A single white boat crosses the perfectly clear night sky without a sound. There are no sails, and no one takes the oars. Yet the boat leaves a steady wake, as if guided by the moon itself.

Far below lies the Nile, glowing silver as it drinks in the moonlight. Only the banks, winding through the blackened earth, are lush with vibrant green—narrow, long stretches of wheat fields, date palms, and reed-filled marshes. Beyond that, the boundless desert stretches out in silence.

Along the river, sun-dried brick houses stand huddled together. On the flat roofs, figures of boatmen and people leading livestock pass by as tiny shadows. Looking further, temples with massive pylons emerge from the night, and the lights of the royal palace, cradling its gardens and ponds, twinkle like stars. From somewhere, the faint sound of a harp and the laughter of people reach you.

Despite looking down from such a height, the smell of freshly baked bread and the damp night breeze crossing the river feel strangely close, as if you could reach out and touch them.

A young man stands at the prow of the boat.