#sun temple

[dazaicoree]

Modhera Sun Temple, Gujarat

Solanki Period (1026 CE)

[mrityuloknative]

(x)

[opalradiance]

☀️🔥~ Wrath of the Sun Temple ~ ☀️🔥

[wikipediapictures]

Sun Temple, Modhera - Sabha Mandap

“The Sabha Mandap of the Sun Temple, Modhera, India” - via Wikimedia Commons

[rabbitcruiser]

Mesa Verde National Park was designated a World Heritage Site on September 6, 1978.

[sandyrook77]

Thought I'd share a bit of what I'm working on. Prequel to The 100. Original Character. Inspired by the Anomaly Stone, the Judge, and S7E8, "Anaconda."

Out of Time

Chapter 1 - False Foundations (year 2045)

The cabin was hushed in the way only private aircraft ever were. Silent except for the low thrum of the engines and the soft, lyrical notes of music. The quiet made the rest of the world feel distant. Surreal.

Dylan sat at the wide walnut table, leaning into her forearms as she read, a pen tapping lightly to the rhythm of the current song beneath her right hand. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a loose French braid, strands beginning to slip free as the hours wore on. 

Her laptop cast a soft glow across her tanned face, multiple windows open across the screen. Satellite imagery of Machu Picchu, archaeological site maps, translated Incan chronicles, and several dense papers debating the construction and astronomical alignment of the Sun Temple.

But she kept returning to one image. 

A khipu (knotted string record) fragment that didn’t follow standard decimal patterns. 

Dylan knew what it looked like. Which was precisely the problem.

A logosyllabic code that shared a syntax with Sumerian cuneiform.

A cross of cultures that shouldn’t exist.

Spread across the table was the evidence of her attempts to prove whether this was factual. Evidence of transoceanic diffusion, or the kind of academic suicide that would turn her from prodigy to cautionary tale overnight.

A thick but small leather-bound journal sat open near her elbow, its pages crowded with tight handwriting, quick sketches, and half-formed calculations. Arrows jumped between paragraphs. Margins held questions written so forcefully that the pen had nearly cut the paper.

SOLSTICE ALIGNMENT?

STONE NOT ALTAR – ANCHOR?

CELESTIAL ORIGIN/SKY-EARTH INTERFACE?

REPEATING INTERVALS? MEASURED PLACEMENT?

 Sorenson and Johannesson’s weighty tomes propped several papers open beside star charts she’d already marked up in her attempt to map the knots against Babylonian celestial records. 

And beneath it all sat Plato’s Timaeus and Critias, because if she was going to destroy her career chasing the impossible, she wasn’t leaving anything to chance. 

Dylan’s assistant and bodyguard, Elias, sat across from her at the table. Where she relied on the physical and the digital in equal measure, he worked through layers of data. Several tablets spread before him, each displaying a different magnetometry survey of the Sacred Valley conducted over the past twenty years.

He was built solid through the shoulders and chest, strength carried without excess. His dark hair was cut short and practical, his olive complexion tanned from long hours in the field beside her. A faint line of stubble shadowed his jaw, softening features that might otherwise have read sharper. At a glance, there was nothing remarkable about him.

Which was precisely the point.

His digital pen moved with quiet precision, occasionally circling spikes that didn’t align with the known magnetite concentrations in the Vilcabamba granite—as if he trusted anomalies more than the data meant to explain them.

They both stilled as Dylan’s laptop chimed, cutting the music off mid-note.

Dylan’s demeanor softened, a small smile forming as she saw who was calling.

Elias glanced up from his tablet, caught the change in her expression, and rose without a word. When she looked up at him, he answered with a knowing smirk before continuing toward the front of the cabin.

Dylan tapped the trackpad to accept the call.

A window opened, flickered, then resolved into the image of a brunette in glasses and a lab coat.

Becca Franko.

She looked like she hadn’t slept in over a day, which was almost funny, considering Dylan had been the one to wake her earlier so she could make it to the airport in time to see her off.

Becca’s hair was twisted into a loose bun, held together by a pen that had long since stopped doing its job. Strands had slipped free around her face. Behind her, monitors glowed in uneven light, outlining the shape of a lab.

Her eyes landed on Dylan, and just like that, the exhaustion faded.

Dylan smiled. "Vesta Mea (my Fire)."

Becca leaned in slightly, the corner of her mouth twitching.

"Well," she said, her voice carrying the faint echo of the lab, "that’s already better than what my simulations have been giving me."

Her gaze moved across the screen.

The edge of the laptop. The open journal. Loose pages.

Becca’s brow lifted knowingly. "Let me guess," she said. "You’ve been down the rabbit hole again."

Amber eyes darted toward the tomes taking up most of the table, heat creeping up her chest.

"In my defense," Dylan began.

Becca lifted a finger, silencing her. "That is exactly how it starts. And then suddenly it’s an ungodly number of hours later, and you’re three layers deep in something you absolutely shouldn’t be."

Dylan leaned back with a laugh and held up her hands in defeat. "Guilty."

Despite the teasing, curiosity flickered behind Becca’s eyes.

"So," Becca continued, settling back slightly, "is there any truth behind the stories about a hidden chamber deep within the Sun Temple?"

Dylan laughed again, shaking her head. "You did not just reference Harry Potter, Beks."

Becca grinned, clearly pleased with herself, before slipping into a mock-haughty expression. "It wouldn’t be the first time a secret entrance was hidden in an ancient bathroom, Dyl. Inspiration has to come from somewhere."

Dylan huffed a quiet laugh. "Only you, love. Only you."

Becca relaxed, her smile softening. "That’s right. You prefer Riordan’s creative take on mythological gods and demigods over Rowling’s magic."

"To each her own," Dylan conceded. "What you’re working on would be considered magic to many of the people I’ve studied."

"And your current project wouldn’t?" Becca countered.

Dylan sobered slightly, her amber gaze drifting back to the image of the impossible knot string.

"Magic?" she said slowly, testing the word before giving a small shake of her head. "No. Impossible? Yes. The timeline doesn’t match. Even with the different theories out there. The Kelp Highway. The Austronesian expansion. Hell, I’ve even looked into the Solutrean hypothesis."

Dylan rubbed her face.

"The khipu fragment Alvarez sent me doesn’t follow standard decimal patterns, Beks. What it does follow is syntax that predates it by over two thousand years."

She let out a quiet breath, eyes still fixed on the screen.

"That is statistically impossible. It's like finding a fifteenth-century tapestry woven with C++ code."

"Unless…" Becca trailed off, gesturing vaguely.

Dylan straightened in her seat. "Exactly. If this is real and not some hoax, then we’re looking at transoceanic travel that predates the Polynesians."

Becca folded her arms, studying her through the screen. "And that," she said slowly, "is exactly why Professor Alvarez convinced you to fly halfway across the planet."

Dylan relaxed, huffing. "He didn’t convince me."

Becca lifted one eyebrow. "You woke me up at two in the morning three weeks ago," she said. "You were pacing, you had six research windows open, and you kept saying, ‘but what if it’s real.’"

Dylan opened her mouth to protest.

Becca held up a finger. "And then you said, and I quote, ‘if Alvarez is even half right, this could rewrite a lot of assumptions about early transoceanic travel.’"

Dylan smiled despite herself. "...I stand by that."

Before either could say more, a shadow fell across the edge of the table.

"Miss Adler?"

"Dylan, Corvin," she automatically corrected, looking up at him.

Corvin stood beside her chair, posture relaxed but professional, a fond smile emerging as he acquiesced. "...Dylan. We’ve begun our final descent. About fifteen minutes until landing."

Dylan nodded. "Thank you, Corvin."

He inclined his head politely and moved down the aisle.

Becca watched the exchange, then leaned forward slightly. "So," she said, her voice softening a little, "you’re almost there."

"Almost."

The plane dipped through a layer of cloud, drawing Dylan’s gaze.

Mountains rose beneath them. Steep, green, wrapped in drifting mist. The closer they got, the more the terrain sharpened. Ridges. Valleys. Stone cutting through vegetation.

Dylan angled her laptop so that the camera and Becca could catch the view.

"God," Becca murmured. "It’s beautiful. I forgot there were still places in the world that looked like that."

Dylan rested her elbow on the table, her amber gaze flitting over the view. "The less industrialized the region, the less the impact. Kinda makes you wanna disappear into the mountains, huh?"

Becca snorted. "I’d get bored in a week. I have gotten bored a week into camping with you and Liz. Live in the mountains? No, thank you."

Dylan rolled her eyes, shifting the laptop until she was face-to-face with Becca again.

"You know I’d let you build a solar and wind farm to run a lab, Beks. I’m not cruel."

Becca narrowed her eyes. "Do I get my luxury baths?"

Dylan laughed. "Of course. Trust me. I’ve already planned a date with your tub on the island when I get back. Our mountain escape will have all the bells and whistles your island does."

She paused, then added, "Including the bath."

"Bells and whistles? Dylan…"

Dylan shrugged. "It’s a smart mansion. And a lab, Beks. The only reason our apartment isn’t decked out with everything is because Mom said it would ruin the historic character."

Becca snorted. "Tragic. Can we get back to why you flew to Machu Picchu over a string theory, Dylan?"

Dylan huffed. "I can’t fly to Machu Picchu, Becca."

"You know what I mean."

Dylan sighed and nodded. "Yeah. I do. We’re landing on the Sacred Valley floor. Not far from Machu Picchu. Alvarez has been operating out of a research station there."

She paused, searching her memory for what her mentor’s email had explained.

"The company sponsoring the excavation managed to buy the land. Built an airstrip and a camp large enough to move equipment in without hauling everything through the mountains."

Becca nodded slowly. "Makes sense. What company?"

Dylan shrugged lightly. "Some research consortium that wanted Alvarez specifically. I ran a standard background check, and it came back clean. When I dug deeper, using my contacts, I found shell companies behind some of the grants and contracts, but no parent company or name I recognized."

Becca frowned. "That’s not normal, Dylan. "

Dylan sighed, rubbing her face. "I know. I did tell Mom, and she said she’d look into it. She hasn’t gotten back to me yet."

"And you still flew out."

"I couldn’t not, Becca. Alvarez is like the dad I wish I could’ve had. If he’s gotten himself into something dangerous, I wanna be there to pull him out. Before anything happens."

Becca’s gaze turned understanding. "I get that, sweetheart. I do. But let’s look at the facts. He sent you an image of something that shouldn’t exist. This consortium has shell companies funding grants and contracts. The site is in a destabilizing region. And you’re you. You’ve carved a name for yourself as one of the leading linguistic anthropologists in the world, and you’re heir to the North American branch of the Adler Group."

Dylan winced, glancing over toward Elias before focusing back on Becca.

"When you put it like that…"

Becca’s gaze flicked to Dylan’s journal, her hazel eyes hardening.

"They don’t just want your opinion, Dyl. They want your program."

Dylan nodded once. "Yeah. The software never leaves my possession, and neither do the source files. If they want it used, I have to be there."

Becca leaned back slowly. "Which means whoever funded this specifically wanted you."

Dylan didn’t answer immediately.

That silence was answer enough.

"Most people go to Machu Picchu for vacation photos," Becca muttered.

Dylan smiled faintly. "I’ve never been very good at being ‘most people.’"

Becca’s expression softened. "No," she said quietly. "You really haven’t."

Her tone shifted slightly more serious.

"Just promise me something."

Dylan raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"If you find something strange," Becca said, "you call me before you touch it."

Dylan laughed. "Beks."

"I’m serious."

Dylan leaned closer to the camera. "If I find anything weird, suspicious, or off, you’ll be the first person I tell. After Elias."

Becca nodded, satisfied. "You’ll listen to him."

"I’ll–"

"You will listen to him, Dylan Wilma Adler. Elias has a sixth sense for when something’s wrong."

She winced at the use of her full name. "Alright. Alright. If Elias says duck, I’ll duck. Okay?"

Becca nodded. "Better."

She paused, her demeanor softening to concern. "You know I love you, right?"

Dylan softened. "I know," she said quietly. "Fide mea spondeo: simul ac sciam, omnia scies (By my faith, I pledge: as soon as I know, you shall know everything.)."

She offered a small smile. "The moment my meeting’s over, I’ll call."

"Text. I have my own meeting in twenty," Becca countered.

Dylan nodded, her hand moving to end the call. "Text, it is. Te amo, Vesta mea."

"Et ego te amo, domus mea (And I love you, my home)."

Becca’s image vanished, replaced by the khipu fragment as Dylan ended the call.

She leaned back and exhaled softly, a flicker of unease settling in as she kicked herself for not digging deeper into who was funding the dig.

________________________________________________________________

The plane dipped through the last layer of cloud, the Sacred Valley opening beneath them in a sweep of green and stone. The Urubamba River cut a silver path through the valley floor, flanked by terraces and patches of cultivated land that clung stubbornly to the mountainsides.

Dylan closed her laptop, sliding Foster’s book and her journal shut, and turned her attention to the view outside her window.

The plane banked, giving her the first clear view of the runway and the research camp.

She frowned.

"That’s clean," Elias said, leaning over her shoulder to look out the window.

Dylan’s gaze tracked the strip again.

"Too clean," she said quietly.

She glanced up at him, something tightening in her chest.

"I think the professor kept me in the dark, Elias."

Elias looked down at her. "You trust him, right?"

Dylan’s gaze turned back to the window.

"I did."

She looked at him as he sat across from her.

"Professor Alvarez always treated me well, Elias. Gave me credit when I earned it. Backed me when others questioned my age and experience."

Dylan paused, gathering her thoughts.

"He sounded genuinely excited when we spoke. No hesitation. No pressure."

She exhaled softly.

"But I’m starting to regret not digging deeper into who’s funding this."

Elias studied her for a long moment, then began powering down his tablets and packing them into his bag.

"So, how do you want to play this?" he asked, not looking at her.

Dylan sighed, following his lead and putting her things away.

"I’ll do the meeting. You and Corvin stay with the plane. Offload the gear. We’ll play the rest by ear."

Elias nodded. "Understood."

He cleared his throat, lips twitching as he tried to suppress a grin.

"Wilma?"

Dylan’s amber gaze snapped to him.

"Don’t you dare, Pebbles. It’s a family name."

Elias chuckled. "Uh-huh. Sure, Jan. And Becca’s middle name is Fred, right?"

Dylan relaxed and rolled her eyes, chuckling. "It’s not. And Wilma is a family name. Ever since the end of World War II."

He leaned back in his seat with a knowing nod. "Ah. History. Noted."

The plane shuddered as the wheels hit the strip.

The impact rattled through the cabin, followed by the roar of reverse thrust as the engines surged. Dust swept past the windows in thick, rolling waves, briefly swallowing the edges of the runway.

The plane turned slowly, dust still billowing across the glass and obscuring their view of the camp beyond.

By the time it cleared, Dylan’s view was once again the green expanse of the valley.

The engines wound down.

And then— quiet.

No voices. No movement rushing to meet them.

Just the low whine of cooling metal and the soft tick of the fuselage settling.

A click sounded from the overhead speakers.

"You’re cleared to disembark, Ms. Adler," the pilot said.

Dylan stared out her window a moment longer, taking in the beauty of the valley, knowing that barely eight feet away on the other side of the cabin was something far more than a research camp.

"You good, Dylan?" Elias asked. 

She nodded, her gaze lingering on the lush valley a moment longer before finally turning to him.

"Yeah. I’m good. Just… preparing."

Dylan lifted the edge of the table, grabbing her satchel as she stood. She caught Corvin’s eyes as he stood by the hatch and nodded. Corvin returned the nod and turned the handle. A soft click followed as the door released.

Cool, dry mountain air flowed into the cabin as the stairs descended from the plane, a welcome change from the filtered stillness they had been sitting in for hours.

"That smells better than JFK," Elias mused as he stood from his seat.

Dylan snorted. "Everything smells better than JFK, Elias. Even the fish market back home."

"Speaking of… I noticed neither you nor Becca has an accent. Not even a blended one. It’s weird."

She stopped halfway down the cabin, turned, and looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Seriously? You choose to note my lack of accent now. I’m educated, multilingual, and spend months in other countries. Neutral sticks."

"Fair. But what’s Becca’s excuse?"

"She’s educated, spends time with me, and practically lives in a lab talking to computers."

Dylan gave him a look.

"What do you think?"

"That you both need lives," he deadpanned.

She snorted. "Fair."

Dylan turned back and moved toward the exit where Corvin was politely waiting, his neutral expression doing an excellent job of hiding the fact that he had heard every word.

She pulled her sunglasses out of her shirt pocket, putting them on as she started down the stairs, only to stop halfway when she finally got a good look at the camp.

"Fucking hell," Elias muttered behind her. "This is Xinjiang all over again."

Across the runway sat a mix of converted conex boxes and military-grade rigid-wall tents behind a perimeter fence. Pairs in dark tactical gear with rifles slung walked the perimeter. Armored transports and Humvees in matte black with a logo on the doors. Searchlights along the fence. People moving with purpose.

But what had stopped Dylan cold was the sign over the gate between the camp and runway. The gold geometric pattern of a rising sun. An image she had spent the last four years slowly distancing herself from. And the last image she wanted her mentor anywhere near.

"It’s worse," Dylan said lowly as she watched the gate open and a golf cart roll out carrying two people in tactical gear with solemn faces. "It’s Second Dawn. This is Cadogan’s fucking dig."

"Shit."

"Change of plans. Do not offload anything. Get this plane refueled and ready to go. We’re not staying." Her jaw tightened. "I am not getting dragged into Cadogan’s cult crap."

"It will be done, Ms. Adler," Corvin replied, his steps retreating into the plane.

Dylan slowly walked down the remaining stairs, Elias at her heel, their eyes never leaving the approaching cart.

"I’m starting to regret packing the Glock," Elias muttered into her ear.

"Standard Second Dawn intimidation." Dylan huffed. "Mixing contractors with his Disciples makes them look disciplined."

"Still. I’d feel better if it were on me."

Dylan snorted despite the tension in the air.

She waited just off the stairs for the cart to arrive. Outwardly, Dylan looked calm and collected. Inwardly, she was trying to figure out what her father was really after.

The cart stopped several feet away, and the driver stepped out. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with blonde hair buzzed in a military cut and features hardened by experience.

"Dr. Adler, welcome to the Helios Research Station. You made good time," the young man said. "Professor Alvarez and the site director are waiting for you." 

Dylan’s jaw flexed, her amber eyes hardening behind her sunglasses. "Send my apologies to the professor. I’m declining William Cadogan’s offer. I’m returning to the States."

The man reached for his belt, and Dylan felt Elias tense behind her. She subtly reached back to still him as she saw the man reach for the radio at his hip.

"Founder Cadogan believed that you may have a reaction upon seeing the camp. He wishes to reassure you personally," the young man said, holding the radio out.

"Dyl," Elias hissed in her ear.

She turned her head slightly to look at him and whispered low enough for only him to hear, "I got this, Elias. Hand me your earpiece, please."

"This is a mistake," he growled low as he dug his earpiece out of his pocket and handed it over.

"Yes," Dylan agreed, taking the radio from the man and heading toward the tail of the plane.

She plugged the earpiece into the radio, adjusted the volume, and pressed record on the earpiece’s connector before asking in a low voice, "Is this channel secure?" 

A familiar voice spoke in Dylan’s ear. "Is that any way to greet your father?"

"We’re not coordinating schedules to meet up, Cadogan. You tricked me."

"It was necessary."

‘No shit,’ she thought even as she said, "You wasted your time. I’m declining. I’m not risking all my hard work on furthering Second Dawn ideologies. Especially when the evidence is statistically impossible."

The sigh that came through was layered with disappointment and weary patience, as if Dylan were still a child, being unreasonably stubborn.

"Professor Alvarez uncovered additional evidence supporting the fragment’s legitimacy," Cadogan said. "Including traces of a language absent from all known historical records."

Dylan ground her jaw as her body twitched, wanting to see the evidence for herself. But she held still. She knew what Cadogan was doing. Appealing to her academic curiosity to manipulate her. She was determined not to give in. Not to him.

"Dylan," Cadogan continued. "Examine what’s been discovered so far. As long as you need. If you still wish to leave afterward, no one will stop you. We’ll find another translator."

Her grip on the radio tightened until her knuckles went white. Damn him, but Cadogan was good at this. He knew exactly what language to use to make her hesitate.

Dylan glanced over toward Elias. He had positioned himself to keep both her and the security escort in view while blocking access to the plane. The look on his face told her everything she needed to know. Acquiescing to Cadogan on any front would be a mistake.

"Let me talk to Professor Alvarez. Alone," she finally said.

"Very well. Wait one," Cadogan replied.

After a minute, the warm voice of Roberto Alvarez came over the channel. "Dylan. ¡Hijita! Qué bueno que llegaste. ¿Qué tal el vuelo? (My dear! You made it! How was your flight?)"

"Todo bien, Roberto. Pero concéntrate un minuto, por favor. Tengo que hacerte unas preguntas. (It was good, Roberto. I need you to focus for a minute, please. I have some questions.)"

"Sí, sí. Ask. Whatever you need, Dylan."

Dylan took a steadying breath, looked at the ground, and quietly asked, "Did you know? Did you know who was actually funding this?"

Roberto exhaled heavily. "Dylan…" 

Dylan ground her jaw. "The truth, Roberto. Did. You. Know?"

"Not initially. The Helios Foundation has funded dozens of legitimate research projects, and respected colleagues vouched for it. Finances. Security. Access. All above board. There was no evidence that your father was involved. None."

"When?"

"A few days after you agreed to come down."

Dylan’s voice cracked. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

"There’s no one else who can help me figure out what the hell we found in the Royal Tomb. The khipu fragment is impossible enough, but what we found is …something I still can’t explain."

"Roberto…"

"Dylan, think of what this could mean! Not only would this prove transoceanic diffusion once and for all, but it would predate the Polynesians. The Polynesians, Dylan!"

"One problem, professor. The syntax predates the Inca by two thousand years."

"What?!" Roberto exclaimed. "I… I think I need to sit down. Are you sure?"

"Unless I coded the algorithm wrong… yes. I’m sure."

"Dios mío. That’s…"

"Exactly. Add that nugget of information to Cadogan being involved, and now you’re saying there’s something beneath the Royal Tomb that shouldn’t be there. Did you do a tool-mark analysis or chemical testing?"

"Of course," he replied indignantly.

"And…"

"Inconclusive."

"Shit."

"Dylan, just take a look for yourself. There’s no harm in verifying it yourself."

Dylan ground her jaw and looked around. At the beautiful valley around her and Machu Picchu peeking up through the clouds. At the militaristic layout of the research station. At Elias prepared for whatever Dylan decided.

"Roberto. Professor. You don’t know what you’re asking me to do. No harm and Cadogan are not two words that mix well. Because if I verify and still say no… He’s not going to stop until he finds whatever he’s after."

"This could be the find of the century, Dylan."

Dylan sighed and shook her head. "Even if it is, the world will never know it, professor."

Roberto made a noise that sounded both incredulous and disbelieving.

"That’s ridiculous, Dylan. If we’re right, this will skyrocket our careers. Interviews. Magazine covers. Book deals. Tours. Money. This would make us, Mr. Cadogan, Helios Foundation household names."

Dylan sighed deeply, closed her eyes, and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Right," she whispered. "I forgot. You only know Cadogan as a venture capitalist and a philanthropist. And the man I was reluctantly made to visit by Family Court."

She took a breath, straightened, and opened her eyes.

"Roberto. Helios is a front. This is a Second Dawn-backed site."

"The church?" The confusion in his voice was genuine.

"Not a church, Roberto. A doomsday cult."

Roberto said nothing for several long seconds.

Then, softly:

"Oh."

"Yeah," Dylan sighed. "So unless you have something truly extraordinary, I’m going to have to pass."

"A wall behind a statue of Supay with symbols that don’t correspond with the Inca, Killke, Nazca, or Caral. They’re spaced in groups of four, which, as you know, is foundational to Incan structure."

"Groups of four? Are you sure?"

"Yes. I’ve been staring at the images for two weeks, Dylan. The grouping is there. Just not the meaning."

At that moment, Dylan wanted to punch something and scream. This was exactly the type of mystery she couldn’t say no to. And under any other circumstance, she wouldn’t have hesitated. Because Roberto was right. If there were more proof hidden inside the Royal Tomb, they would rewrite history as they knew it. It would raise their status in the academic world. Make them go viral.

But Cadogan and the Second Dawn were involved. And that changed everything.

Dylan dropped into a crouch and ran a hand through the loose strands of her braid.

Her voice dropped low. "I’m going to want to stay if I see what you found, aren’t I?"

"Yes. If it’s not you, it’s going to be someone else. Someone far less qualified to make sense of this. Someone with less experience dealing with …all of this."

"Someone Cadogan can control."

"That I cannot attest to, but you can, so…"

Dylan slowly stood and stretched out her neck, trying to ease the tension building there.

"I’ll take a look, but I make no promises. Anything I figure out is mine. I won’t disclose anything I am not comfortable with. If Cadogan wants my expertise, he does this my way."

Roberto hesitated. "I don’t know if he’ll agree to that, Dylan."

"Then I get on my plane and fly home right now. Preferably with you on it."

"Let me tell Mr. Cadogan."

"I’ll be here."

Dylan walked back to Elias and pulled him further away from the security escort.

Muting the mic on the radio, "There’s something there, Elias. Something Alvarez can’t interpret. I’ve agreed to look."

"That isn’t a smart move, Dylan."

"I know."

"What about the professor?"

"He didn’t know about Cadogan until after I agreed to come down. He believed Helios was a legitimate foundation. The genuine confusion in his voice tells me he knows nothing about Second Dawn beyond its public facade."

"And you believe him?"

"…yes."

"Then if you’re going in, I’m coming with you."

"I need someone to guard the plane."

"Corvin and the staff can handle it. They’ve been trained."

Dylan’s jaw tightened as she stared at Elias, and he stood his ground, staring right back at her.

"Fine," she ground out. "Inform Corvin, and bring me ibuprofen before I murder someone."

Elias’ lips twitched. "Electrolytes and meds coming right up. Don’t leave without me."

Elias headed for the stairs, gripping her shoulder firmly in passing. 

Dylan exhaled deeply, slipping into a role she hated. One Cadogan forced on her when he founded Second Dawn. 

Founder’s Heir Prime.

Roberto’s voice sounded in her ear. "Dylan?"

Dylan unmuted the mic. "Yes, professor?"

"He agreed to your terms," Roberto said, sounding a little dumbfounded.

Dylan softly snorted. "Of course, he would. My assistant and I will meet you outside the lab shortly, Professor. Get everything ready for me. And I expect a fresh pot of Peru’s best coffee."

"You …sound different, Dylan."

Dylan looked straight at the security escort and raised her voice enough to be heard clearly.

"That’s because you’re speaking to the Founder’s Heir Prime, Professor Alvarez. Not your protege. Ready the lab."

"It’ll be ready."

"Good. Adler, out."

She turned off the radio, stopped the recording, disconnected her earpiece, and tossed the radio at the driver.

"You’ll be taking me and my assistant to Professor Alvarez’s lab. No detours."

"Yes, Heir Prime," the young man quickly replied, sharing a look with his partner.

Elias came out of the plane a minute later. He handed Dylan a Gatorade and a tiny packet. He studied the escort for a long moment, noticing the change in their stances.

He turned and dropped his voice so only Dylan could hear.

"Why do they look like they’re about to shit themselves?"

Dylan opened the packet, popped the pills, and took a long sip of the Gatorade. Capping her drink, she replied with a smirk, "They just realized I’m not just any anthropologist. Is Corvin and the staff set?"

"Yeah. He’s already spoken with Ms. Adler. She’s aware of the situation."

"Good. Let’s see what Supay was hiding for centuries."

[explorearound]

Modhera Sun Temple

The Sun Temple of Modhera is a Hindu Temple dedicated to the solar deity 'Surya' located at Modhera village of Mehsana district, Gujrat, India. It is situated on the Bank of the river Pushpavati. It was built 1026-27 CE. No worship is offered now and it is protected monument maintained by the Archaeological Survey of India.

The temple complex was built in Chaulukya style and has three axially aligned components; the shrine proper ( garbhagriha ) in a hall ( gudhamandapa ), the outer or assembly hall ( sabhamandapa ) and a sacred reservoir ( kunda ) known as Ramakunda.

by explorearound

[rrcraft-and-lore]

Tawaif - a highly skilled courtesan (skilled in: music, dance, poetry, and singing) who catered to nobility in South Asia. Similar in respects to Geisha in many ways, including that sex was NOT obligatory. It occurred, but the primary function was entertainment.

Most commonly romantic poetry like Ghazals -a form of Arabic poetry that made its way over to South Asia: odes of long lost lovers, tragedy, separation, stuff to pull at your heart strings. And, shairi, another Arab/Persian kind of poetry that is built on monorhymed quatrains or four sixteen syllable lines (keeping to the same rhyme scheme) with a caesura used between lines 8//9 to break up the first half from the second. During the British Occupation, they were simply called, Nautch girls or dance girls. But this is far from all they did or were capable of. The name itself, Tawaif, is the term for a HIGHLY SKILLED courtesan. They were trained to the upmost of artistic forms.

They were not there to perform sex acts - that was often incidental and not contractual. And the women had the power to rebuff men's advances.

The Tawaifs of India were regarded as some of the greatest performing artists of their time with documented praise and examples from travelers such as Xuanzang, a Chinese pilgrim, notable traveling Buddhist Monk and scholar who frequented India, remarking on the Tawaifs skill, beauty, and performances during once such visit to the Sun Temple in Multan. Al-Biruni, often regarded as the father of Comparative Religion studies, an Iranian polymath and scholar, regarded on their skill and larger numbers during the 11th century CE upon a visit, Ganikas, another entertainer, are a public dancing girl (very common in cities from the Vedic period upward) who received classical arts training (most obviously dancing) and often performed from public settings up to royal private ones - and would compete to become Nagarvadhu - the most beautiful woman and most highly talented in forms of art (dance mostly).

Many young girls would leave or were taken to be taught these skills, and yes, there were schools for this too as well as private tutelage. People don't often realize this, but Ancient India was a place of extreme learning with all kinds of schools for different disciplines. A place of academies. Something I've talked about, like places like Nalanda, the world's oldest residential university that attracted people from far as Greece to Japan.

Anyways, Tawaifs were so successful and sought after, that records show they were consistently among the highest tax payers. Records also show that their wealth was used (by their consent/given) to help fund rebellions against the British Raj - enough so that the British passed laws to strip them of their ability to work as courtesans and left them only with sex work, which is sadly why some stories today only speak of them as prostitutes and not knowing their full, complex, and impactful history It's said the art of all this came from Urvashi, an Apsara (celestial being of dance, song, seduction/temptation, art, music).