The air was thick with the perfume of night-blooming jasmine, its fragrance drifting through the winding gardens of Lord Menkara's estate. The sounds of the palace had long faded into silence, but Naiya could not sleep. Something tugged at her heart—a pull so strong, so persistent, that it compelled her to leave the safety of her chambers and slip into the quiet night like a whisper on the wind.
The moon hung high and full, casting silver ripples over the Nile's gentle waves. Naiya moved silently through the palace grounds, barefoot and cloaked in a soft linen shawl. Her heart was restless. No matter how much she tried to adapt, something inside her remained unsettled—like a string waiting to be plucked.
She reached the riverbank, where reeds rustled softly in the breeze, and the sky opened into a tapestry of stars. Her fingers trailed the edge of the water as she sat upon the same stone she had come to so many nights before. She whispered a prayer she didn't remember learning—an echo of another time, another soul. Maybe the stars would answer. Maybe the Nile would speak.
And then—behind her—a breath, a step.
She froze.
The soft sound of leather against stone echoed closer, measured and steady. She turned her head slowly, expecting a servant or perhaps Ramose returning early from his campaign.
But it wasn't Ramose.
A tall figure stood half-shrouded in the shadows of the fig trees. His armor was muted by a traveling cloak, and his face hidden beneath a hood. But even in the dark, Naiya felt it—something electric in the air. A hum against her skin. Her breath caught in her throat.
The man stepped forward into the moonlight.
Her eyes widened.
It was him.
The man from the marketplace—the one with eyes like sunlit amber, who had spoken to her as if he'd known her across lifetimes.
"Forgive me," he said, his voice low and rich with familiarity. "I didn't mean to startle you."
Naiya stood slowly, every nerve in her body alive with recognition. "You," she breathed. "From the market."
He removed his hood.
The moonlight caressed his face—sharpened cheekbones, a strong jaw, the scar just beneath his eye. Thut. Though she did not know his name, the sight of him made something deep within her tremble.
"I remembered you," he said, his eyes searching hers. "Even at the far ends of Egypt, with war at my heels and blood on my hands... I remembered you."
"I..." Naiya stammered. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."
"I wasn't sure I would either," he admitted, stepping closer. "But fate has its own way of weaving paths."
They stood inches apart, the night folding around them like a secret. The wind picked up, tousling her hair and lifting strands of his. They were caught in stillness, two souls staring into a mirror they didn't fully understand.
"Who are you?" she asked finally, voice barely a whisper.
His lips curved, faint but sad. "A soldier. A wanderer. A man too burdened with duty to have dreams... until now."
Naiya looked away, unsure of the sudden warmth in her chest. "You say it like we've met before."
"Perhaps we have," he said softly. "In another life."
A silence fell between them—one not of discomfort, but of awe.
Then—like a spell breaking—light shimmered briefly on the Nile's surface, dancing in colors Naiya had never seen before. The water seemed to glow for a heartbeat. Thut turned to it with surprise, as if sensing it too.
"What was that?" she asked, eyes wide.
He stepped to the edge of the river, crouching. "I don't know. But... it felt familiar."
Naiya joined him, and together they watched as the glow faded, leaving behind only stars.
Something ancient stirred in that moment—beneath the river, between the sand, above the heavens. Neither of them spoke again. Not yet. But a silent promise passed between them as they stood side by side.
The world around them did not change.
But something inside them had.