The Egyptian sun blazed over the waters of the Nile, casting golden reflections that danced upon the river’s gentle waves. The priests moved around the young Amon-Dai, chanting purification hymns and invoking the names of the gods.

  ?Your Majesty, may the gods guide you into their realm? declared Aken, the vizier.

  The prince stepped forward toward the sacred river, the warm wind caressing his bare skin. Every step into the water felt like an approach to a destiny he had long foreseen—one he never expected to reach so soon.

  As he entered the Nile’s embrace, the cool touch of the water climbed from his ankles to his waist, then up to his chest. It was sacred water, Hapi’s gift, a symbol of life and purity. To immerse himself in it meant surrendering to the gods’ will, cleansing himself of his past. And yet, Amon-Dai felt a stain upon his soul—one that no water could wash away.

  He felt trapped in a dream, as though everything had happened too fast.

  Only days before, his father, Pharaoh Khem-Dai, still sat on the throne. His presence loomed like a monolithic shadow, his gaze filled with hatred, his rage swelling the veins in his neck as he screamed at his son.

  From the earliest years of Amon-Dai’s life, he had been subjected to his father’s wrath. Khem-Dai feared him, feared the mere existence of a son who might eclipse him. And he was right. Amon-Dai was everything his father could never be.

  His father’s envy bled into every word, every blow. He saw Amon-Dai’s intelligence as a threat, his ability to win the love of the people as a danger. Each day, he tried to break him, to extinguish a flame he could not control. Yet, all he did was make it burn brighter.

  There was no love between them—only contempt. And Amon-Dai knew that one day, one of them would fall.

  That night, beneath a moonless sky, Khem-Dai raised his hand to strike him, just as he had countless times before. But this time, Amon-Dai felt no fear, no hesitation. He simply knew—his father would never raise that hand again.

  He called for Seheru, his pet lion, a gift from Khem-Dai himself.

  When Amon-Dai had first received the beast, he had been shocked. It was the only act of kindness his father had ever shown him. Yet, it did not take him long to realize that this was no gesture of affection—it was a means to an end, a way to dispose of an unwanted son through a creature of the wild.

  It was ironic. Years later, the same lion would be the instrument of Khem-Dai’s end. But fate cannot be altered—it can only be delayed.

  There were others in the chamber that night—servants, guards, priests.

  Amon-Dai looked at them, but none moved. No one lifted a hand to stop what they all knew was about to happen.

  The lion pounced, its fangs sinking deep into the flesh of the pharaoh.

  Despite the screams, despite the blood spilling onto the stone floor, despite the sickening sound of bones crushed beneath the beast’s mighty jaws—no one intervened.

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  And in that moment, Amon-Dai understood. It had all been planned. Khem-Dai was no longer useful, no longer controllable.

  They had allowed this to happen because Amon-Dai was young, moldable—an easy pawn for them to manipulate.

  Never.

  He would never be their tool. He would never allow it.

  The screams finally died, and Amon-Dai felt nothing.

  Power is never about emotion. There was no glory in his father’s death—only the removal of an obstacle from his path.

  Yet, he could not deny the truth—he had crossed a threshold. The hatred he had harbored for years had turned into action, and that action had brought him closer to a darkness he could not ignore, one that could never be erased.

  It was not just vengeance. It was something deeper—a sensation that power, once tasted in its rawest form, would never release him.

  Memories lingered like scars, woven into his flesh and bones. He wondered if the gods had seen the blood that stained his hands.

  Emerging from the waters of the Nile, he was greeted by the solemn chants of the priests and the heavy scent of incense.

  Smoke coiled around him like mist, and he felt the weight of the white robe draped over his shoulders—heavy like a chain woven from gold.

  He walked toward the temple as the priests continued their chants, their voices rising in a single, unified breath.

  The pounding of drums surrounded him, a rhythmic echo of destiny.

  One by one, the priests presented him with the flail and the crook—symbols of absolute power and protection. Amon-Dai felt their weight in his grasp, grounding him to the earth, reminding him that his existence was no longer his alone.

  The flail, rigid and coarse, embodied his authority—the punishment he could deliver.

  The crook, smooth and curved, signified guidance and the duty to shepherd his people.

  Then, Aken, the vizier, approached, carrying the double crown—the emblem of Upper and Lower Egypt united.

  Amon-Dai held his breath.

  That same crown had once rested upon Khem-Dai’s head and those of the many pharaohs before him. It bore the hopes and fears of an entire kingdom.

  At only eighteen years old, he was about to become Pharaoh—a god upon the earth.

  Aken seemed to read his thoughts. He had always been a guide, almost like the father Amon-Dai had never had. The prince respected him, was grateful for the times he had shielded him from Khem-Dai’s wrath.

  ?The gods are watching, my prince? Aken whispered.

  ?Then I’ll make sure to give them something worth watching? Amon-Dai replied, his voice laced with the confidence he had learned to wear like armor.

  The vizier smiled and pronounced his five royal names:

  Son of Osiris. Keeper of Maat’s order. Lord of justice. Defender of Egypt’s lands.

  Each name rang out like a seal, binding him to divinity, anchoring him to the kingdom’s destiny.

  Amon-Dai prepared to take the Pharaoh’s Oath.

  Gripping the flail and the crook, his gaze swept over the priests and nobles gathered before him.

  ?I swear? he declared, his voice steady, ?to uphold the order of Maat and protect the people of Egypt. I swear to rule with justice and safeguard their fate, as the gods safeguard mine?.

  A murmur of approval rippled through the ranks of priests.

  ?I am certain, my king, that you will show us much? Aken concluded with a respectful bow.

  The chants softened as the young Pharaoh was led toward the sanctum sanctorum—the sacred heart of the temple, where only the Pharaoh and the priests could tread.

  In the dimly lit chamber, torches flickered against the statues of the great gods—Osiris, his protector, alongside Horus, Ra, and Isis.

  Their stone gazes were cold and unmoving, yet Amon-Dai felt their presence, as if they stood in the room beside him.

  A priest approached, setting offerings of fruit, bread, and honey at the gods’ feet—a humble yet precious tribute, an appeal for their blessing.

  Amon-Dai closed his eyes in silent prayer. He knew that, from this moment forward, every step he took would be watched, judged, and measured by divine eyes.

  And then—a shiver ran down his spine.

  A vision struck him.

  He saw the sun swallowed by darkness, eclipsed by a black disc.

  When he opened his eyes, no one else seemed to have seen it.

  A message from the gods? A warning?

  Was he the black sun destined to cast shadows over Egypt?

  ?My lord… is everything in order?? Aken's voice pulled him back.

  The answer was slow in coming. ?Yes? he lied, though his skin was cold with sweat.

  He would keep this secret between himself and the gods. If they wished for others to know, they would reveal it in time.

  Masking his doubt, with his head held high and his expression unreadable, Amon-Dai stepped out of the sanctum to face his people.

  The drums thundered as he took his final steps toward the kingdom he now ruled.

  As he emerged, a roar of exultation erupted from the crowd. The people knelt, raised their arms in reverence.

  The crown gleamed in the sunlight, and Amon-Dai stood motionless.

  For the first time, he felt the true weight of their voices crashing over him.

  This was not just the beginning of a reign.

  It was the beginning of his path to immortality.