A flash of light erupted in the darkness, illuminating the stark, cavernous training room.

  The air was thick with the scent of ozone and the faint metallic tang of energy weapons. On one side of the room, a pulse of golden energy surged forward, its trajectory wild and uncontrolled. Sobek stood motionless, his expression calm and calculating, as the energy bolt streaked past him, missing him by mere inches. Had he moved, even slightly, it would have struck him. But Sobek did not flinch. He had anticipated its path the moment it was fired.

  He wore basic armor, its design utilitarian yet elegant, the faint glow of naquadah veins running through its surface. In his hands, he gripped a staff weapon, its weight familiar and reassuring. Across the room, two Jaffa warriors charged toward him, their armor clanking with each step, their faces set in grim determination. Sobek could feel the tension in the air, the unspoken hesitation in their movements. They were reluctant to spar with him, their loyalty warring with their fear of harming their god. But Sobek had given them no choice. His orders were absolute.

  The first Jaffa swung his staff in a wide arc, the weapon humming with energy. Sobek sidestepped the blow with ease, his movements fluid and precise. The second Jaffa lunged forward, aiming a thrust at Sobek’s midsection. Sobek parried the strike with a flick of his wrist, the clash of staffs sending sparks flying. He countered with a swift, controlled strike, the blunt end of his staff connecting with the Jaffa’s chest and sending him stumbling backward.

  Sobek could feel the need for training, not just for himself but for all Goa’uld. It was a sad truth that many of his kind, despite their long lives, succumbed to sloth and arrogance. They relied too heavily on their technology and their Jaffa, forgetting the importance of physical prowess and discipline. Sobek would not make that mistake. In the TV show he had once watched, the Goa’uld were often depicted as incompetent, their flaws exaggerated for the sake of drama. But this universe, while similar in many ways, was different. The small differences stacked up, and Sobek knew that survival here would require more than just cunning and technology.

  The warriors regrouped, their movements more cautious now. Sobek could see the doubt in their eyes, the fear of failure. He pressed the attack, his staff a blur of motion as he drove them back. The sound of clashing weapons echoed through the room, a symphony of combat that Sobek found oddly soothing. This was where he belonged, in the heat of battle, testing his limits and honing his skills.

  After what felt like an eternity, Sobek called a halt to the sparring session. The Jaffa bowed deeply, their relief palpable, before retreating to the edges of the room. Sobek wiped the sweat from his brow, his chest rising and falling with the exertion. He turned to Hana, one of his attendants, who stood nearby with a towel in hand. She was a slight figure, her eyes downcast as she approached him.

  “Hana,” Sobek said, his voice firm but not unkind. “I find it unnecessary for you to constantly be looking at your feet. I wish to be able to read the faces of those I am speaking to.”

  Hana jumped slightly, her eyes flicking up to meet his for the briefest of moments before darting away again. “Apologies, Lord Sobek. I will do better.”

  Sobek nodded, satisfied. “Tell Karri that as well. I will not tolerate timidity in my court.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “As you command, my lord,” Hana replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

  As Sobek finished cleaning up, the attendants moved around him with practiced efficiency, their movements silent and precise. The training room was a place of order and discipline, a reflection of Sobek’s own philosophy. But even here, the weight of his responsibilities pressed down on him. He could not afford to falter, not now.

  A soft chime echoed through the room, and a holographic projection flickered to life above the central orb. The face of one of Sobek’s advisors appeared, his expression grave. “Lord Sobek, Mistress Hathor is requesting your audience. She asked for you to contact her immediately.”

  Sobek closed his eyes, a faint sigh escaping his lips. The time had come. Humanity had defeated Ra, and the fragile peace that had held the System Lords in check was crumbling. The galaxy was on the brink of chaos, and Sobek knew that the coming days would test him like never before.

  The throne room was empty when Sobek arrived, its grandeur a stark contrast to the simplicity of the training room. The walls were adorned with intricate carvings depicting the triumphs of the Goa’uld, their glory immortalized in stone. The throne itself was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, its surface inlaid with naquadah and precious gems. Sobek sat down, the weight of his position settling heavily on his shoulders.

  He activated the communication screen, and the image of Hathor appeared before him. She was as radiant as ever, her beauty masking the cold, calculating mind beneath. But there was a tension in her eyes, a flicker of unease that Sobek did not miss.

  “My dear Sobek,” Hathor began, her voice smooth and melodic. “You have been born into poor timing.”

  Sobek feigned ignorance, his face a mask of confusion. “What is going on, my Queen?”

  Hathor’s expression darkened. “Ra has perished. The galaxy is about to see civil war. The other System Lords have agreed not to directly attack each other’s territory, but they will use minor System Lords to do their bidding.”

  Sobek tapped his finger on his jaw, his mind racing. “This, I presume, means I am considered vulnerable?”

  “Yes,” Hathor replied, her tone sharp. “While they won’t fly fleets to attack, they will begin to use Stargates to invade territory. You must be prepared.”

  Hathor pinched the bridge of her nose, a rare display of frustration. “It is vital we seize on this chaos and expand my territory. Under normal circumstances, I would wait a decade before asking this of you. However, I need you to prepare warriors to attack two of the surrounding minor lords. Once you defeat them, do with them as you wish.”

  “Whom am I to fight?” Sobek asked, his voice steady.

  “Wu Ren and Jakkan,” Hathor replied. “Both are minor lords, unaffiliated with the other System Lords. They were previously protected by Ra, but now that he is gone, they no longer have any reason to hold back or be protected.”

  Sobek nodded, his mind already formulating a plan. “As you wish. I will see to it and not disappoint you.”

  Hathor’s gaze hardened. “See to it that you don’t.”

  The screen flashed, and her image disappeared, leaving Sobek alone in the throne room. He leaned back, his frown deepening. The two nearest System Lords were formidable, and the window of opportunity was short. In about a year, several System Lords would fall to the humans of Earth, and the council would agree to negotiations with the Asgardians—a mistake that would seal the fate of the empire.

  Sobek clenched his fists, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him. He had to act quickly. His position was precarious, and the stakes were higher than ever. Plans needed to accelerate, and Sobek knew that failure was not an option. The galaxy was changing, and Sobek would either rise to meet the challenge or be consumed by it.