Remember this is a fictional story which might significantly differ from the original mythology.
...
The sand ropes constricted around Yetao's limbs like living serpents, tightening with each passing second. The man leaned closer, his kohl[1]-rimmed eyes boring into Yetao's with predatory intensity.
"Now, who the hell are you?" The man's breath was hot against Yetao's face, carrying the scent of power.
Panic flooded Yetao's system, but beneath it, something stranger was happening. He's speaking a language I've never heard before... yet I understand every word as if I've known it my entire life and can speak it too.
The sand magic defied everything Yetao knew about reality. This was no stage illusion or special effect—the grains responded to the man's will like extensions of his body.
If this is a dream... please let me wake up soon, Yetao silently pleaded, squeezing his eyes shut. A single tear escaped, trailing down his sand-crusted cheek and revealing a patch of pale skin beneath.
The stranger's expression shifted immediately. With a fluid gesture of his hand, the sand covering Yetao's face dispersed, revealing his features completely.
The man stumbled backward as if struck. "You..." he stammered, disbelief evident in his voice. Then his expression hardened into something between suspicion and shock. "You're a woman?"
The armed guards behind him tensed, hands tightening on their weapons.
Yetao's survival instincts screamed at him to play along with this unexpected misconception. With the slightest hesitation, he nodded, keeping his expression deliberately vulnerable.
This might be the only thing keeping me alive right now.
The stranger ran a hand through his close-cropped hair, muttering under his breath. "Just what are those jerks planning?" He paced in a tight circle before addressing Yetao again. "Look. Whatever your purpose, didn't the ones who sent you warn you beforehand?"
Yetao tilted his head in genuine confusion, having no idea what answer might satisfy the increasingly agitated man before him.
"Those shitheads..." the man growled, then approached Yetao again.
Instinctively, Yetao flinched and closed his eyes, anticipating violence. Instead, he felt heavy fabric settling around his shoulders as the wrapped him in his own cloak.
"Don't even think about taking it off unless you want to die," the man warned, his voice low and deadly serious.
With another gesture, the man conjured something impossible—a chariot formed entirely of sand, complete with horses that pawed at the ground despite being made of the same golden grains.
"Get on," he commanded, releasing the sand bindings around Yetao's limbs.
Survival demanded compliance. Trembling slightly, Yetao stepped onto the chariot, marveling despite his fear when the sand held firm beneath his weight.
"Hah, of course it's a woman. Why did I think a man would be in that stature?" the man commented dismissively as he mounted his living horse.
The words pierced Yetao's pride like arrows. Years of perfecting his dance technique, building strength while maintaining grace—all dismissed as feminine weakness. But he swallowed it with a forced smile. Pride won't keep me alive here. Adaptability will.
The sand horses lurched forward with unnatural speed, carrying them across the desert toward a distant shimmer of blue—the Nile River. As they approached, Yetao's eyes widened at the sight of the mighty waterway, its banks green with vegetation in stark contrast to the surrounding desert.
Too entranced by the stunning landscape to notice, Yetao missed the ripple in the water's surface as something—or someone—observed their passage from within the river's depths. A massive figure briefly surfaced, smirking as the chariot passed overhead before sinking back beneath the waters.
The sand chariot crossed the Nile and continued toward a sprawling city unlike anything Yetao had ever seen outside of movies or textbooks. Massive stone statues lined the main avenue, towering over the approaching visitors with the impassive faces of Egyptian Gods. Men, women, and children moved through the streets, all adorned with dramatic black kohl around their eyes regardless of age or status.
And at the center of it all stood the palace—a masterpiece. Colossal pillars carved with hieroglyphics supported ceilings inlaid with gold. Statues of deities stood sentinel at every entrance, their features both welcoming and warning.
It feels like I've stepped into Hogwarts, Yetao thought hysterically, struggling to process the impossible reality surrounding him.
The sand chariot halted at the palace steps. The man dismounted and gestured for Yetao to follow. The moment Yetao's feet touched solid ground, the chariot dissolved into nothingness, grains of sand scattering in the gentle breeze.
An elderly woman approached, bowing deeply to the stranger. He whispered something to her before departing without another glance at Yetao, leaving him in the woman's care.
That's it? Is he just abandoning me here? Panic threatened to overwhelm him again. What if they're planning to cook me for dinner or sacrifice me to their gods?
The old woman grasped Yetao's hand gently, her expression surprisingly compassionate. "You're so pretty. Why did you wander the desert alone?" Concern laced her voice.
"I..." Yetao began, but words failed him. What could he possibly say that wouldn't sound insane?
The woman sighed deeply, eyeing his dirt-covered appearance. "Look at you. You look like you just woke from the tomb. Bath first—he'll summon you later." Without waiting for agreement, she led Yetao toward a separate wing adjacent to the main palace.
Guilt gnawed at Yetao as the woman's kindness continued. He gathered his courage and asked softly, "Um... who was the man who brought me here?"
The old woman stopped abruptly, shock evident in her weathered features. "You don't know HIM?"
Should I know him? The only man who could control sand was a villain in Spider-Man 3, and this guy is definitely not him, Yetao thought, offering only a confused expression in response.
"He's the current king of Egypt, Son of Horus, Bam." she explained with reverence that bordered on fear.
Yetao's mind raced. As far as I know, monarchy was abolished in Egypt long before I was born. Have I really traveled into the past?
The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow. This wasn't a dream or hallucination—somehow, the sistrum had hurled him backwards through time itself.
The woman led him deeper into the palace wing, and Yetao noticed with growing alarm that all the occupants were female. Don't tell me...
"Here," the old woman said, gesturing to a private bathing chamber. "You can use this for now since you're covered in dirt."
Thank God, Yetao thought, relieved to have privacy. I thought it would be public baths like in historical dramas.
His relief was short-lived.
"The bathing ritual takes place every morning when the sun rises," the woman continued cheerfully. "So from tomorrow, join the bathhouse with the other ladies."
She handed him a bundle of clothing and jewelry before departing, leaving Yetao alone with his thoughts.
"I'm doomed," he whispered, sinking to the floor as his legs gave out beneath him.
An hour later, freshly bathed and dressed in the provided attire, Yetao examined his reflection in a polished bronze mirror. The garments were beautiful—finer than any costume he'd worn for performances. Layers of white linen draped elegantly across his slender frame, secured with a golden belt inlaid with gold and emerald gems. Golden anklets jingled softly with each movement.
Under different circumstances, he might have appreciated the craftsmanship and historical authenticity. Now, it only reminded him how far from home he truly was.
He noticed containers of kohl and various dyes clearly meant for cosmetic application, but his hands trembled too violently to attempt using them. His future in this strange world was too uncertain to focus on such details.
A commotion outside drew his attention. Peering cautiously through the doorway, he spotted Bam, the king—speaking with the elderly woman, his back to Yetao.
The woman noticed him immediately and smiled warmly. "Come here. Our king has come to speak with you."
Heart pounding against his ribs, Yetao approached. The king turned to face him and froze.
The king stared, seemingly transfixed by Yetao's unusual hair color—a shade completely alien to this time and place. Even the women nearby paused in their activities, murmuring in amazement at the sight.
"My goodness!" the old woman exclaimed, breaking the silence. "Didn't you apply kohl? Why did you come with a bare face?", she examined, "Where are your earrings? Oh! You did not pierce your ears?"
Should I always wear makeup? Yetao wondered, increasingly confused by the social protocols of this era.
The king abruptly turned away, as if looking directly at Yetao's unadorned face was somehow forbidden.
What is it? He's acting funny, Yetao thought, barely suppressing inappropriate laughter at the king's reaction—a dangerous impulse born of stress and fear.
"You shouldn't wander without wearing kohl," the old woman scolded gently, pulling Yetao back into the chamber. With practiced hands, she applied the black pigment around his eyes in the traditional Egyptian style, then added subtle coloring to his cheeks.
"Your skin is so soft," she commented, working with motherly efficiency. "You need to wear these to protect it, understand?" She ruffled his hair affectionately.
When Yetao re-emerged properly adorned, he found the king seated upon a magnificent golden throne. Two sleek black panthers lounged at his feet, their amber eyes tracking Yetao's every movement.
Fear coursed through him at the sight of the predators, but to his astonishment, one of the great cats rose and approached him, rubbing its massive head against his leg with a rumbling purr. Its companion soon followed, both panthers treating Yetao like a long-lost friend.
The king's annoyance was palpable. What's with them? Bam thought, scowling. They usually tear apart anyone who dares approach them. Why are they behaving so strangely?
He cleared his throat loudly. "Now can we talk business? Who are you?" he asked, one eyebrow raised imperiously.
It's ok, I've got this, Yetao told himself, gathering his courage. "I don't know anything," he said carefully. "The first thing I remember is waking up in the middle of the desert."
A heavy silence descended upon the hall.
The king's expression darkened before transforming into something far more terrifying—an eerie, humorless laugh that echoed off the stone walls.
In a display of power that defied physics, Bam's body dissolved into sand particles, disappearing from the throne only to reform directly in front of Yetao in the same instant—as if he had teleported through the sand itself.
Yetao stumbled backward in shock, but the king caught him by the chin, fingers digging painfully into his skin.
"Did you think I'd believe whatever you say just because you're a woman?" he hissed, eyes blazing with dangerous intensity. "Don't test my patience. Answer me truthfully unless you want to be merged with my sand grains"
The threat wasn't empty—Yetao could feel the grains of sand swirling around them, eager to obey their master's destructive command.
"I'm telling the truth!" Yetao snapped, pain and fear finally overpowering caution. "What should I do for you to believe me?"
The king released his grip abruptly, a sinister smile spreading across his face. "I'll be the judge of that."
He called to a servant standing near the doorway: "Call Seshat!"
The servant's face drained of color. He bowed deeply before fleeing the hall, terror evident in every hasty step.
Who or what is Seshat? Yetao wondered, heart pounding in his chest.
"As you said, I'll check your honesty," the king declared, "at the cost of your heart." His smile widened, revealing perfect white teeth. "Any last words?"
Yetao clenched his fists to conceal their trembling, determined not to show fear even as his mind screamed in panic.
The servant returned, accompanied by another man carrying a large balance scale of gold and ebony. The newcomer wore elaborate robes covered in astronomical symbols.
"King, you called me?" the man asked, bowing his head respectfully.
Bam gestured toward Yetao with a predatory smile. "This one claims to have no memory—to have simply appeared in our desert. I require the truth, whatever the cost."
The man called Seshat, studied Yetao with ancient eyes that seemed to see beyond flesh and bone. "The Weighing of the Heart, then? Are you certain, Your Majesty? This ritual is typically reserved for—"
"Do it," the king commanded, cutting off any protest.
Seshat nodded solemnly and approached Yetao, his expression unreadable. "The heart cannot lie, even when the tongue does," he explained softly. "If yours is pure, you have nothing to fear."
He raised his staff, and the room darkened as if the sun itself had dimmed in response to the ritual's commencement.
"But if deceit weighs upon your soul..." He gestured to the waiting scale. "Ammit[2] hungers for the hearts of liars."
As if summoned by the name, a low growl echoed through the chamber—a sound that came from everywhere and nowhere at once.
Yetao stared at the scale, understanding hitting him with horrifying clarity. This wasn't metaphorical. They intended to weigh his actual heart—an organ they expected him to continue living without.
I'm going to die in ancient Egypt because a magical artifact sent me back in time, and now they think I'm a female spy who's lying about memory loss, he thought hysterically. This can't be happening.
The panthers that had shown him such affection looked back and forth worried about Yetao, but they had no choice but to position themselves beside the king, worried for the trial
Seshat raised his staff higher, beginning to chant in a language even older than the one Yetao somehow understood. The scale began to glow with unearthly light, one side holding a feather that shimmered with iridescent energy.
"The Feather of Ma'at awaits," Seshat intoned. "Prepare yourself for judgment."
Today's fact: Ma'at is the Goddess of Justice with an Ostrich feather in her head. In the hall of truth, the person's heart is weighed against the feather, a symbol of truth and justice. They'll be judged whether the person can have a worthy afterlife.
To be continued....
[1] Author's note: 'Kohl' is a black powder made from minerals. It is applied as an eyeliner by Egyptians.
[2] Author's note: Ammit is a monster which devours the heart of sinners (They'll never get an afterlife once they're dead).