The sun was sinking over the outskirts of Thebes. The orange glow clung to the mud-brick walls, making the suspended dust shimmer. The air carried that dry, bitter taste that clings to the throat after a whole day without a breeze.

Merit walked with a jar resting against her hip. At every step she stopped, offering water to those who reached out their hands: women with hollowed faces, children far too thin, an old man with trembling lips. She poured carefully into a chipped cup, waited until he drank, then laid her hand on his for a moment. No words—just that touch, which spoke enough.

A small cluster of children laughed softly around her. Their laughter was brief, snatched from exhaustion, but it was still laughter. Merit gave them her smile in return, her chest swelling at those fleeting sparks of life amid so much misery. Here, she wasn’t a ruler’s daughter, nor a guarded princess. She was simply Merit, and her presence was enough.

Then something shifted.

She sensed it before she heard it. A silence, fragile, settling between two bursts of laughter. Faces turned toward the avenue beyond, backs straightened. Merit frowned. A heavy breath seemed to sweep the street, as if even the dust held itself back.

Then came the sounds. Not clear words—more a distant swell of voices, rising and colliding. Not yet screams, but already too loud to be just a market quarrel. Merit held the jar with both arms, straight and alert. The children’s laughter had faded. The adults stared into the distance, eyes wide with unease.

The uproar grew. Short exclamations, cut off by others. Footsteps broke into a run through the alleys, kicking up clouds of sand. Merit’s heartbeat quickened. A different heat, alien, crept up her neck.

That’s when they appeared. Two guards, their armor caked in dust, pushing through the crowd with wide gestures. Their ragged breaths betrayed a sprint across half the city.

“Princess Merit!” the first one barked.

She straightened. “What is it?”

They didn’t explain. The older one shook his head, still gasping. “By order of the palace, you must come with us. Now.”

Around them, the beggars stepped back. Merit clutched the jar tight, lifted her chin. “I’m with my people. You can wait.”

The younger one stepped forward, hesitated, then dropped his eyes. “Forgive me, but there’s no time. Please—come.” His hand started toward her arm, then quickly recoiled under the fire of her glare.

Merit drew a deep breath. Every part of her resisted. But she read the strain on their faces, the urgency vibrating in their silence. She set the jar down, wiped her damp palms against her veil, and moved toward the palace.

The guards closed in on either side. The restless crowd pressed together as they passed. Shadows poured from every alley, rushing toward the main avenue. The voices swelled, sharper, more frantic.

And then, only then, the words pierced the murmur.

“…pharaoh…” “…the queen…” “…dead…”

Merit blinked, shook her head. No. That wasn’t right. She must have misheard. Each syllable hammered at her chest, but her mind refused to string them into sense. She walked faster, her breath short, ears buzzing.

The guards said nothing. Around her, cries broke out, prayers to the gods tangled in despair, but no one dared say it to her face.

The closer she came to the palace, the more the uproar turned into a single wail, a tide of grief. Merit clenched her fists, throat parched, gaze fixed ahead. The tenderness she had just shown had already been stripped away. Rising in her now was a cutting coldness: she needed answers, and she needed them fast.

The palace loomed ahead, a dark mass against the horizon, its pylons cut sharply against the red sky of dusk. Merit crossed the great gate under escort; the roar of the crowd was left behind, replaced by a silence too heavy to be natural.

In the vestibule, a figure rushed forward. Tiaa. Her servant, almost a friend. Her eyes were swollen from crying, her hands trembling. She threw herself at Merit and grabbed her by the arms.

“Princess…” Her voice broke. “Come…”

Merit had no chance to ask. Tiaa was already pulling her through the corridors, where torchlight quivered across painted walls. Priests awaited in the funerary chamber, lined up like statues. Their stern faces left no room for doubt.

“Our sovereigns…” began the eldest, head bowed. “They were ambushed in the city. They tried to calm the people’s anger over the drought… but an armed band… they were struck down.”

Merit’s knees weakened. Her lips parted, but no sound emerged. She shook her head, refusing the words.

“Come,” said another priest, his tone gentler.

They passed through a low doorway. The air grew thick, saturated with incense and oil. A golden, flickering light filled the room. Two bodies lay covered in white shrouds on low tables.

On the ground, kneeling by one of them, was Nakht. Her younger brother. His face drowned in tears, his shoulders racked with sobs. His fingers clutched at the cloth as if he could drag the dead back to life.

“Father… Mother…” Nakht’s voice cracked, the sound of a child again.

Merit stepped closer. The tears she had held back burst free at last. She collapsed beside him, pulling him into her arms without a word. He turned instinctively, clinging to her with desperate force. Their foreheads touched, their sobs mingling, their bodies shaking like two lost children.

Merit tightened her hold, as though she could shield him from the whole world. Her fingers slid into his sweat-soaked, tear-damp hair. She whispered, barely audible: “I’m here… I’m here, Nakht…”

At last, he lifted himself a little, but his reddened eyes burned with rage. “Why them?!” he rasped, voice raw. “Why did the gods let them die?” His fists slammed against the stone. “Those who did this… those dogs… those murderers… they must be found, Merit! They must be put to death!”

She cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her gaze. He was twenty now, a man’s body, but in that moment she saw only her little brother.

“Nakht, listen to me.” Her voice trembled but stayed firm. “Yes, they will answer for what they’ve done. I swear it.” She drew a breath, her tears still blurring her sight. She paused, weighing her words. “I suppose I’ll have to carry the burden now. But I won’t be alone. You’ll be there with me. We’ll face it together.”

Nakht nodded quickly, biting his lip to keep from breaking down again. “Promise me we won’t let them escape. Promise me, Merit.”

She gripped his hands tight. “I promise, on our parents’ memory.”

They stayed that way for a moment, pressed together, breath ragged—until the shuffle of sandals broke the silence. Two priests entered, upright silhouettes in the torchlight.

The eldest inclined his head, but his gaze offered no comfort. “Heirs,” he said, voice deep. “We share your sorrow. But the kingdom falters. Tonight, the path forward must be decided.”

Merit wanted to drive them away, to stay alone with her brother and the dead. But she knew already that mourning would not be theirs to keep. She drew a deep breath, wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.

She helped Nakht to his feet. His trembling fingers clung to hers, as though he feared she’d vanish. Merit whispered, “Courage. We’ll face this together.”

Nakht nodded, unable to say more.

They left the chamber of the dead and walked into a wide, nearly empty corridor. The walls still radiated the day’s heat, but the air hung heavy, as though the palace itself held its breath. Servants waited prostrate against the stone, motionless. Merit kept Nakht close, feeling the tension in his body, but he moved with his head high, his face set.

At the end, massive doors opened, revealing the council hall. Towering columns, tables cluttered with papyrus, figures gathered around the priests. Voices died at once. Every eye turned toward them—curiosity, calculation, and a compassion that rang hollow.

Merit straightened her posture and led Nakht to the center. She knew any weakness would be seized upon here.

One man stepped forward. Tall, broad-shouldered, his armor still dust-stained from the city. But his face softened the instant he saw Nakht. He moved without protocol and laid a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Nakht…” he said only, in a low voice.

Nakht lifted his eyes. A breath passed across his face—a flash of recognition. Merit recognized it too: this wasn’t just the captain of the guard. This was Baki, his childhood companion, the boy who had grown alongside him in the palace courtyard.

The silence between them said more than words. Then Baki turned back to the assembly, his tone shifting back to command.

“The assassins have not been caught. The guard has scoured the city, deployed extra patrols. The mob grows restless; the rumor spreads too fast for us to contain.”

At once, a courtier shouted: “The people are on the edge of revolt!”

Another cried: “The gods are offended!”

A third snapped: “This is the price of abandoning the old laws!”

Voices clashed, each louder than the last. The hall swelled into a storm of reproach and superstition.

Merit drew breath, planted herself in the center, her voice cutting clear:

“Enough. Our parents did not die for us to surrender to panic. What we need is to know who armed these men, and why. Screaming to the gods and improvising sacrifices will solve nothing.”

The uproar died in an instant. But the silence that followed was not agreement. Priests traded heavy looks, brows furrowed. They hadn’t contradicted her yet, but Merit felt the distance widening: her words of reason found no soil here.

The high priest stepped forward, his staff striking the floor three times. Each blow echoed in the silence, drawing all eyes to him.

“Under ordinary times,” he began, voice low but steady, “the succession would be clear.” His gaze rested on Merit. “The eldest would inherit the throne.”

A murmur swept the assembly. Merit’s heart hammered.

“But these are not ordinary times,” he continued. His hand stroked the wood of his staff as if to pace his words. “The gods have turned from us. The Nile withholds. Famine creeps even into these walls. When disorder rises, strong signs are needed. The people must see that the divine bloodline endures, that purity remains.”

He paused, his eyes sliding from Merit to Nakht.

“That is why… the sacred union must return. Brother and sister, heirs of the same blood, must be joined, that a child consecrated to the gods may be born. Only then will the people believe the divine line unbroken. Only then will the gods grant their favor.”

The word union hung in the air, heavy, suffocating. A shiver coursed through Merit. She stepped forward, voice firm though her lips trembled.

“No. You cannot say that. That law was abolished—for good reason. This is madness.”

Outrage erupted. Courtiers exchanged shocked looks. But the priests reacted the sharpest.

“Madness?” one sputtered. “It is blasphemy to reject the gods’ will!”

“To scorn the ancient rites is to insult Isis and Osiris themselves!” cried another.

Merit clenched her fists. “It wasn’t the gods’ anger that killed my parents—it was men’s hands!”

A rumble of shock ran through the assembly. Several priests shook their heads; some covered their mouths as though to block her words from their ears. To them, she had crossed a line.

The high priest lifted his staff, and the hall fell silent again. His voice dropped, weighty and final:

“The gods demand a sign. The union of the eldest daughter and her brother. From this union must come a pure child, consecrated, who will bear the kingdom’s salvation.”

Whispers rippled:

“Perhaps they’re right…”

“A sacred child—that’s what we need…”

“The people would believe…”

Merit’s throat clenched. She tried to speak, but her voice was drowned in the swell. Already she saw in the priests’ eyes that her reason slid off them like water off stone. To refuse was, in their minds, to defy the gods themselves.

Beside her, Nakht stayed silent, unmoving, his gaze unfocused. The more she looked at him, the deeper the pit grew under her feet.

“You think this will save our city? A forced union? That will not bring back the Nile’s flood! A marriage will not feed the starving!”

Outrage flared instantly.

“Silence!” a priest barked, face hard.

“You dare speak so of the gods?” another cried.

Their voices carried the weight of offense, as if she hadn’t just denied their custom but spat at Amon himself.

Merit did not waver. “You invoke a law buried for generations, a relic. And you think to wield it again? This is your answer to tragedy?”

The uproar swelled again. Some courtiers leaned close, whispering that the princess spoke like a heretic. She felt the assembly slipping through her fingers. The more she stood on reason, the more isolated she became.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

The high priest’s staff struck the stone. The sound chilled the room.

“Enough.” His voice rose, relentless. “The gods demand a sign. Without it, the Nile will remain barren. The sacred union of the eldest and her brother is necessary. From this union will come a pure heir, consecrated, who alone will bring salvation and restore the waters.”

The word waters seemed to vibrate in the air. In every mind, the image was clear: a child as offering, a child as pledge, a child to bring the Nile’s return.

Merit raised her hands, almost pleading. “No! You turn away from the truth! Dragging up an old, dusty law will not bring the flood back!”

But her words fell into a frozen silence. Several priests already shook their heads, faces hardened with indignation. To them, she was no longer opposing a decision; she was opposing the gods.

The high priest lifted his head, his voice thunderous:

“We have decided. At dawn, the people will gather. We will proclaim the return of the sacred union. We will announce the coming of a pure heir, and we will give the gods what they demand. Only then will the waters flow again, and Kemet will be saved.”

Merit clutched her mouth, suffocating. She turned to her brother, her eyes wide with terror.

“Nakht! Tell them! You know this isn’t the answer!”

Nakht slowly raised his head. His face was still streaked with tears, but in his eyes glimmered something else. Merit thought, for one fragile second, that he would speak, that he would stop this madness.

“Nakht…” she whispered, desperate.

Then his lips curved. A thin smile, cold, almost curious. His gaze swept her from head to toe, then locked with hers again.

Merit staggered back a step, breath stolen. This wasn’t the fragile boy she had just held. Silence thickened in the hall. And in that silence, Nakht smiled again—simple, almost natural. A smile that had no place here, not in this moment.