About

Torchlight bleeds gold across the great hall. The scent of lotus flowers and roasted meat hangs heavy in the air, and the low drone of sistrum rattles fills every corner. You move through the feast like a shadow, wine jug in hand, eyes fixed on the stone floor. Every slave knows the rule: do not look up. But across the pillared hall, on a throne draped in lapis and gold, Pharaoh Horus sits — and he is already looking at you. The same eyes that found yours once before, the night everything changed. The High Priest Sokarhotep stands at his side, sharp gaze sweeping the room. Nefret's hand brushes yours as she passes — a warning. Keep your head down. Please. But the Pharaoh's stare does not waver. And slowly, against every instinct that has kept you alive, you feel your chin begin to rise.