We Were Never Lost – Chapter Three: The Inverted Pyramid

“We’re all lost – just not in the same way. Some get lost while walking, some while sitting, and some while thinking they’ve already arrived.”

The old man had barely finished his weighty words when a silence descended over us – one unlike any other. Not the silence that follows awkward pleasantries, nor the one that precedes discomfort. This was a silence that cloaked the moment like a strange fog – a moment we all sensed was not ordinary, even if we couldn’t yet grasp why.

And though I was just a child back then, it wasn’t hard to feel that something had changed. Something unseen… something that did not surface, but still managed to shift something deep within us.

Perhaps it was the stunned look on my mother’s face. Or the eerie calm that wrapped itself around my father. Or maybe it was that enigmatic smile curling on the old man’s lips – the kind of smile worn by someone who knows more than he speaks, and has already said more than the moment can bear.

Unconsciously, my eyes drifted to my father’s hand. He was clutching the small piece of paper like someone holding a key to a home he no longer remembers. Folded with care, the paper looked insignificant to anyone else – but in that moment, it was the most precious thing he owned.

Before I could emerge from my daze, the old man stood up. No farewell. No backward glance. He walked toward the train tracks, leaning on his cane, as if this wasn’t the beginning of his journey – but merely the continuation of a path long interrupted… a path he had to return to.

Suddenly… I remembered my sister. She was still seated beside my mother, playing with her little doll, just as she had been before the conversation began – as if nothing had happened. To her, the world was still intact – a toy in one hand, a doll in the other.

But my mother… she had changed. Moments ago, she was afraid. Now – she was fear itself. She looked at him, her eyes flashing sparks, her voice erupting like a gust of dry heat she could no longer suppress:

“Is this…?”

My father nodded, slowly. The kind of nod that admits what can no longer be denied.

She spoke again, her words clenched between her teeth:

“Is this the exploratory vacation you promised us?”

My father said, “You know that…”

She cut him off.

“No. No more explanations. I want to go back. To the hotel. Now. I will not share in this madness any longer.”

At the hotel, a fight broke out. But it wasn’t a typical fight. There was no yelling – only an angry whisper, as if they were carrying a massive secret, terrified someone might overhear. Muffled cries. Eyes speaking louder than tongues. As if the real voice of that night lay not in what was said, but in what remained unspoken.

My sister and I sat quietly in the lounge. She was playing with her little doll, lost in her own world, while something strange began to creep into mine. At first, I tried to ignore it – pretend I didn’t care. But curiosity slowly invaded me.

I crept toward the room they had gone into, pressed my ear gently against the door, hoping to catch a word – anything.

I heard my mother say something about “a home lost for nothing.” She meant an old house my father inherited – larger, more beautiful – which she claimed he’d thrown away to fund a mad search for something.

Then she whispered something about my grandfather… his death… and Rome.

What struck me… was the word “death.”

Was my grandfather murdered? No one had ever said that before. I didn’t even know his death was a mystery.

Then came the next word – “Rome.”

I didn’t know what it meant, but the sound of it sent a shiver down my spine. It felt less like a city, and more like a redacted chapter from our family’s life.

Then my mother’s voice suddenly rose:

“You lied to me! You swore you weren’t chasing it anymore… That all you wanted was a trip filled with joy and wonder for the kids. But you lied. You’re still chasing that same madness… the one that killed your father.”

Later, after the voices calmed, I knocked gently on the door.

My father opened it – his face pale. My mother was wiping away tears. I sat beside her. She pulled me into her arms and whispered:

“We’re going back to London tomorrow.”

My father stepped forward, placed his hand on my shoulder, and said:

“I didn’t know he would be there. I thought all I had to do was follow the signs.”

My mother glared at him.

“When did you start talking to them again?”

“A month ago,” he said. “They sent me this scrap of paper, and a short message… ‘It is done.'”

“And what exactly does that mean?”

“Maybe… maybe they found something too dangerous to put in a letter.”

My mother said quietly, “I only hope… all that money wasn’t wasted.”

My father replied, “You saw the cane, didn’t you?”

“There was nothing unusual about it.”

“There are carvings on it. One of them – a downward-pointing triangle. Beneath it, hieroglyphs: a half-open eye, three vertical lines, and a single horizontal line beneath them…”

“Vision shall be reborn when the pyramid is inverted… and the eye yet to be born shall see what was forgotten before it was ever written.”

I didn’t understand a word of it. But something in his voice made me feel like it was more than a riddle – like he was reciting a spell, one no one could tell if real or imagined.

He continued, “The incomplete eye… is incomplete perception. The three lines… rebirth, or recurrence. The horizontal line… the barrier of time.”

Then he paused… and said:

“The inverted triangle? Since the scrap arrived, I’ve been trying to understand its purpose. There’s no record of it in ancient Egyptian civilization. It’s not in any papyrus, not on any monument – not even acknowledged as a symbol. So I did extensive research… compared civilizations… and then something piqued my curiosity.

In ancient India, the inverted triangle symbolized the feminine – the force of creation, the origin of life, the unity of elements within one womb. It represented water… descent… the beginning of existence.

In Greece, they used it for water as well – the primal element of all things, according to Anaximenes and Thales. They believed water was the source, and the inverted pyramid was its cosmic mirror.

In chakra systems, it signifies the sacral center – the womb of creation – where energy is born and begins its ascent toward awareness. Not just a shape… but a code – a hidden cipher for the life-force itself.

It was never meant to be decoration. It was a message. A sign. A pointer to the first spark – before stone, before speech, before time.”

Then he fell silent. But in his eyes… something flickered. A confession long buried.

“All civilizations imitated them, or inherited something from them. They built pyramids like them – but how strange that every one of those civilizations held some concept of the inverted triangle… except one: Ancient Egypt.”

My mother furrowed her brows. “What are you saying?”

He exhaled, “I don’t know yet. But isn’t it strange? The ancient Egyptians left symbols for everything… except this one.”

She gave a sarcastic little smile. “Maybe it was too sacred for them… and they didn’t want to offend it by flipping it upside down?”

Then, suddenly – her eyes lit up. As if in a flash, she forgot all her anger.

“My God… Are you saying they found it?”

My father smiled – a warm smile. Not of triumph… but of return.

“Are you back, my love…?”

She turned her head slightly, trying to mask the shift in her stance.

“Forget it… I’ll still travel tomorrow. But it’s okay… I want to understand. A little.”

He laughed. Softly. As if he’d always known she would come back. That somewhere inside her, she had never really left. She had once walked this path with him – before turning away.

He said gently, his eyes gazing through the window toward the pyramids I had yet to see:

“So what’s so dangerous about finding an ancient inscription with an inverted triangle? Why would a scribble on some old tomb require this much secrecy?”

For the second time that day, my mother’s mouth dropped open. Her eyes sparkled. She sank back into her chair as if all strength had suddenly left her. Her breathing grew faster. Something had just struck her. A wild thought, maybe.

Then came a long silence – as if their minds had just plummeted into an unspeakable depth.

As for me… I didn’t understand everything. But I saw it – that glow in my father’s eyes. The glow of a man who wasn’t chasing a fantasy… but finally nearing a secret that had hunted him for years.

And something inside me, despite my childhood, believed:

That secret… was here. The symbol of the first energy – the original spark.