark from your ancestors? How would you feel?