Chapter 290 – The Queen and the Stranger
The desert wind carried the scent of acacia and cooling stone. Dust swirled gently around her sandals as Queen Nefertiti stepped down from her chariot, the black silk of her cloak brushing the ground like a shadow of authority.
She had ridden day and night, following only the stories — whispered miracles, healed cities, vanished plagues. Always behind. Always too late.
But not this time.
Ahead, just beyond a small fig orchard blessed with unnatural green, he stood.
A tall figure in black and white, facing the sunset, quiet and alone.
No fanfare. No followers. Just the light catching the edge of his cloak, like the sun itself was reluctant to let him go.
Her guards stayed back. No one dared follow.
Nefertiti approached slowly.
Her voice, when she spoke, was regal but soft.
"You walk like a god and heal like one… but you do not carry yourself like any I've ever known."
The figure turned.
And Alex saw her.
The curved crown. The eyes lined in gold. The posture that was command, elegance, and sword all at once.
His mind caught up in a flash.
The ruins he'd studied.
The paintings in museums.
The temple facades he thought were only echoes of myth.
He didn't just know her name.
He knew exactly where — and when — he was.
"You're… Nefertiti," he said, breath caught in his throat.
And then, more quietly — more urgently —
"This is Egypt. 1350s BCE. New Kingdom… the Amarna period…"
He exhaled.
"I'm in the past."
She raised an eyebrow, amused. "You speak strangely, stranger. As if you're from some kingdom I've never heard of."
Alex looked around — at the sky, the land, the perfect illusion of a time long gone.
Not an illusion.
Real.
And the Queen herself was standing before him.
The sun dipped lower behind the desert ridge, casting long shadows over the fig orchard. A warm wind stirred the leaves, rustling like whispered prayers.
Alex and Nefertiti stood a few paces apart, the space between them heavy with unspoken truths.
He looked at her — not as a historian, or a visitor, or even a man displaced in time — but as a soul who could feel the weight she carried. And perhaps she saw the same in him.
She spoke first.
"You don't belong to this world, do you?"
Her voice wasn't accusing. It was curious. Measured. Like a queen used to listening for lies.
Alex didn't deny it.
"No," he said quietly. "Not really."
Nefertiti's expression didn't change, but something behind her eyes flickered.
"You perform miracles, speak only when necessary, and carry no past… and yet the people adore you as if you've always been here."
He didn't answer right away.
Instead, he looked down at his hands.
"I didn't come to rule. Or to take anything. I only wanted to help. Then I'll leave."
Her eyes narrowed. "Leave? Where would you go? No one simply… steps into time and walks back out again."
Alex gave a small, wry smile.
"No one should have stepped into it to begin with."
She watched him closely. "So this—" she gestured around them, "—was a mistake?"
"Yes," he said softly. "But if I'm here… then I'll do something good with the time I have."
Nefertiti's gaze dropped for the first time.
She folded her hands in front of her, the queen's poise never faltering — but the woman beneath it showed in the quietness of her breath.
"This land is dying," she said. "The priests are bloated with gold. The old gods have gone silent. I've begged for answers… and then you came. Alone. Quiet. And the land bloomed behind you."
She stepped closer.
"Do you really think you were sent here by mistake?"
Alex shook his head. "I think... sometimes fate makes use of mistakes."
They stood in silence a moment, the dusk folding gently around them.
Then, Nefertiti said what had been building in her heart since the first whispered rumors reached her palace.
"You can't stay here, can you?"
His eyes met hers.
He didn't answer — but he didn't need to.
The sadness in his expression was enough.
"I don't know how long I'll last," he finally said. "A few days. A few weeks, maybe. Time has a way of correcting itself."
Nefertiti looked away, into the horizon.
"Then let us use that time well."
"For however long you remain, Aten… let me walk beside you."
The wind softened. The sun dipped past the horizon, leaving only a band of rose and gold stretched across the sky.
Neither of them spoke for a while.
The silence between them wasn't heavy. It was calm. Like the hush before dawn, or the moment a breath is held before saying something sacred.
Finally, Nefertiti turned toward the west — toward the distant lights of Akhetaten, where the palace and temples waited.
"Come with me."
Alex raised a brow.
She didn't look at him, only kept walking, her voice low and clear.
"The priests will question you. The nobles will panic. But the people already believe — and so do I."
She glanced at him then, the soft fire of dusk reflecting in her eyes.
"Let them see what I've seen."
"Let them know that, even for a moment, the gods remembered us."
Alex didn't answer right away. He just looked at the stars slowly beginning to appear.
Then he took a step forward.
And another.
Until he walked beside her, matching her pace.
No titles. No thrones. Just two souls under a sky older than memory.
"Alright," he said quietly. "Lead the way."
They walked together into the night — side by side, with the sand whispering behind them and the first stars blooming overhead.
And in the distance, the city that once forgot its faith waited for its dawn.
Chapter 291 – He Who Walks With the Queen
The gates of Akhetaten loomed ahead like teeth of white stone, polished by wind and sun. Though not the largest city in Egypt, it was young, ambitious, and carved with purpose — a city built in honor of the horizon itself.
But tonight, the guards didn't cry out.
They didn't raise their spears.
They only stared.
Because at Queen Nefertiti's side walked a man wrapped in dusk-colored cloth, his eyes like obsidian fire, his footsteps light and measured.
And everywhere the Queen went, the stranger followed.
Or was it the other way around?
The inner courtyards were still awake — torchlight flickering along the colonnades, servants whispering behind sandstone pillars, high priests waiting with faces carved in skepticism.
Alex entered in silence.
He didn't bow.
He didn't speak.
He simply stood in the soft firelight, gazing around with quiet composure — and that was enough.
Whispers flew through the marble.
"That's him..."
"The one the Queen walks beside."
"Is that a divine mask? No — his skin... it glows."
The high priest of Amun narrowed his eyes. His ceremonial collar clinked softly as he stepped forward.
"You bring a stranger into the sacred walls, Majesty?"
Nefertiti didn't stop walking. She passed him without a glance.
"He is no stranger. He is the reason your gods did not answer you."
The priest bristled — but said nothing.
Because Alex had just turned his gaze on him.
And for a heartbeat, he couldn't breathe.
Alex didn't mean to intimidate.
He only wanted to understand.
But everywhere he stepped, silence bloomed. The wind seemed to bow. The torches leaned just slightly in his direction, as if the flames wanted to greet him.
When he passed the inner garden, the lotus blossoms opened, though it was long past sunset.
A child watching from a stone bench whispered:
"The sun walks even after night has fallen…"
Later, alone in a private hall of polished alabaster, Nefertiti gestured toward the open veranda.
"Rest, if you can. The court will call for you tomorrow — some to question, some to kneel."
Alex stood near the balcony, gazing at the stars.
"I'm not here to rule anything," he said. "Only to make things right while I still can."
Nefertiti approached beside him.
"Then let them learn what humility tastes like, even if only for a while."
She paused, then added quietly:
"You've already changed the land. Now let them see if their hearts can follow."
Alex nodded once.
But in his heart, he knew time was short.
He could feel it — like a distant thread tugging behind his soul.
His stay in this era was not forever.
But perhaps… just long enough.
The next morning, Akhetaten's Great Hall was filled long before sunrise.
Torches still burned in the sconces. Sunlight had yet to touch the pillars of carved white limestone, but already the court pulsed with tension.
Priests of Amun, Thoth, and Horus stood along one side, cloaked in gold-threaded linen, faces drawn and unreadable.
Nobles in painted headdresses sat in half-moon arcs.
Royal architects, scribes, and generals stood silently behind their lords, each aware that today would not be like any other.
Because word had spread.
He had come.
The man called Aten — the one who walked with Nefertiti, who healed cities, who made the Nile pure again.
And now… he would stand before them all.
The Queen's guards opened the great bronze doors.
And Alex entered.
No fanfare. No music. No procession.
Just his quiet footsteps.
The rustling of his cloak.
And the collective inhale of a hall filled with power.
He looked at no one.
But everyone looked at him.
"He's too young," one noble whispered.
"Look at his bearing," another murmured. "That is not how mortals move…"
"What magic is this?"
"What kind of man does the earth itself respond to?"
Nefertiti followed at his side.
She did not wear her usual ceremonial garb — only white linen robes and her crown of twin cobras, a sign of personal authority rather than royal ritual.
She ascended the throne and sat.
Then raised a single hand.
The court fell silent.
"This man has been called by many names," she said. "But he told me his name is Alex."
Gasps. Frowns. Scribes looked at each other in confusion.
"He did not come seeking worship. Nor power. Nor favor. Yet he brings with him healing, purity, and order. More than any priest of Amun has in decades."
A ripple of murmurs.
The high priest stepped forward, robes stiff with incense and ceremonial amulets.
"Majesty… even if his acts are true — we must be cautious. No man does such things without cost. The gods demand balance."
Nefertiti didn't look at him. She looked at Alex.
"Would you speak?"
For a moment, the entire court held its breath.
And then Alex, with no fear, said quietly:
"I don't come as a god. I don't come to take your temples."
"I only came to help."
He paused.
"And I won't be here long."
His voice wasn't loud — but it carried.
It resonated.
Not with thunder, but with truth.
And for one long moment… no one knew what to say.
Because deep down, they felt it:
He wasn't lying.
The silence lingered — tense and brittle.
Then the high priest of Amun stepped forward again, his gold medallions clinking softly, his voice sharper now.
"Help?" he echoed. "Many have claimed such things, stranger. Soothsayers. Poisoners. Desert magicians. And always, the cost follows."
He turned to face the court, his voice rising like a prosecutor before the gods.
"What man walks through flame and lives? What sorcerer makes the Nile bow without tribute to the gods? What mortal dares purify plague without permission from the divine order?"
He turned back to Alex, narrowing his eyes.
"You say you are not a god. Then I ask—what are you?"
All eyes returned to Alex.
He stood still, hands relaxed at his sides, his expression unreadable.
"I'm not your enemy," he said calmly.
"But if what I've done offends you, then maybe the question should be why no one else did it first."
A collective murmur rose — not in outrage, but quiet awe.
Even a few of the nobles, previously silent, exchanged uncertain glances.
The priest's nostrils flared.
"You speak with riddles. That is the mark of a false prophet."
Alex didn't blink.
"Or maybe your gods have gone silent, and you just didn't want anyone to notice."
That was too much.
The priest stepped forward, voice laced with fury now.
"Then prove it! Stand in the sun's fire, unmarked. Let us see if Aten truly walks beside you."
Nefertiti opened her mouth, but stopped.
She wanted to protect him—but something in her said he didn't need it.
Alex slowly stepped forward.
Through the columned hall.
Toward the raised dais where the sun burned brightest.
The palace roof had been built with a sacred aperture, a circular opening aligned to the solar zenith. At this hour, the sunlight pierced through it like a focused spear of flame.
No one stood there casually.
Not even priests.
Alex stepped into it — and stood still.
The light struck him head-on.
It flared across his hair, his skin, his eyes — and then settled.
Not burning.
Not blistering.
Not even warming.
He simply stood there.
Unshaken.
Bathed in light.
And smiled faintly.
"Is that enough proof?"
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Even the priest, who moments ago had thundered with certainty, now stared with a face turning pale.
Because the sunlight had formed a perfect ring around Alex, glowing softly — as if the heavens had recognized him.
Nefertiti stood.
"You asked what he is," she said. "You've seen the answer."
Then she stepped down from her throne, walked toward the circle of light, and stood beside him.
Not as ruler and subject.
But as equals.
"Whether god or man, prophet or wanderer, he is what this land needs."
And none dared argue.
Chapter 292 – The Queen's Shadow and the Stranger's Light
The court had emptied, but the memory of it still echoed in the pillars.
Outside, the sun began its slow descent behind the limestone hills, spilling golden haze across the palace rooftops. The wind was gentle now, warm with the scent of pomegranate blossoms and drying ink.
Alex stood beside the Queen in a quiet garden balcony overlooking the edge of the city.
Nefertiti had changed into softer robes, her crown removed, her long hair braided back with gold thread. Without the ceremonial weight, she looked less like a pharaoh and more like a woman burdened with centuries of silence.
She broke the quiet first.
"You silenced an entire court without raising your voice."
Alex leaned against the polished stone ledge. "I wasn't trying to prove anything. I just wanted them to stop looking at me like a threat."
Nefertiti's lips curled into a faint smile. "That's the problem with power… even when you don't try, people feel it."
He exhaled slowly. "They don't trust me. And they probably shouldn't."
"And yet," she said softly, "they watched you walk into the fire. They'll remember that more than the words."
A silence passed between them. The wind rustled through fig leaves above, and the lanterns lining the paths began to glow.
"You've made enemies now," she said, more seriously. "High priests. Landed nobles. Men who fear losing the only authority they've known."
Alex gave a faint nod. "That always happens when people stop being afraid of the wrong things."
"And start worshipping the right ones?" she asked, a hint of teasing in her voice.
He looked at her, half-amused. "I don't want worship. I want understanding."
"Then that," she said, "makes you more dangerous than any god."
They stood quietly after that, the stars beginning to pierce the deepening sky.
Alex looked up at the heavens.
Then turned to her, his voice thoughtful.
"How does the god of this place punish those who do wrong?"
Nefertiti was quiet for a moment.
Then her eyes glinted with a strange, ancient calm.
"They say the sky opens," she said, "and lightning strikes from above. Swift. Without mercy."
She didn't elaborate.
She didn't need to.
Because somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled — and neither of them looked surprised.
Nefertiti's words still hung in the air:
"They say the sky opens… and lightning strikes from above."
As if summoned by her voice, the winds shifted.
The air thickened.
And across the quiet skyline of Akhetaten, clouds began to roll in — dark, slow, and impossible. No storms had been forecast. No priests had spoken of it. Yet thunder growled low like a waking beast.
Alex's gaze sharpened.
"That's not natural," he murmured.
Nefertiti stepped to the balcony's edge, her voice soft.
"No. It's not."
Several high priests had lingered behind after the court's dispersal, gathering in the shadowed colonnades. They murmured among themselves — their voices bitter, their pride bruised. A few nobles stood with them, whispering about false gods and theatrical magic.
One priest spat into the sand.
"Tricks of light. Alchemy. A con, cloaked in silence."
Another scowled.
"He walks beside the Queen — not because she believes, but because she is desperate."
A noble laughed. "Let him stand in the sun again. I'd strike him down myself if I could."
Then—
The sky split.
With no warning, lightning fell.
Not from a cloud.
From directly above.
A searing white bolt tore down like a spear from the gods and slammed into the stone courtyard where the group stood.
The impact was deafening.
The flash was blinding.
And the world fell silent in its wake.
When the smoke cleared, the priests lay stunned. Burned robes. Scorched sandals. One noble's hair had caught fire. Most were bruised, dazed, coughing.
But not dead.
Barely touched.
Yet they were shaken. And terrified.
Guards, servants, scribes — even random bystanders — had seen it.
They turned their eyes not to the sky.
But to the balcony.
To Alex.
He hadn't moved.
He hadn't raised a hand.
He simply stood there, wind brushing his hair, gaze unreadable.
As if the heavens had acted on their own.
A servant fell to her knees.
A merchant muttered, "He didn't even blink…"
A young scribe whispered, "Even Ra needed fire to punish… he uses none."
And in that instant, whatever doubt still lived in the hearts of the common people—
Died.
He wasn't just a healer now.
He was a god who judged.
Beside him, Nefertiti's lips barely moved.
But Alex heard her.
"Now they believe."
He looked at her, quiet.
Then looked down at the men below, who now crawled backward like insects from a truth too large to face.
He hadn't called the lightning.
But something had listened.
Chapter 293 – The Falcon's Will and the War Beyond Sky
The storm that had struck the courtyard still hung in the minds of the people.
No one had seen such lightning in years — raw, searing, and divine. It hadn't killed the priests, but it left no doubt: someone far greater than mortal had cast it.
In the palace, whispers turned to awe.
In the streets, prayers turned to one name: Aten.
But Alex… knew it hadn't come from him.
And that was what unsettled him most.
Later that night, long after the winds had quieted and the palace lights dimmed, Alex stood alone in a chamber reserved for meditation — a stone basin filled with still water before him.
At first, it was only his reflection.
Then the water began to shimmer, glow, ripple in waves that moved without wind.
And from the depths of the reflection, a golden falcon eye opened.
"You see clearly, mortal," a voice spoke — calm, regal, and distant, as though it echoed across thousands of miles of sky.
Alex stood still. "Horus."
The surface of the water flared briefly — the image of a falcon-headed warrior in celestial armor flashing through the pool, but only briefly. The god's voice remained steady, but behind it… exhaustion, like wind that had never rested.
"I am not fully here. Only a fragment of my will watches this land. The rest of me fights — far above."
"Above?" Alex asked.
"Above Olympus."
The words hit like thunder in a whisper.
"The gods of Egypt battle in the skies beyond their clouds," Horus continued. "We fight to reclaim what was stolen — the Solar Barge of Ra, the vessel of day, taken during a breach of divine law."
"They took Ra's Boat?"
"They hide it in their realm. The sun still rises by inertia, but the Barge no longer moves under Ra's command. That is why the skies over Egypt feel lost. Hollow."
Alex clenched his fists. "How long?"
"A year. Or ten. Time flows differently there. This war may last a breath or an era. But we will not stop until Ra's legacy returns."
He paused, and the water dimmed — the falcon eye narrowing.
"Until then, Egypt is vulnerable. And yet… she is not unguarded."
Alex understood. "The lightning."
"I sent it," Horus said simply. "Not as judgment. But as a sign."
"You walk this land like Ra once did — not as a king, but as a force of balance. You heal the sick. You shame the corrupt. You ask for nothing."
The water rippled again.
"I wish to form a pact."
Alex remained silent.
Horus continued:
"Nothing binding your soul, nothing enslaving your will. But a contract of purpose — your power, while you remain, shall be seen as a divine extension of ours. You will act in our name, as our eyes, our hands, our light."
"Egypt must survive until we return."
Alex's gaze dropped. "You really think I can hold the weight of a whole pantheon?"
"You already are," Horus said. "Even if you refuse to see it."
"And when you return?" Alex asked.
"Then your duty ends. And your legacy… will belong to the land, not the heavens."
Silence again.
Alex nodded once.
"I'll help. But not for worship. Not for shrines. Just… to keep the people safe."
"Then we are in agreement."
The water flared once more — and then stilled.
Far above, beyond the stars mortals could see, the war continued.
Flashes of gold and lightning raged silently over Olympus.
Divine banners tore across clouds.
And somewhere, locked in arcane chains, Ra's Solar Barge waited, its light dim… but not extinguished.
The sun had not yet risen.
A faint pre-dawn blue cast soft shadows along the polished stone corridors of the palace.
Nefertiti stood alone on the upper terrace, her arms crossed loosely, watching the horizon with the same poise she wore in court — but less armor, less distance. The wind played gently with her braids.
She didn't turn when Alex approached.
"You didn't sleep," she said quietly.
"Neither did you," he replied.
She glanced at him — a look that wasn't questioning, only knowing. "Something's changed."
Alex stepped beside her, silent for a moment, as though weighing what to say.
Then he spoke plainly.
"Horus contacted me."
Nefertiti turned fully to face him now, her expression unreadable — the Queen returning to the surface of the woman.
"The god of falcons," she said softly. "The protector of kings. What did he want?"
Alex looked out at the far desert — where stars were beginning to fade into skylight.
"To offer me a pact. Nothing binding, but symbolic. He's fighting a war right now. The Egyptian gods are."
Nefertiti frowned. "Where?"
"Above Olympus."
Her lips parted slightly, surprise cutting through her usual calm. "You mean… against the Greek gods?"
Alex nodded. "They've taken something. Ra's Solar Barge. The divine vessel that carries the sun across the sky. Without it… Egypt's skies are hollow. The land is still, but not guided."
She absorbed that with a long breath.
"No wonder we haven't felt them."
Alex continued. "The war could last years. Maybe longer. And Egypt is exposed while they're gone. Horus told me that — until they return — they want me to act in their name. As a symbol of divine presence. Not a king. Not a god. Just… a shield."
"And you accepted?"
"I did," he said. "Because someone has to protect this place until the real sun rises again."
Nefertiti looked at him then, not as a queen or even as a woman — but as someone who finally understood the weight he carried.
Her voice was quiet.
"Then you're not Aten by name… but by fire. By burden. By light in absence of light."
A soft wind blew.
She stepped a little closer, her words slow, deliberate.
"You are not a god."
"But the gods have left you in their place."
Chapter 294 – The Atlas of Wounds
It began with a map.
Not a map of borders or trade routes, but of something older, deeper—etched into the earth itself. Alex had spent hours in quiet focus beneath the palace, seated at a stone table surrounded by bowls of glowing ink and scrolls of untouched papyrus. He didn't use quills at first. He let his fingers hover above the surface, tracing invisible patterns in the air, eyes half-closed.
He was listening.
The Nile had once been the spine of this land, not just in geography, but in spirit. The magic of Egypt was meant to pulse through it like blood through a living vein. But something had gone wrong. Too many broken rites. Too many temples abandoned. The ley lines were twisted, corrupted, or severed entirely in places. They groaned beneath the surface like forgotten bones.
And Alex—whether by divine pact, accident, or sheer resolve—heard them.
When he began to draw, he worked with the precision of a surgeon and the solemnity of a cartographer documenting a dying world. Black ink marked collapsed flows. Gray spirals for stagnated zones. Crimson triangles for areas that no longer pulsed at all.
By the time the sun touched the horizon, the scroll was covered in dozens of marks—thirty-two critical sites, spanning from Nubia to the Delta.
"This," Alex said quietly, as Nefertiti approached behind him, "is where Egypt is bleeding."
She stood over the map, robes soft against stone, her eyes narrowing. The flickering torchlight caught the gold in her lashes.
"You read the land like a physician reads veins," she murmured.
Alex nodded. "That's what it is. A nervous system. And these points here—" he tapped a cluster near Middle Egypt, "—they're close to collapse. If I don't repair them soon, entire regions will become magically dead. Nothing will grow. Nothing will heal."
Nefertiti studied the symbols. "And what do you need to fix them?"
He looked up at her. "Time. Focus. And no interference."
"You'll have both," she said.
The next morning, he departed with only a small escort—four trusted guards of the Queen, and two scribes trained in sacred geometry. They didn't understand fully what they were doing, but they followed anyway, sensing the weight of something historic.
The first site was a field long abandoned by farmers—land once fertile but now brittle, cursed with invisible decay. The trees there grew twisted. Animals avoided it. At night, the wind moaned through the soil like something whispering beneath it.
Alex knelt at the center.
He placed his hand to the ground.
The mana was choked—knotted with spells that should have been released centuries ago. Forgotten rituals, unfinished pacts, temple magic left to rot.
He took a deep breath and began to reweave.
It wasn't glamorous. No explosions of light. No divine voice from above. Just threads of golden magic slowly unraveling the tangle, and being stitched back into proper order.
For six hours, he worked without speaking.
When he finally stood, the air felt different. Clean. The wind no longer groaned—it sang.
One of the guards stepped forward. "The trees," he said, awestruck. "They've straightened."
A leaf unfurled on a branch that hadn't budded in three years.
A bird landed and sang, as if returning from exile.
Word traveled faster than they could.
By the time Alex reached the second site—a cracked temple built atop an ancient junction point—locals were already gathering at the edges, watching in silence.
He worked again.
And again.
And again.
Each restoration took hours, sometimes a full day.
Sometimes the resistance in the lines pushed back—screaming old prayers, manifesting phantoms of long-dead priests who refused to let go. But Alex endured it all.
He didn't fight the land.
He healed it.
And slowly, it responded to him—not just as a god, but as something else.
As someone who listened.
As someone who remembered.
The land was breathing again.
Fields once yellowed had begun to green. Springs that hadn't flowed in years whispered again at dawn. The mana lines beneath the earth no longer trembled but hummed softly, like music returning to a forgotten instrument.
But Alex knew healing the soil wasn't enough.
The people were still afraid.
Not of drought. Not of famine.
But of each other.
Warlords who taxed through cruelty.
Nobles who hoarded grain meant for the poor.
Priests who weaponized faith to silence dissent.
Where magic had failed, men had ruled through terror.
So Alex changed focus.
He would not raise armies.
He would not write laws.
He would leave behind something older than that.
Something sacred.
He called it the Golden Covenant.
Not a law, but a contract—between the land and its people.
Wherever he went now, he didn't just heal the ground.
He carved a sigil of light into stone gates, into the trunks of village trees, into the waterworn faces of city walls.
The mark glowed faintly gold.
Sometimes it shimmered like metal.
Sometimes it pulsed like breath.
But always—it watched.
Not with judgment.
With clarity.
Those who entered a protected town with unjust intent—to steal, to hurt, to deceive—found themselves struck by sudden discomfort. Their voices failed when they tried to lie. Their swords felt too heavy to lift.
And those who suffered?
They felt relief. Their minds cleared. Their fear eased.
A farmer's blind son walked again after passing beneath the covenant arch.
A merchant who had secretly beaten his workers was exposed in full market light when his shadow warped and cried out against him.
Children began touching the symbols like blessings before prayer.
The people began calling them:
"The Eyes of Aten."
Back at the palace, Nefertiti watched it unfold like dawn spreading across parchment.
"He isn't just healing," she told her advisors. "He's protecting. And the land itself is remembering what safety feels like."
But not everyone celebrated.
Some priests whispered of blasphemy.
Some nobles gritted their teeth behind gold cups.
"He is not Pharaoh. He wears no crown."
"Yet the wind follows his footsteps," others replied.
And still Alex carved sigils.
One after another.
Chapter 296 – The Sun That Heals
The winds from the south carried sickness.
Villages nestled along the Nile's lower banks had grown quiet — not from peace, but from loss. Children no longer played in the courtyards. The temples stood closed, their statues covered in dark cloth. And the rivers no longer echoed with song, only with coughing.
Word of the plague reached Alex quickly.
He didn't hesitate.
At dawn, he stood upon the sandstone cliffs above the infected valley, his cloak still and silent as a priest carved from obsidian.
Behind him, Nefertiti watched from a distance — her guards holding their breath.
He raised one hand.
And the sky responded.
Golden light poured from his palm — not like fire, but like memory returning to a broken mind.
It gathered slowly, shaping into a sphere above him. At first, no larger than a lamp.
Then the size of a wagon.
Then the size of a house.
Until it hung above the cliffs like a second sun, brilliant but gentle — casting no heat, only illumination.
It shimmered with thousands of symbols, shifting and folding like prayers made of light.
Alex closed his eyes.
"Let the rot depart," he whispered. "Let breath return to those who still believe. Let the sickness that clings to innocence be undone."
The orb descended slowly, hovering high above the village at the edge of the valley.
Then it stopped.
And it began to pulse.
The air changed.
Not violently — but profoundly.
Soot-colored clouds evaporated.
Fevered winds stilled.
And the houses below, once shuttered, began to glow faintly from their rooftops — touched by rays of divine cleansing.
Inside, the sick stirred.
Sores vanished like chalk in rain.
The coughing stopped.
Eyes opened that had been sealed by fever.
A mother gasped as her infant stopped convulsing in her arms.
A crippled farmer, twisted by plague-rot, blinked as his hands uncurled.
The light passed through them like forgiveness.
And overhead, the golden orb hovered in silence — watching.
From the cliffs, Nefertiti's voice was quiet:
"It's… beautiful."
Alex's eyes didn't leave the orb.
"It will last until the rot is gone."
"And then?"
"It will vanish on its own. Its purpose will be fulfilled."
The people began to crawl out of their homes — dazed, blinking, reaching up not in fear… but in awe.
They fell to their knees.
Not to beg.
But to thank.
In the following days, word spread across Egypt:
"Aten has placed a second sun in the sky."
"It doesn't burn — it heals."
"He has brought mercy to the air."
Temples that had locked their doors now opened them again.
And everywhere Alex walked, the plague began to fear him.
The golden orb hung high in the sky for days.
Wherever its rays reached, the plague wilted like shadows before dawn. Fields softened. Air cleared. Spirits brightened. But Alex knew it would not last forever.
The magic he poured into it came from the bond with Horus, and from himself — finite, delicate, tied to his presence in this world. As soon as he returned to the time he came from, the orb would fade, its light returning to the sky that first birthed it.
And that moment was drawing closer.
He could feel it.
The strange weight behind his breath. The way the mana threads in this age began to resist his touch — like a dream preparing to end.
So he began to write.
Not for kings.
Not for scholars.
For the people.
In the quiet hours of night, beneath a canopy of stars, Alex sat in the Queen's library, surrounded by jars of ink made from lotus sap and powdered amber.
He wrote in long lines and layered circles — not in one language, but many. Words of healing that resonated not through sound, but meaning. Symbols that aligned not only with the flesh, but with spirit and rhythm and breath.
More than 1,000 spells.
Spells for wounds and fever.
Spells for withered crops and infected air.
Spells to ease childbirth, restore memories, soothe minds twisted by divine fear.
Each one encoded with care — not too complex, but demanding discipline, clarity, and compassion.
"They must learn by will," he said to Nefertiti one night as he dipped his pen again. "If they commit… if they believe… this book will be enough to heal their world long after I vanish."
She watched him in the candlelight, her voice soft.
"You could have left nothing. You owe us nothing."
Alex smiled faintly.
"But the land gave me something. It trusted me."
He paused, then added more solemnly:
"I won't let Egypt fall back into silence when I'm gone."
He never included the high spells — the ones reserved for divine healers, those who understood the body on a god's scale. Those secrets stayed within him, unreachable to mortals. Not out of arrogance, but mercy.
What he left behind… was enough.
A thousand spells that any committed soul could learn.
A thousand threads of light for a land that would remember him.
It was for them.
For healers.
For orphans.
For priestesses with trembling hands.
For anyone willing to learn.
He sealed the scrolls in a lacquered chest, etched with the same golden sigil that floated in the sky above.
Later, that chest would be sealed in a shrine near Akhetaten.
Its title burned into stone by the people themselves:
The Book of Aten
Light that Heals. Knowledge that Endures.
Chapter 297 – The Witness's Ink
His name was Menuat.
He was not a priest, nor a believer in visions. He trusted ink and scroll. Not fire from the sky.
When Queen Nefertiti summoned him, she gave no commands — only a single request.
"Go," she said. "Watch what the people say about him. Not nobles. Not priests. The people."
And so Menuat went.
Scrolls beneath one arm.
A reed pen in the other.
And a mind sharp with doubt.
The first village he visited had once been gray with rot. Now it bloomed with early figs and hibiscus. He expected exaggeration. But instead, he found quiet.
A woman with missing teeth smiled at him from her doorstep.
"He didn't ask our names," she said. "He just touched the wall and the sickness melted."
In another town, he found a mural: a figure cloaked in sunlight, healing a child with his hand. The artist was a boy no older than ten.
Menaut asked: "Who taught you to paint that?"
The boy looked up.
"I saw him do it. I didn't want to forget."
He traveled farther.
A fishing village had constructed an arch out of driftwood and clay — beneath it, the golden sigil Alex had carved months ago still glowed faintly at sunset.
They called it the Gate of Breathing Light.
He knelt before it one night, curious.
And he felt it.
A warmth that didn't come from the air.
A memory that wasn't his.
He stepped back, shaken.
He didn't write about that moment on the scroll. Not yet.
In a hillside town north of Memphis, he listened as children recited verses from what locals now called the Book of Aten.
Their voices were awkward but sincere:
"Touch gently. Speak truth. Heal what does not belong in pain."
An old herbalist, once mocked by the local temple, was now teaching these verses. She showed Menuat a page.
"He left this for all of us. Not just the rich. Not just the gifted."
"Can you read it?" he asked.
She nodded proudly. "Not yet. But I will."
He stopped counting how many towns had erected shrines.
Not temples. Not idols.
Just small shelves of clean stone. A flower. A name. A thank-you.
They didn't pray to Alex.
They remembered him.
"He passed through once. We were dying. Then we weren't."
Over and over, he heard the same words.
"He didn't ask for anything."
"He gave us breath again."
"He walked like he wasn't from here — but looked at us like we were worth everything."
At last, Menuat returned to Akhetaten.
He stood before the Queen's steward with his scroll, longer than any he had ever written.
And yet, it felt… unfinished.
That night, in the silence of his own quarters, he lit a single candle, unrolled the last portion of parchment, and wrote slowly:
I was taught to write what can be proven. What can be counted.
But what I saw… lives beyond ink.
A god passes through the land and leaves no throne behind. Only healing. Only silence that sings.
He paused.
Then, for the first time in his life, he set down his pen.
Folded his hands.
And whispered, without needing to be heard:
"Thank you."
The evening air in Akhetaten was soft.
Wind stirred the silk curtains of the Queen's private chamber, where the sky glowed with the last traces of sun. Outside, the city rested — freshly washed by the golden light that had healed it for weeks.
Inside, Alex stood by the balcony. Quiet. Still.
Nefertiti approached without her crown, wearing only a light robe the color of earth after rain. She didn't speak at first. Neither did he.
But she sensed it.
"Your silence feels heavier than usual," she said.
Alex glanced at her, a faint smile pulling at his lips. "You always notice."
"It's part of my job," she replied.
He turned fully to face her.
"I think… I might be leaving soon."
The words were simple.
But they struck with the weight of prophecy.
Nefertiti's breath caught, though she didn't flinch. "You're certain?"
Alex shook his head slightly. "Not fully. But I can feel it. The mana of this age — it's beginning to push against me. I think the spell I used… it's wearing thin."
She stepped closer. "Can you stop it?"
"No. And I'm not sure I should."
He looked out over the rooftops of Akhetaten, where distant children laughed, and a low drumbeat echoed from a plaza shrine.
"This wasn't my time to begin with. I was only meant to help. To hold the line until the real guardians returned."
"But you are a guardian," she said quietly.
Alex's eyes softened.
"Then I'll carry that title back with me."
There was a long pause.
The golden orb still hovered above the valley, dimmer now — as if sensing what he sensed.
"Will you say goodbye?" she asked.
"I'll try," he said.
But his voice had already thickened.
"It might be… hard."
Nefertiti stepped beside him at the railing, not touching, not crying.
Just standing there.
Two souls.
One soon to remain.
One destined to disappear.
And still, the city breathed peacefully.
Because it had known the sun that healed.
Chapter 298 – The Moment Between Suns
The moment came quietly.
No thunder. No blinding light. Just… a sensation in his bones.
Like a thread being tugged gently, insistently, from the other end of time.
Alex stood alone at the edge of Akhetaten, overlooking the river where it curled like silver through the valley. The golden orb he had created hovered still in the sky, but its light had softened — as if even it knew.
His time here was over.
Footsteps approached behind him.
He didn't turn.
He didn't have to.
Nefertiti came to stand beside him, her robe fluttering in the rising breeze.
"It's happening," she said, not as a question.
Alex nodded. "I can feel the spell weakening. My anchor to this age is dissolving. I might vanish any moment."
She was quiet for a long time.
Then, softly:
"You gave us healing."
"You gave us memory."
"You reminded the land what it meant to be touched by mercy."
He looked at her. "And you gave me something just as important."
She raised an eyebrow.
"A name. A purpose. And… a reason to hesitate."
That made her smile — not the regal one she wore for courtiers, but something warmer. Sadder.
Then, without another word, she stepped closer.
And kissed him.
It wasn't hurried.
It wasn't desperate.
It was a still moment carved out of eternity — a farewell pressed into breath and skin.
When she pulled away, her voice trembled just once.
"I will wait for you."
Alex touched her cheek with the back of his hand. "I don't know when, or if, I'll ever come back."
"Then I will wait anyway," she whispered. "Even if it takes a thousand years."
As the wind rose and the first shimmer of time-magic pulled at his feet, the golden orb above them faded slowly — dissolving into light, scattering like pollen across the sky.
And then—
Alex was gone.
Not with a sound.
But with a silence that left the air heavier for those who remained.
The world snapped back like a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
The scent of warm stone was gone. The Nile breeze, the golden orb, the voice of Nefertiti — all vanished in a blink.
Alex stumbled forward, catching himself on the nearest surface — polished floor tile, cool and familiar.
He was back.
Back in the present.
Inside his house.
The light from the window hadn't changed. A beam of sun still stretched across the floor, unmoved — as if no time had passed at all.
Ciel was in front of him, wide-eyed. "You—Alex, you just vanished for one second. Just one."
She stepped forward, gently placing a hand on his chest. "Are you okay?"
Alex didn't answer at first.
His breath was slow. His heart, strangely calm.
But his eyes…
His eyes looked like they'd seen centuries.
He blinked. "One second?"
Ciel nodded. "Exactly one. You shimmered—like a ripple—and then came right back."
He slowly sat down, still trying to adjust. "It felt like… weeks. Months. Maybe a year."
Morgan's voice drifted in from the side room. "What just happened?"
Alex turned to her. "Morgan. Do you know anything about… Egypt, around 1350 BCE?"
She tilted her head, confused. "Ancient Egypt? That's… New Kingdom, right? 18th Dynasty? Why?"
Alex stared at her.
Hard.
Then spoke quietly:
"What do you know about Nefertiti?"
Morgan narrowed her eyes. "One of the most famous queens in Egyptian history. Wife of Akhenaten. Vanished from records near the end of his reign. Some think she died. Others think she took another name and ruled as Pharaoh."
Alex exhaled.
"...She kissed me goodbye."
Morgan froze.
"Excuse me?"
"I was there," Alex said. "I was in her time. I healed people. I left behind a book."
Morgan looked at him, stunned. "That's impossible. You were gone for a second."
Alex shook his head slowly.
"Maybe for you."
Alex leaned back against the couch, eyes still distant, as if part of him hadn't fully returned yet.
Ciel sat beside him, listening without a word, her hand resting gently over his.
Morgan stood with her arms folded, but her usual coldness was absent. Her eyes were alert. Focused.
"You were in Egypt," Morgan said again, slowly. "Not just a vision. Not a dream."
"I walked on its soil," Alex replied. "I healed its people. I spoke with Nefertiti. She thought I was a god."
Ciel tilted her head slightly. "You mean… because of your power?"
Alex shook his head faintly. "No. It was… a misunderstanding. I tried to say my name, but I had smoke in my throat. They heard 'Aten.' And it just—stuck."
Morgan blinked. "Wait… Aten? As in, the sun god of that strange monotheistic revolution?"
Alex nodded. "Only… there was no Aten yet. Not in their belief. Not in their temples. It didn't exist in their world until they heard me speak."
Silence.
Ciel's voice was barely a whisper. "You started it…"
"I didn't mean to," he said. "But I couldn't fix the misunderstanding. And in the end… maybe it was what they needed. Egypt was broken. The gods were gone—off fighting Olympus."
Morgan's eyes narrowed. "That war… still going on?"
"Above Olympus. They're trying to reclaim the Solar Barge of Ra. Until they return, the land is unguarded. Horus came to me—sent a fragment of his will. He asked me to help Egypt survive."
He looked between them both.
"So I did."
"I healed leylines. I built protection sigils. I created a sun in the sky to cure plague. I wrote a book — with over a thousand healing spells. And I left it behind."
Morgan slowly stepped closer.
"The Book of Aten…"
"It was never meant to be scripture," Alex said. "Only hope. A thousand ways to heal the land after I was gone."
Ciel's golden eyes shimmered. "And she kissed you."
Alex hesitated.
Then gave a small nod. "Yes. Before I disappeared. She said she would wait. Even if it took a thousand years."
Morgan looked away briefly, her expression unreadable.
Then she whispered:
"She may still be waiting."
Morgan had gone quiet for a long time.
Too long.
Ciel watched her from across the room as she scrolled rapidly through her enchanted tablet, scanning records from various magical archives, cross-referencing supernatural case logs, encrypted tomb registries, and arcane academic journals.
She froze.
"Alex," she said, her voice suddenly sharp. "You need to see this."
He leaned over her shoulder.
On the screen glowed a scanned page — delicate, aged, and partially faded. The script was unmistakable.
It was his handwriting.
Even if he didn't want to admit it, even if time had made it brittle… he knew what he'd written.
Ciel whispered, "Is that…?"
Morgan nodded. "It's from what the supernatural world calls the Book of Aten. Or… what they have of it."
Alex narrowed his eyes. "They only have a copy?"
Morgan nodded again. "A partial one. About forty percent remains. The rest was either never copied or was lost sometime during the Roman purges. The original has never been found. Not even the Magic Association has it."
"But they're sure it existed?"
"Oh, they're more than sure," she said. "They've been arguing over it for centuries."
She flipped through more reports.
"Among supernatural circles, Aten is considered a divine entity — a wandering god who appeared once, healed an entire land, and vanished. His origin is unknown. His magic defies the known laws of spell theory. His symbols are still studied."
Alex looked stunned. "They think Aten is real?"
Morgan looked at him. "He is. You are."
Ciel blinked. "But what about the rest of the world?"
Morgan's expression darkened slightly. "To the average historian? Aten is remembered as a political god invented during the Amarna Period. They think he was a symbol — a Pharaoh's monotheistic experiment. And you? You're remembered as a king."
"They don't even know you were a person. Just a name carved in stone."
Alex sat down slowly.
The weight of two lives pressed on his shoulders.
The world had split his legacy in two.
"So the supernatural world worships me as a god… and the common world forgets I was ever real."
Ciel walked to his side, sitting beside him, her voice soft.
"But you were real to them. You're the reason they survived."
Morgan closed the screen with a gentle motion.
"And somewhere out there," she added, "is the real Book. The one you wrote with your own hand. The one you sealed."
"And when it's found…" she looked up at him, "the world will remember."
Chapter 299 – The Echo of Aten
There are books that teach.
Books that guide.
And then there are books that reshape reality — not by force, but by presence.
The copy of the Book of Aten did exactly that.
Only forty percent of the content remained, yet within that fragment were spells cleaner than any modern formulation, healing circles that corrected techniques mages had been misusing for centuries, and divine constructs that no sorcerer alive could fully reverse-engineer.
The first time it appeared at auction, it was treated as a curiosity.
An ancient scroll collection retrieved from a sealed vault beneath an abandoned monastery near Thebes.
The bidding began modestly.
Then someone whispered:
"It matches the Aten fragments from the Royal Archive."
That was all it took.
The price skyrocketed.
The Magic Association offered ten divine-grade relics.
The Vatican's Arcanum Sect offered the bones of a martyred saint.
An Eastern cultivator clan offered eternal spiritual servitude from five of their inner circle.
In the end, it sold for a price so high, the auction was sealed from public record — second only to the rumored sale of Merlin's final staff.
But owning the copy was one thing.
Understanding it was another.
Researchers across the magical world spent years trying to unlock its logic. The scroll didn't use conventional syntax — its magic equations were written through resonance, woven with symbols that responded to intention and empathy more than command.
Some said it read the will of the caster.
Others said it required the caster to believe in mercy, not just technique.
"It doesn't want to be cast by arrogance," one scholar wrote.
"It listens for kindness."
That alone changed how many saw magic.
Healers who used its techniques saw miraculous results:
Organs reformed without stitching.Memories returned to the mentally shattered.Patients near death were revived not by power, but gentle light.
Entire magical academies began rewriting their healing curriculums based on the fragments.
But with miracles… came obsession.
Many began to search for the original.
Private vaults were raided.
Ancient temples were excavated.
A rumor spread of a sealed stone box marked with a golden sun sigil that appeared only under moonlight.
And one name was whispered in awe… or in greed:
"Aten."
Some believed he would return.
Others believed he never left.
But all agreed: if the copy could change the world…
Then the original could heal it.
Alex sat alone on the rooftop balcony that night, watching city lights blur against the darkness. Ciel had gone to prepare tea. Morgan was still poring through ancient files in the other room.
But he… he just listened to the wind.
Somewhere out there, across continents, magicians and factions were scouring ruins, whispering old names, offering fortunes and favors to get even one more page of something he had written.
The Book of Aten...
He had written it beneath oil lamps. By hand. With a reed pen and ink made of sap and ash and light.
It wasn't meant to be worshipped.
It was just supposed to help.
But now it had become something else — a legend, a treasure, a pillar of truth so profound that empires quietly leaned toward it.
And Alex?
He didn't even know where the original was.
He hadn't hidden it himself.
Nefertiti and her people had taken it after he vanished. They'd sealed it in a shrine somewhere, maybe entombed it, maybe lost it in war.
And now the world hunted it like it was a key to godhood.
"I could go looking for it," he said quietly to the wind.
But his own voice lacked conviction.
"Or… maybe it's better this way."
Maybe they needed to search.
Maybe chasing it would teach them something deeper than finding it ever could.
Or maybe the world just wasn't ready for the full truth of what he had written — not yet.
He closed his eyes.
And didn't decide.
Not tonight.
Chapter 300 – The Queen Who Waited
He had once told her she might wait a thousand years.
And she had.
Alex stood in the middle of the Egyptian desert, surrounded by silence so deep it felt like the air itself was reverent. The sun had just begun to set, casting long shadows across the sand, gilding the dunes in hues of copper and fire.
He had followed a whisper — no, a resonance.
It was faint. Old. But unmistakably hers.
Nefertiti's mana signature was unlike anything else. Not because of power, but clarity — the kind of clarity that comes from a heart that never strayed.
It had taken him weeks of astral tracing and divine attunement to find it. Most would've missed it entirely. But the thread had finally led him here: to a forgotten valley west of Luxor, sealed off by time, maps, and divine concealment.
And in that valley stood a pyramid that no one remembered.
It was not listed in any supernatural archive.
Not protected by spells or monsters.
Just… waiting.
Alex approached slowly. Its surface was dark sandstone, smoother than any nearby ruins, untouched by erosion. The glyphs along its base were ancient—but one symbol stood out among them:
A sun, half-set on the horizon.
His hand reached out almost instinctively.
And the stone moved.
No sound. No grinding. Just silence—and a door, opening inward.
The air that escaped from within wasn't stale.
It was warm.
Welcoming.
And when he stepped inside, the pyramid lit up.
Soft golden light bloomed across the walls in patterns like veins — like memory awakening.
He walked forward, guided not by instinct, but by connection.
At the center of the chamber stood a raised stone platform. Upon it rested a coffin — carved from marble veined with gold, shaped like an embrace. There were no guards. No curses.
Just that same sun symbol etched into the lid.
And it was already open.
His breath caught.
Because he saw her.
Nefertiti.
Unchanged.
Unaged.
Unyielding.
She sat up slowly, her black hair cascading over her shoulders like liquid onyx, her skin still kissed with desert light. Her eyes opened — gold, bright as ever.
When they met his, she smiled.
"You took your time."
He couldn't move at first.
Not out of fear — but disbelief.
"You… you're real."
She stood, stepping barefoot down from the platform like time had never touched her. Her robe flowed like silk over moonlight.
"Of course I'm real," she said softly.
"I told you I would wait."
She reached him.
And without hesitation, she hugged him — arms around his waist, face pressed to his chest like she had never let go of the last memory.
Then she kissed him.
Not with restraint.
Not with uncertainty.
But with the full weight of centuries, of promises buried beneath stone, of prayers whispered under foreign stars.
Her lips were warm. Her breath was steady. She tasted like something lost and found all at once.
When they finally broke apart, her hands still rested on his chest.
"You came back."
Alex swallowed hard. "I didn't even know where to look… until I felt you again."
She smiled, gently brushing his cheek with her thumb.
"The sun you left in the sky didn't fade all at once. Its light stayed inside me. I held onto it. I dreamed of it. And in the end… I became part of it."
"How are you alive?" he whispered.
Her smile deepened. "This place is sealed from time. I gave myself to it. Not to sleep… but to wait."
Alex stared at her, overwhelmed.
"You waited this long—just to see me again?"
She nodded once.
"Because I knew you'd return. I believed in that more than I believed in gods."
The light in the chamber had dimmed to a warm gold, soft and ever-present, like a sun that would never set.
There were no servants. No guards. No echoes of civilization.
Just two souls—together again after an eternity apart.
Alex and Nefertiti sat side by side on the raised platform where her coffin had once rested. The stone beneath them was smooth and faintly warm, etched with symbols that pulsed gently at their touch — not magic for protection or power, but resonance. Memory.
She leaned her head against his shoulder, one hand lightly entwined with his.
Neither spoke for a while.
Because there was no need.
Silence in this place didn't feel empty.
It felt earned.
"You haven't changed," she whispered at last, breaking the stillness like someone speaking into a dream.
"And yet… you have. I can feel the weight you carry now."
Alex turned his head slightly. "You were always good at sensing things no one else did."
She smiled.
"It's what queens learn to do."
He looked around the chamber — the softly glowing walls, the still air, the way nothing aged or decayed in this place.
"How long have you been here, really?"
Nefertiti exhaled slowly. "In truth? I lost count after the first few centuries. But it never felt like punishment. Time didn't press on me the way it does outside. I slept when I needed. Dreamed when I could. And waited… without fear."
She turned to face him, eyes shimmering.
"Because I knew the one I loved would one day walk through that door."
Alex looked down at their joined hands. "I didn't know if I ever could. I didn't even know where the door was."
"But you found it," she said softly. "Because you followed me. You remembered."
He gave a slow nod. "I thought maybe I should let the world search for the book. Let it remain legend."
"But the book isn't what matters," she said. "You are."
She rested a hand over his chest.
"You're the one who gave them light. The one who showed them healing didn't need blood, only intention. Even if the book is found… what they truly remember is you."
Alex said nothing for a moment.
Then:
"Do you regret staying behind?"
She shook her head.
"I made my choice. I sealed myself here not for Egypt… but for you."
He looked into her eyes. "Then let me ask the question I didn't get to ask back then."
She tilted her head.
"Come with me."
Her breath caught.
"Come back with me. To the world above. It's still broken. Still healing. And I can't do it alone."
A long silence.
Then Nefertiti slowly smiled.
"Then I will rise again."