Hathor reclined against her plush sofa, her delicate fingers tracing the edge of the ornate chalice in her hand. The liquid inside shimmered like liquid gold, but her mind was far from the drink. It lingered on the conversation she had just concluded with Sobek. He was different, she mused—calculating, ambitious, and oddly unpredictable. Not necessarily a threat, but not entirely comfortable either. For a Goa'uld, unpredictability was both a virtue and a potential liability.

  Setting the chalice down with an audible clink, she rose to her feet. Her graceful movements were deliberate, as if she were carefully controlling each step. She snapped her fingers, the sound sharp and commanding in the quiet of the room. Immediately, attendants dressed in flowing garments appeared from the shadows of her grand chamber, their heads bowed low in deference.

  “See that Sobek’s requests are fulfilled today,” she commanded, her voice rich and commanding yet with a sultry undertone that seemed almost effortless. The attendants bowed even lower, murmuring their acknowledgments before hurrying off to carry out her orders.

  Hathor walked with languid grace toward the grand open balcony that overlooked her domain. The view before her was breathtaking. The vast city stretched far into the horizon, a testament to her power and influence. Towering spires of gold and silver gleamed in the sun, their designs intricate and regal. A high, impenetrable wall separated the grand palaces of the Goa'uld from the sprawling city of her subjects. This was her kingdom, and she ruled it with an iron grip. Her pheromones ensured the unwavering loyalty of the male population, and the women posed no threat of rebellion. It was a perfect system—or so it seemed.

  As she gazed over her city, the faint hum of its energy shields and the distant chants of reverence from the masses below reached her ears. She allowed herself a faint smile, her beauty both enchanting and unnerving. Hathor’s control was absolute, even under Ra’s shadow.

  Ra. The thought of her consort sent a spark of irritation through her. He was powerful, ancient, and maddeningly secure in his dominance. His empire dwarfed those of the other System Lords combined, and his demands for her to relinquish her autonomy in favor of his rule had grown increasingly insistent over the centuries. But Hathor had always resisted. Her territory, her independence—they were her legacy, her birthright. Yet, Ra’s death—or rather her deep-seated desire for his demise—lingered in her thoughts like a tantalizing possibility, a forbidden fruit she longed to taste.

  Turning away from the balcony, her gaze fell on the imposing figures of her guards. They stood in gleaming, snake-like armor, their faces obscured behind intimidating helmets that struck fear into any who dared oppose her. The Jaffa were warriors without equal, living centuries and serving with unyielding loyalty. Yet, in her complacency, Hathor had never truly relied on combat. Her pheromones had always ensured her safety and control.

  But Sobek...

  There was something about him that ignited a flicker of unease and excitement. He was ambitious, yes, but his ambition was tempered by an unsettling patience. He seemed to see the galaxy not as it was, but as it could be, and that was dangerous. Perhaps it was time for her to reassess her apathy. To ensure her throne remained unshakable, she would need to be more than beautiful, more than commanding—she would need to be prepared.

  “Captain,” she called, her voice soft yet unmistakably authoritative.

  The captain of her guard stepped forward, his armor gleaming under the light of the setting sun.

  “Prepare combat training gear for me. I find myself bored and have a desire to learn something new.”

  The captain bowed deeply, his helmeted face unreadable, before departing to carry out her orders.

  Hathor lingered on the balcony for a moment longer, her thoughts shifting back to Sobek. He had potential—of that, she was certain. But potential could cut both ways.

  With a wave of her hand, she dismissed the lingering attendants and made her way to her private chambers. Her gown, long and flowing, trailed behind her as she walked. For the first time in centuries, she allowed herself to consider the possibility of taking a more active role in her dominion. Sobek’s fire had lit her own, and she intended to see where it led.

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  Hana and Karri stood silently in the private chambers of Lord Sobek, the child of a god and the lord of their domain. The air within the room was thick with reverence, almost tangible in its intensity. The walls were adorned with intricate carvings that depicted Sobek’s lineage and foretold of his future conquests. They were as much a reflection of his power as they were of his divinity. Both women had been handpicked by Lady Hathor herself to serve Sobek—a decision that had initially left them devastated. To be dismissed by their goddess felt like abandonment, a loss of purpose they had once held sacred.

  Yet, it had taken only days under Sobek’s rule for their hearts to change.

  Hana’s admiration had grown with every calculated word, every decision he made with precision and fairness. His leadership was neither impulsive nor merciful—it was a model of perfect balance. When Sobek decreed they would be granted the honor of using his personal sarcophagus—a privilege beyond imagining—Hana had struggled to keep her composure.

  Even when the chamber was theirs to use, she hesitated at first, her emotions overwhelming her. She had wept softly, overwhelmed by the enormity of the honor. It was Karri who had calmed her, her quiet presence acting as an anchor.

  “The gods favor us,” Hana whispered, her voice trembling with a mixture of awe and disbelief, as she stood before the golden device. The sarcophagus gleamed softly in the dim light, as if it were a living entity itself, imbued with the very essence of the divine.

  Karri, ever shy and reserved, nodded. “He is magnanimous and glorious,” she said softly, her voice trembling with the weight of her words. A glance around the room preceded her final, whispered admission. “And...handsome.”

  Hana gave no verbal response but nodded in agreement, her eyes lingering on Karri before returning to the sarcophagus.

  When they finally laid down within the sarcophagus, its inner mechanisms hummed to life. The moment the device sealed shut, Hana felt an immense wave of fatigue wash over her, followed by a deep sense of vitality. Her body and mind seemed to float, consciousness slipping away into darkness, where she dreamed of golden light and whispered blessings, as if the very fabric of the universe itself had embraced her in its arms.

  The following morning, the sarcophagus opened with a soft, melodic hum. Hana’s eyes fluttered open, her body suffused with a euphoric sensation. For a moment, she felt almost weightless, as though her very soul had been touched by divinity. Her skin glowed with a radiance that felt unnatural, and her senses were heightened to an almost painful degree.

  “The blessing of Lord Sobek,” she murmured, her voice barely more than a breath as she stepped out, her movements graceful, almost instinctive. Each step felt like a dance, her body filled with energy she had never known.

  Karri followed, the same quiet awe etched on her features. Together, they straightened their dresses and fixed their appearances in a polished bronze mirror. Hana’s reddish-brown hair gleamed in the light of the chamber as she smoothed it with practiced hands, admiring the way it shimmered as if kissed by the very sun.

  Their preparations were just in time, for moments later, Sobek entered. His presence filled the room, commanding attention without a single word. The air seemed to grow heavier in his wake, charged with the raw power of his being. His dark hair, piercing teal eyes, and regal demeanor left no doubt that he was a god among men.

  “Follow me,” he said simply, his voice calm but firm.

  Hana and Karri bowed low and obeyed, their hearts pounding in unison. As they walked through the grand halls of the pyramid, Sobek’s deep voice broke the silence.

  “How do you feel?” he asked, glancing at Hana.

  Hana’s heart skipped a beat at the question, but she quickly recovered. “I feel blessed, my lord,” she said, bowing her head. “Your generosity knows no bounds. I am forever grateful for the honor you have given us.”

  Sobek waved off her thanks with a casual motion. “Those who show their devotion deserve reward,” he replied, his tone matter-of-fact, as though such acts of grace were merely his nature.

  They reached the heart of the pyramid complex, where the great Stargate stood—a monumental ring of stone and metal, its surface etched with glyphs that glowed faintly in the dim light. The Stargate was an awe-inspiring sight, its size and majesty a constant reminder of the power that lay within. Hana’s breath caught in her throat at the sight, her mind racing to comprehend the vastness of what she was witnessing.

  The Stargate was a portal to the heavens themselves, a bridge that allowed the gods to traverse the stars. She did not understand its workings, nor the vast powers wielded by the Goa’uld masters, but she did not need to. To Hana, the gods were living miracles, their mere presence proof of their divinity.

  As Sobek paused to oversee the activity around the Stargate, Hana found herself stealing glances at him. His sharp profile, his commanding stance—it was as though he embodied the ideals of the gods themselves. In that moment, she silently vowed that she would serve him until her dying breath.

  Even if it meant standing against all the gods of the heavens, her loyalty would belong to Lord Sobek alone.