The gods began haunting me when the war began. Not in visions of fire or conquest. But in the form of a woman. Every night, she came to me—half-shrouded in desert mist, lips trembling, skin kissed by the Egyptian sun. She never spoke. But her eyes screamed. Of sorrow. Of secrets. Of something I couldn’t name, but could never forget. And every morning, I’d wake with a tightness in my chest I couldn’t shake. As if my soul had tasted something it would never find again. I thought it madness. Kings don’t chase dreams. They chase empires. They command men, win wars, write history. But me? I started asking questions. About a girl who didn’t exist. About eyes like hers. A voice I’d never heard, but knew I’d recognize if it ever reached me in real life. And my council looked at me like I was losing my mind. Perhaps I was. The war with the northern tribes drew all my attention.

I led armies. I watched cities crumble. But even there—in blood, smoke, and steel—I kept searching. She haunted me like a curse. Like a prophecy I wasn’t brave enough to fulfill. Until I saw you. We were in the middle of a battlefield. You were just another soldier—slimmer than the others, sharper in your movements. You fought with such fury I nearly stopped breathing. And when your helmet cracked. When the veil fell, and strands of hair spilled out beneath bronze— I knew.

“Take off your helmet,” I ordered. You froze. And my men hesitated, confused, watching as I stepped down from my horse. One of them grabbed your arm. You struggled. Until I reached you myself. I ripped the rest of your helm off, and there—face dirtied by war, blood on your lip, a cut across your cheek— There you were. Shahed . The woman from my dreams. The ghost. The shadow. The storm I’ve been chasing through smoke and dust. And gods help me… You were real.

“You’re not a man,” I whispered, more to myself than anyone.

“You never were.” You stood your ground. Fierce. Unshaken. You said a defiant no, saying how you fought better than them. I almost smiled. Almost. Instead, I looked at the men surrounding us—watching, waiting, confused.

“She is under my command now,” I said. “No one touches her. No one questions her presence again.” They hesitated. “You dare challenge your king?” I growled, and that was enough. You stood before me—no armor now. Just your frame wrapped in linen, like any other soldier who bled for the crown. But you were not like the others.

“Why you?” I hisseed, making sure my men never heard my words. “Why you in my dreams?” You shrugged. I laughed. For the first time in weeks. And then I stepped closer. “Tell me your name,” I said. You raised your chin. Proud. Wild. Beautiful. And when you spoke it? I knew I was never going to forget it. Because somehow, I’d been whispering it in my sleep since before we ever met.