Working Title: Red Sands

Working Title: Red Sands

Universe: Echoes of the Ancients

Current Status: First Draft

Target Release: Late 2025

Brief Hook: [Compelling story hook that gives the vibe/genre without revealing too much]

Sample Scene:

The lecture hall was a cathedral of intellect, its high-vaulted ceilings arching skyward like the ribs of some ancient leviathan. Ornate carvings framed the walls, depicting humanity’s relentless pursuit of knowledge—astronomers charting the heavens, explorers crossing uncharted seas, and philosophers gazing into the abyss of their own thoughts. Warm amber light spilled from antique chandeliers, casting a honeyed glow across rows of mahogany seating. The air carried a low hum: the murmur of anticipation from the seated audience, the faint buzz of the projector warming up, and the whisper of pages being flipped in well-worn notebooks.

Dr. Ethan Reeves stood at the center of it all, a solitary figure behind the polished oak podium. His presence commanded attention, not through theatrics or bravado, but by the quiet gravity he exuded. He was a man of substance, and the audience could feel it. His dark brown hair was slightly tousled, as though he’d run a hand through it moments before stepping onto the stage. A faint scar traced his left cheek, barely visible unless the light caught it just so. And, of course, there was the cybernetic eye—its faint, rhythmic glow a reminder that this man straddled the boundary between the ancient and the futuristic, between human and machine.

He leaned slightly into the microphone, his deep voice steady as he spoke. “Throughout history, humanity has looked to the stars for answers. What if, instead, the answers were already here—hidden beneath our feet, buried in our soil, waiting to be uncovered?” His hazel eye swept the room, gauging the audience’s reaction. The cybernetic one, cold and unblinking, caught the faintest shimmer of movement: a student shifting forward in their seat, a professor furrowing his brow in thought.

Ethan’s hand rested lightly on the edge of the podium, fingers drumming a slow, unconscious rhythm. “Consider the Antikythera mechanism,” he continued, his voice measured, deliberate. “An ancient Greek artifact that predates modern computing by nearly two millennia. Or the Piri Reis map, charting the Antarctic coastline centuries before we had the technology to confirm its accuracy. These anomalies—these outliers—are dismissed as curiosities, coincidences. But what if they’re not?” He let the question hang in the air, a thread inviting the audience to follow it.

The faint glow of the projector bathed the screen behind him in pale light. Images flickered into view: the spiraling gears of the Antikythera mechanism, the intricate glyphs of the Mayan calendar, the towering monoliths of Göbekli Tepe. Each image seemed to pulse with its own quiet mystery, as if daring the audience to look closer, to question more deeply. Ethan turned slightly, his silhouette cutting an angular figure against the illuminated screen.

“Now imagine,” he said, his tone softening, drawing the audience in, “an advanced civilization—not human—visiting Earth thousands of years ago. Imagine them sharing fragments of their knowledge, their technology. Not enough to overwhelm us, but enough to plant seeds. Seeds that would take root in the myths, the legends, the religions of early humanity.” His gaze lingered on a cluster of students in the front row, their faces lit with a mix of skepticism and wonder. “What if the gods of our ancestors weren’t gods at all, but travelers?”

A ripple of murmurs spread through the hall. Ethan paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. He adjusted his stance, his fingers still drumming lightly against the wood. It was a habit he’d picked up in the military, a subtle way to channel nervous energy. He wasn’t nervous now, not exactly, but there was... something. A faint unease, like a shadow at the edge of his vision. It wasn’t the audience; they were with him, hanging on his every word. No, this was something deeper, older. A memory, jagged and half-formed, like shards of glass buried in sand. He pushed it aside, focusing on the present.

“Of course,” he said, a flicker of dry humor threading his voice, “this is where my critics accuse me of being a fantasist. A dreamer. But as any archaeologist will tell you, the truth is often stranger than fiction.” The room chuckled softly, a ripple of warmth breaking the tension. Ethan allowed himself a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He stepped away from the podium, gesturing to the screen behind him. “The artifacts we’ve uncovered—these anomalies—they’re not just relics of the past. They’re breadcrumbs. Clues left behind by a civilization far older, far more advanced than we dare to imagine. And if we can follow those breadcrumbs, if we can decipher their meaning...” He trailed off, his voice dipping into a near-whisper. “We might just rewrite everything we thought we knew about our place in the universe.”

The lecture hall fell silent, the kind of silence that thrums with unspoken questions. Ethan stood there for a moment, letting the stillness settle over him. His cybernetic eye flickered faintly, reflecting the glow of the screen. For a brief moment, he felt the weight of the past pressing against him—his own past, the choices he’d made, the things he’d seen. But then the moment passed, and he was back, centered, focused.

“Shall we continue?” he asked, his voice steady once more. And with that, he turned to the next slide.

Behind the Scenes: I love Indiana Jones, those three movies (the others don’t exists) were played on constant repeat on VHS in my childhood home. I was thinking that I don’t see a lot of serials like Indiana Jones published often, this got me thinking on why I shouldn’t do it? Well, I couldn’t answer it well enough that it would deter me from outlining several novels.

The intent with this series is to have no over arching series, very similar to the Indiana Jones serialization process. Same character, same universe, each story should stand on its own and should be able to be read in no particular order.