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They didn't know exactly when they could think again, or what could have happened to possibly cause it. They didn't know anything. They couldn't have known anything, could they?
Except... this was different. When their tomb had be broken into, somehow, without the muscles to command their limbs to struggle; without a throat or tongue to scream; without any eyes to see their panicked, disgusted faces or the ears to hear the booming shock of a firearm... they shouldn't have been able to perceive the individuals at all.
And yet, they had the feeling that, if in that moment they grabbed one of the intruders, perhaps they'd be compelled to destroy their formless body. Be rid of something they never had asked for to begin with.
They couldn't feel the bullet shatter through their hollow skull. They couldn't feel the blade where their heart should have been, as much as they wanted. They couldn't feel anything at all as they crawled towards the two people panicking, and their husk of a form shuddered in lungless sobs when they were finally shoved to the ground by the lingering intruder. They stopped moving after the intruders left, for however long, may it have been hours or millennia, until this very moment. This new, completely different moment.
This was the pure shock of perceiving something new, something... cold. Cold and ever-so-slightly damp, and hard. It completely replaced the absence of perception that overcame them after the eternity that sealed them in this tomb. They flexed their fingers, locked their jaw. It took them several minutes to realize they could breathe, and then suddenly they were gasping desperately, overstimulated from the stale dusty air of what remained in their tomb until it hurt and they felt dizzy.
Blood rushed everywhere throughout their body, and they could hear a great thumping resound through the chamber. It took them another few minutes to realize this was their own heart, and their hand - fully made of flesh and nails and hair - shot to their chest, to feel thumping against their palm. They counted each beat - one stroke... two strokes... - and were shocked to feel their throat hum the numerals, a sensation so incredibly foreign they almost didn't dare to experience the sensation again.
And then they shouted, straining themselves to feel the rumble reverberate through their torso. It rang clearly through the chamber, however hollowly, as the room was somewhat small. Their voice was hoarse from severe misuse, and it hurt to call out. And it hurt and that's what got them: not only could they feel their heart beating, or hear their voice shriek into the vast darkness, but they could feel pain. And this was the last indicator that gave them the notion they were in fact alive.
They laugh hysterically from their horizontal position on the floor. They couldn't remember anything. They tried, but couldn't, not entirely; it was just pieces, like the tattered remains of what remained wrapped around their body. They couldn't remember why they had ended up here, on the floor, or why they were impossibly never quite alive or dead as a mummified husk in that unfinished sarcophagus for whoever-knew-how-long. They didn't know who they even were. Forgotten and rotted with their body from a time long ago.
All they knew is that they could feel the limestone below, and the air above, and that there was some sort of current wisping through the cavern.
They had to follow that breeze. It promised something, and they couldn't quite understand what it was yet, but they tasted aridity and sunlight on that wind. It was life. It was something they hadn't had for millennia and they needed it desperately like a crop needed water after a long drought.
They roll on their side, gripping the cold, clammy limestone, and drag themselves forward, not unlike they had when the intruders broke into the tomb. Then they realized, with their new limbs they could finally attempt to walk. For a second they pause straining to feel the wind brushing their face softly to get a sense of direction. Then they sit up, slump over from their own weight, and struggle to keep their back straight as they wobble on two, rubber-like legs. They were a child of the light and so desperately needed to feel the sun kiss their skin, to smell the grass on the wind that would their face, however dry, more welcome than not.
That's what kept them going. They hug the walls, using the cold stone as support for the legs that screamed in protest of the ambulation. They didn't care about the pain. If they could feel it, they were still alive, and they weren't going to reject a clear indication of being alive for a second time.
They didn't understand how or why they were alive. They didn't know who they were, or where they were, or hardly what they were. As much as they couldn't remember, they knew that whatever they were was not normal. Whatever they are now could never have been natural or intended. And they didn't want to think about it now. They couldn't be distracted, because as distinct as the wind was on their face, it was only just barely perceptible, and with their burning legs screaming in their mind it was hard enough to tell where they should have gone in this labyrinth of halls.
So they cast their mind elsewhere, and by elsewhere they meant nowhere. Just focus solely on that wind caressing their face and eyelashes. Their hair tickled their nape and ears, shifting as they ambled towards the tomb's entrance, their exit.
Then they saw it.
A single band of impossibly bright white cut into the floor as they turned a corner. The band rayed from an opening in the wall in a uniform pillar of dust. They stop in their tracks, screwing their eyes against the light, however much of a sliver it was. It contrasted harshly against the black of shadow that had swaddled them for what seemed like forever. Now that they had reached the light, it scared them. Terrified them. What if this was just a delusion? Something that their then-nonexistent mind fabricated? Had the spirit that plagued their existence devise a new trial for their neverending death?
There was only one way to uncover that
They got down on all fours, crawling slowly to the shaft of light. They creep a hand to the bright cut of limestone. The light scattered against their skin, making it glow against the chiaroscuro-esque effect of the light against the dark. Against the light their hand shone bright red from the other side, showing the blood that no doubt was pulsing through their veins.
Maybe this was a new trial. If it was, they didn't care to know. Even if this was not real in the end, nothing felt more real or tangible than this warm sliver of sunlight. They crawled closer, letting the light sliver hit their face and they drank in the wind coming through the crack in the stone. It smelled sweet, dry, and full of life.
A sudden shift in the wall told them this wasn't just any wall. It had been the door to their tomb, not initially disturbed by their weight as they pressed onto it but it helped to shift it just slightly more.
Sunlight poured in then, and it bathed their face. They had the shield their eyes from the starry assault and they shied away from the crack so they wouldn't be blinded more than they had already.
But they needed it. And even more than that, now that they've got a taste of the sun, they needed out of this Gods-forsaken place. This was no place for the living, and if they were living, then they'd fight for the outside.
They push up against the door. It gives just slightly, but not enough to push through. They breathe harshly, their legs hurting even more now that they were really using them for something worthwile. Their chest began to hurt as well from the strain. It felt alive. They felt alive and needed to know the sun.
They push again. It hardly budges this time. Something different welled up inside of them. Anger. Frustration. Fury. They would absolutely not be trapped here, not when the sun was just on the other side.
They channel that fury into their legs and gut, and with a deep breath, they use whatever strength they had left to push the slab out from its entrance. The slab finally gives with a great scraping and they fall out unceremoniously onto the crackly, sun-baked stone that gave way to their tomb. Miraculously, they hadn't broken skin on the weathered, crumbly stone, and tumbled harmlessly into the sand.
The sun shone so brightly that it bleached their vision, and they shielded their eyes again, blinking quickly against the tears that welled up. Then they started sneezing.
...
That was new.
They felt the sun on their skin as well, beating down warmly, and the wind was stronger, whipping their hair and scant wrappings wildly about. Tears welled up again in pure emotion. They were finally out. They could feel the wind and the rich beaming sun. And they were actually alive.
They scream out one more time, this time in triumph. They weren't sure what they had won against quite yet, they were just happy to be here, and alive. In whatever that may have happened, they did it.
They opened their eyes again, now used to the light, and the sky was blue and the sun was yellow and all around sand had crested into rising dunes, letting their mastaba nestle in a neatly obscured valley. Their eyes wander around the tomb's entrance. The only visible glyph was an orb with a stroke on the bottom, tangent to the orb's outline. A single syllable rang loudly in their head: shen.
Maybe that had been their name. Maybe it was just a mark of disdain. They weren't sure exactly, but they couldn't think of any better thing to do with this information, so they decide to remember it in the event it would be helpful.
They struggle to their feet again. They weren't sure where they were headed, but now that they could walk, they didn't want to stop. So they picked a direction, straightened their back, and walked away, pushing into the shifting sands, foot after exhausted foot.