Chapter Text
High Priest Akhenaden walked through the sunlit corridors of the palace of the Kingdom of Khemet, several scrolls tucked under his arm, his expression as stern as it had been for the past few years. The palace servants whispered among themselves upon seeing the Pharaoh’s right hand pass by, especially after several days of public absence. Some sighed in relief—his return meant there were no new developments regarding their sovereign’s condition. Others, however, feared the worst, reading ill omens in the rigid mask he wore so often these days.
The country had been at war with the Libyans for years. The Libyan king’s constant attempts to seize Egypt’s lands, harvests, wealth, and trade routes had worn the nation thin. Almost every family had lost someone—a father, an uncle, a brother, a son, a grandfather. Attacks on distant villages and rural towns had become disturbingly common. Many innocent lives had been lost, civilians who had only wanted to tend their crops, herd their livestock, or fish in peace.
Their Pharaoh, wise and compassionate, had always sought peaceful solutions. But the Libyan king was not interested in peace—he only saw weakness in Egypt’s patience, in the Pharaoh’s declining health, and smelled opportunity. Conquering all of Akhenamkhanen’s kingdom was too tempting for him to consider any diplomatic gesture.
The worst part was that after so many years of war, the Pharaoh’s health had begun to deteriorate rapidly. It all started with the disease that struck Egypt during the dry season each year. He had spent weeks bedridden with high fevers, leaving his royal duties to his brother. Through exhausting care and treatment from the Court’s healers, Akhenamkhanen had recovered—but his strength never truly returned. Though still able to live relatively normally, those closest to him could see the toll illness had taken. His limbs didn’t respond the same way. Tasks like wielding a sword, holding a shield, or drawing a bow had become difficult, and he increasingly delegated military matters to his most faithful advisor—his own brother—despite Akhenaden no longer being a young man.
Still, the priest had military training from his youth and was capable of shouldering the burden. And for that, he was grateful. The more he took on, the more the Pharaoh could rest.
Until recently, the Pharaoh and his brother had remained secluded in the royal chambers, officially to plan the next move against the Libyans. But after being in quarantine for so long, rumors spread quickly—and they were far from encouraging. People began to worry even more when they realized that, upon finally showing himself again, Akhenaden was not accompanied by the Pharaoh as he usually was. He had only emerged to collect scrolls from the priests’ archive and returned to the royal quarters without speaking to anyone.
This stirred the rumor mill even more. Whispers spread quickly throughout the palace and beyond—some going as far as to say the Pharaoh was near death, and that the young heir would soon need to take the throne. That was terrifying. The crown prince was only eight years old. Who would guide him when the Pharaoh passed? His mother had died bringing him into the world… Would Akhenaden take on the task?
These thoughts plagued the people. But for the priest, there was no room to dwell on rumor or panic. His only focus was to keep his brother stable—for the good of them all. The Pharaoh’s condition was concerning, yes, but he was still strong, and the treatments from the healing team, led by the venerable priest Shimon, had worked wonders. Akhenamkhanen still had years ahead of him—time enough to raise and train his son. Akhenaden would ensure that. He was committed to grooming his nephew to become a worthy heir so that, when the time came, his brother could leave this world in peace.
The throne’s future was secure.
But in the present... they still had to deal with the damned Libyans.
Peace offerings, gifts, slaves, spices, women—none of it had sufficed. The Libyan king had seen mercy as weakness, interpreted illness as frailty, and grew bold, thinking the kingdom ripe for the taking. But he’d forgotten who he was dealing with.
Akhenamkhanen was a man of peace, yes—but he had also trained as a warrior. He had led battles himself, earned land and treasure through strategy, strength, and the devotion he inspired in his men. He had fought beside them, not behind them, and his people would follow him even now, scarred and weary as he was.
His people loved him. His soldiers adored him. And he would do anything for them.
The Libyans had forgotten that.
Sighing under the weight of war, Akhenaden stopped before the grand doors of the Pharaoh’s chambers. For a moment, he hesitated. Was it the right time to disturb him? He might be resting. But in the end, he reminded himself of what mattered.
“This is too important. He ordered it himself.”
He knocked twice, and upon hearing the call from within, pushed open the heavy doors and entered—only to freeze at the sight that greeted him.
His brother sat at the window, gazing out over the great city he ruled. Beyond it stretched the desert dunes that rolled into the horizon. The image sent a shiver through the priest’s spine. It reminded him of their mother, the former Queen Mother, a virtuous and stern woman who had taught them that their power existed only to serve the people.
She used to make them look out at the capital—healthy, fed, thriving—and remind them that their destiny was to protect that prosperity, to carry on their father’s legacy.
Akhenaden wondered if his brother had done the same with little Atem.
He was certain he had.
“Pharaoh, everything is ready. We are only waiting for your signal,” Akhenaden announced, bowing his head respectfully.
The aged Pharaoh Akhenamkhanen turned away from the window, from the vast, glorious city under his rule, and looked at his brother with a calm expression filled with affection.
“Akhenaden, we’re alone. There’s no need to call me ‘Pharaoh’ right now. Save the formality for the public,” he said with a faint smile. “And please, remove your hood. I’d rather speak face to face.”
The priest obeyed, lowering his hood to reveal the socket where the Millennium Eye was embedded—an ancient artifact that could see all. Sometimes a curse, sometimes an honor too heavy to bear. Akhenamkhanen was the only one he ever revealed his full face to in private.
“My brother,” the priest began, his tone softer now that they spoke as equals, “everything is ready for the battle. The soldiers are supplied, weapons sharpened, the horses in prime condition. But I must ask… are you certain about bringing Atem? Forgive my boldness, but the prince is still too young to be involved in warfare. He hasn't completed the necessary combat training.”
Akhenamkhanen smiled faintly at his brother’s concern. Atem was his nephew, his future Pharaoh. Akhenaden’s worry was genuine.
“I have no intention of taking my son to the front lines. I still have enough clarity to know I must keep my heir safe.”
“Then why bring him to the battlefield at all?”
“My son is young, yes. But neither you nor I know how much time I have left. If my passing comes before he is ready to rule alone, it is my duty to prepare him as best I can, and as quickly as I must. I need to show him the harshest part of leadership—to see soldiers laying down their lives for me and for him, to witness the healers fighting to save the wounded, to understand what happens to those who fall into enemy hands... Atem must see it, feel it. He must want to protect his people... but he must also learn that battle is always the last resort.”
“That’s why you chose this particular battle?”
“It will be an easy one,” he sighed, not proudly. “We outnumber them, and we outmatch them. This won’t win the war, but it will serve to lay the foundation for Atem’s future education. It’s a controlled setting, just enough for him to understand the stakes.”
Akhenaden nodded with a quiet sigh. He understood all too well. It was already painful enough to prepare his own son for battle, and now his little nephew would face the same. Seth had just turned ten—closer to manhood than to childhood—but Atem… Atem was still so young.
“I think it would be wise to bring Mahad with us,” Akhenaden offered, thinking of the older boy who was so devoted to the prince. “He’s older, and in a few years he’ll finish his training to become a priest. I’d feel more at ease knowing someone like him is watching over Atem while we manage the operation. We won’t have much time to keep our eyes on the children ourselves…”
“And what about bringing Mana?”
“Mana? She’s even younger than Atem!” Akhenaden exclaimed, thinking of the cheerful five-year-old girl who often ran after the prince. The daughter of farmers, brought to the palace after her magical potential was discovered.
“Mana is no ordinary child, brother,” Akhenamkhanen smiled. “She will one day be Atem’s court magician. She’s still small, yes, but she’ll be safe within the camp. And as you said, Mahad will be watching over them.”
“Mahad isn’t a nursemaid,” Akhenaden grumbled, his eye twitching.
“Mana will soon begin her magical studies in earnest, and Mahad will likely be her teacher when the time comes. He’ll be a priest by then, with experience. It makes sense that they begin bonding early. Who knows—perhaps Mahad or even Seth will take her as a wife someday. Better that they learn to work together from now.”
“I still think bringing Atem and Mana is risky...”
“Those youths have so much potential,” the Pharaoh said with pride. “Mahad and Mana will make a fine priest and magician. And Atem... could not ask for better companions. And of course, he’ll also have the best uncle to guide him to become a great Pharaoh…”
Akhenaden blushed and quickly raised his hood again to hide it, making his brother chuckle.
“Say what you want, but you still have many springs ahead of you,” Akhenaden countered. “I won’t allow you to join Ra before your time. Focus on raising your son right so I don’t have to do it myself. I have enough on my hands with training my own child—I don’t need yours added to my list.”
“Akhenaden...” the Pharaoh murmured, deeply moved by his brother’s loyalty.
Sometimes, Akhenamkhanen wondered whether their father, the previous Pharaoh, had made a mistake by denying Akhenaden the throne. After all, he was the firstborn. But everything had changed the day Akhenaden lost his eye in battle at age seventeen. The priests had predicted he would not survive. Their father, fearing the worst, had named Akhenamkhanen—the younger twin—as the new heir.
Against all odds, Akhenaden lived.
He recovered with the help of the High Priestess Nut. But the eye was lost forever, and he had to adjust to life with only one. Grateful to be alive, yes—but bitter.
When Akhenamkhanen tried to ask their father to reinstate Akhenaden as heir, the old Pharaoh refused. A Pharaoh could not go to battle blind on one side. Instead, he offered Akhenaden a place among the priests. It was meant as an honor, but Akhenaden saw it as humiliation.
He had been told since birth that he would be Pharaoh. He trained, he fought, he sacrificed. And in the end, it seemed that a whole lifetime of preparation had meant nothing.
He felt betrayed. Cast aside. Replaced.
His relationship with his twin broke down… until Nut intervened.
With her guidance, Akhenaden found new purpose in priesthood. He fell in love with knowledge. In time, he reconciled with his brother and even fell in love with Nut herself, marrying her with the Pharaoh’s blessing. Not long after, Nut gave birth to their son, Seth.
“There will be civilians in the coming battle,” Akhenaden said, pulling his brother back from his thoughts. “What do you want us to do with them?”
“There’s no need for bloodshed,” the Pharaoh answered quickly. “If we encounter civilians, we take them alive. Bring them to the palace—we’ll give them a purpose here. Let the Libyans see we are serious.”
“You know they’ll resist, don’t you?” Akhenaden warned. “We won’t be able to take them all alive.”
The Pharaoh was silent for a few seconds.
“I know. Do what you must. But if there’s a chance to spare them, take it.”
Just then, the door to the royal chambers opened. Both brothers turned to see who dared to enter without permission—only to find a sleepy child with tricolored hair peeking through the doorway.
“Father?” came the soft voice of the young prince. “Greetings, venerable uncle,” he added upon seeing Akhenaden.
“Atem? What are you doing here?” the Pharaoh asked as his son rubbed one of his crimson eyes, hair as wild as ever—a clear inheritance from his mother, the late Royal Wife Bast.
Akhenamkhanen sighed, heart tightening at the memory of her.
The Pharaoh had always been mesmerized by Bast’s tricolored hair, a constant reminder of the woman who had been both his beloved wife and the mother of his heir. He often regretted the court protocol forcing her to wear a black wig during public appearances. But when she let her wild mane loose, the Pharaoh lost himself completely, forgetting his burdens and roles.
She was a rare woman—young but strong, fiercely devoted to the people. She did not hesitate to raise her voice when injustice occurred, whether it was a child going hungry or a denied opportunity to learn a trade. She danced, played instruments for both court and commoners, and ruled with a fiery spirit that sometimes caused friction but earned her genuine love from the people.
Akhenamkhanen fondly recalled how furious he was when that wild princess once scolded him openly—unafraid of rank, age, or the presence of the mortal god of Egypt himself. Yet, despite her rebellious nature and frequent antics, he fell utterly in love with her.
To everyone else, it was a surprise that this spirited princess was chosen—not as a concubine as planned—but as the Royal Wife and mother of the heir. And as a queen, she was invaluable.
Bast never hesitated to punish the Pharaoh for irresponsibility, and their shared fierce dedication to their people created a bond that even death could not sever.
Losing Bast had nearly broken Akhenamkhanen’s will to live. He denied her death for a long time until his brother Akhenaden had to remind him—through harsh words and even blows—that he had a son to raise. A son and a nation depending on him. Bast would never forgive him if he failed his duties, and she would surely deny him entrance to Ra’s realm.
Atem bore his mother’s features—the tricolor hair and the crimson eyes—a constant reminder of her. Akhenamkhanen forced himself to focus again. Bast would never forgive neglect. He was Pharaoh; he must rise above grief.
“Amón has already risen above the horizon,” the young prince said, interrupting his father’s thoughts. “You told me when Amón rose, I should be awake and ready to go to the camp with you, didn’t you?”
“No, Atem, you did well. I barely noticed the sun rising,” his father smiled. “Do you remember what we talked about yesterday?”
“It’s not a pleasure trip,” Atem repeated firmly what his father had told him. “You are taking me to see how the warriors work, how the healers work, and that I must never leave my uncle’s side.”
The Pharaoh nodded, pleased his son remembered the lesson.
“Akhenaden, please accompany Atem to the servants so they can prepare him. I want him, Mahad, and Mana ready before breakfast. We must start before Ra reaches his zenith.”
“Understood, my Pharaoh,” Akhenaden bowed. “My prince,” he gestured toward the door for Atem to follow.
“I’ll see you at breakfast, Atem,” the Pharaoh said. The boy returned the respectful gesture before leaving.
Alone, the Pharaoh sighed, gazing once more at his city and the endless desert dunes, his mind drifting to his beloved Bast. He prayed that wherever she was, she was watching over their son.
/*/*/*/*/*/*/
In Libya, a small farming village buzzed with activity. It was harvest day after a good year for the crops. People gathered vegetables and fruits at their peak, pulled weeds that threatened their food supply, while dogs chased off desert hunters. The men prepared new plots for planting, and the women focused on collecting the harvest. The women’s children helped when they could, but the youngest were too small for hard work, so the adults paid little attention to them. Naturally, the children grew bored watching their parents toil and preferred to sneak away to play on their own whenever they could escape the watchful eyes of their mothers and older sisters.
One woman had just stepped out of her home after storing a generous supply of grains inside. She was young, barely in her twenties, still carrying some youthful features that refused to leave her face. But it was not her youth that drew attention—it was her unusual appearance. Any Libyan would notice at once the peculiar traits she possessed, something no native had unless they were gravely ill. Her skin was so pale it looked bathed in camel’s milk, her hair was a light chestnut color barely grazing her shoulders, and her eyes were almond-shaped with irises the color of amethysts.
But the most surprising thing was that she was not unique. Years ago, she had arrived in the village along with a group of people who looked like her—mostly women with small children, some even pregnant, and a few men—all showing signs of dehydration and hunger. No one knew where they had come from, and the only thing they could gather from them was that they spoke a language no one recognized. They had crossed the vast ocean from distant lands, a journey that claimed many lives.
Once the villagers were sure they posed no threat, they welcomed the newcomers, giving them land and shelter. In return, the strangers agreed to work hard in the fields. Farm work was tough, and extra hands were always welcome. Everyone accepted gladly.
The young woman adjusted the heavy basket on her back and returned to her spot to pick some vegetables for the bazaar. But soon, she realized something was missing. She stood upright, scanning around to find what she sought. She noticed tall grasses behind her moving vigorously, accompanied by the sound of children's laughter, which made her smile softly. The woman followed the motion carefully, pretending to be absorbed in her work, deliberately turning her back on the figure stalking her.
“Three…” the woman murmured, hearing more movement in the grass. “…two…one…”
“I GOT YOU!” shouted a small voice from the bushes. The woman quickly stepped aside, causing the child to fall face-first onto a mound of weeds she had been pulling from the soil.
She couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the confused look on her son’s face. He was barely three years old and lay sprawled on the weeds as if he couldn’t understand what had gone wrong with his foolproof ambush plan. Like his mother, the boy had striking features that made him stand out among the Libyans. His spiky tricolor hair and large, expressive amethyst eyes were even more noticeable than his mother’s, and his skin was paler.
Though he didn’t tan like a Libyan child, the young mother spent hours under the sun working, and her skin showed a slight bronze tone. But her son, who had only recently begun accompanying her in the fields and had been mostly sheltered indoors by his grandfather, was noticeably paler.
At some point, like all the other children, the boy had grown bored of watching his mother work. He slipped away to find some fun. He spotted other children hiding in the tall grass and decided to scare his mother by pretending to be a wild animal, rushing to imitate the others.
But for some reason, his plan failed spectacularly and he ended up with his head buried in the weeds. The fall didn’t upset him long—he found it far more fun than scaring his mother. He dug through the weeds until only his messy head showed, smiling happily while his mother debated whether to scold him or melt from the cuteness of the scene.
Only when she noticed the others watching did she remember she needed to get back to work. Carefully, she picked up her little boy from the mound, lifting him into her arms.
“Yugi, you mustn’t play there. There could be scorpions hiding. If one stings you, it won’t be fun for anyone,” she scolded gently, rubbing her nose against his. The boy could do nothing but giggle at his mother’s affection.
“If a scorpion stings me, we’ll ask Kami-sama to heal me,” the innocent child said with a smile as if it was the solution to all the world’s problems, sending a chill down his mother’s spine.
She covered his mouth quickly, glancing nervously around to see if any women had overheard, but everyone else was too focused on their tasks. The woman, named Shiori, knelt beside her little treasure to whisper warnings out of earshot.
“Yugi, what did I tell you? Don’t mention Kami-sama outside the house,” she admonished, worried that her son might say inappropriate things to the Libyan villagers.
“It’s because of your stubborn grandfather! I told him not to fill your head with controversial ideas!”
“But why? Grandpa says Kami-sama is watching over us from the sky, that he is kind to us. Why is it wrong to talk about him?”
Shiori didn’t know how to answer. How do you explain to a three-year-old that mentioning gods outside the family home is disrespectful and could bring exile? She herself still venerated Kami-sama but worried her son’s innocence might cause trouble. She wanted to raise him like any Libyan child—after all, he was born here—but his appearance was so different, and his close bond with his grandfather, who taught him to love his true homeland, left her unsure how to proceed.
If only Yugi’s father were alive. He would have helped decide what was best. But sadly, her husband died of heatstroke while wandering the desert in search of help, leaving her to lean on her father-in-law as she neared childbirth. They left her husband’s body exposed to the elements, alone and unburied, prey for carnivores.
She could not stop the old man from telling Yugi about his homeland, their customs, their god, and his roots. By doing so, he also told stories of ancestors, starting with the boy’s late father, who died seeking a safe place for his son’s birth.
But she had to try to convince Yugi that these things should stay inside the family. He could share them with the other newcomers but better keep appearances with the Libyans out of respect for a culture that was not theirs.
“Yugi, just trust me and don’t mention Kami-sama outside the house. Do you want to make others angry?”
“Why would they be angry?”
“Answer me, Yugi. Do you want others to be angry with you?”
The boy misunderstood his mother’s anxious expression for anger. Worried about being scolded without knowing why, he hung his head.
“...No,” he finally answered, making Shiori’s heart ache at the sight of his downcast face—his hair even drooped at the tips!
She looked around for something to cheer him up but didn’t see her father-in-law nearby. She decided to let Yugi take a short walk, handing him two jars tied together with a stick to carry over his shoulders.
“Since you understand, I have a little job for you,” she said cheerfully so the boy wouldn’t feel reprimanded. “I need you to go to the river and fill these jars with as much water as you can. Grandpa’s been grumpy lately; we should make him some tea tonight.”
"Is Grandpa mad? Why?" asked Yugi as he struggled to grab the water jars—they were quite large for someone his size.
"Oh, my sweet boy! Grandpa’s already an old man, and he still refuses to admit it," Shiori laughed softly, recalling how her father-in-law still insisted on doing work meant for someone much younger. He was still a healthy and strong man, but age spared no one, and he did his best to hide the pain that arthritis was causing him.
Usually, he felt a bit better when Shiori made him some tea and applied a poultice to ease the aches, but for that, she needed water—and she remembered using the last of it earlier for drinking during her work.
"Okay! Yugi will help Mama and Grandpa!" the little one announced with excitement, thrilled to finally be able to do something other than sit around all day doing nothing. Then, without warning, he took off running in a random direction, disappearing into the tall grass.
“Yugi! That’s the wrong way! You’re going the opposite direction!”
Seconds later, Yugi reappeared, running eagerly the right way, laughing as his mother blushed and the other farmers chuckled softly.
“Remember what I told you!” she called after him. Hearing a distant, prolonged “Yes,” she sighed with relief.
“This kid’s going to keep me busier than these fields,” she laughed and returned to work.
But less than twenty minutes later, a strange noise interrupted her again, and this time it wasn’t Yugi’s mischief.
She looked up toward the hills and saw many horsemen approaching, all bearing the symbol of the Pharaoh of Egypt on their shields.
Just seeing that symbol, she felt Izanami’s cold breath on the back of her neck.
Meanwhile, at the river, unaware of everything else, Yugi carefully filled the jars with water, making sure not a single grain of sand entered, just as his mother instructed. He didn’t understand how tea could help his grandfather’s back pain, but he was excited to be useful. Maybe Grandpa would be better tomorrow and they could play that board game with the round white and black pieces again. He wiped sweat from his brow and shielded his eyes from the sun with his hand.
“My mother always says I must never look at it, or I’ll go blind,” Yugi reminded himself, averting his gaze from the blazing orb above, though he couldn’t help but feel his skin burning—especially his small feet touching the hot sand. Once again, he had forgotten to put on sandals before heading out on his little adventure.
Then he gazed at the river water, so clear and clean it seemed to invite him to wade in and cool off. As a child, Yugi couldn’t resist the temptation, even knowing his mother expected him to return with the filled jars. But what the heck? He’d been watching her work all day; he wanted to cool off and have some fun.
Yugi wasn’t afraid of water, but he’d never dared venture alone without his mother or grandfather nearby. They’d been teaching him to swim, but the little boy wasn’t confident enough yet to swim deep on his own. So, listening to the sensible side of his mind, he decided it was enough to wade until the water reached his knees—ignoring the possibility of crocodiles lurking in the river’s depths.
Yet, his sensibility quickly gave way to the impulsiveness and excitement of childhood the moment the cool water touched his feet. Soon he forgot his mother’s task and began running along the riverbank, splashing, laughing, shouting, even trying to catch some careless fish with his hands. It was freeing for him; he’d held back playing nearly all morning and now felt unstoppable. However, he didn’t realize how far he was wandering from where he’d left the jars. His excitement blinded him, and his self-control dwindled as the fun increased—until a sudden bump snapped him back to reality.
He didn’t know what he’d hit, but suddenly he had collided with something.
The impact was so sudden that Yugi lost his balance and fell, sitting in the water, soaking wet. The splash stung his eyes, blurring his vision for a few seconds. He rubbed them with his fists and shook his head like a dog to shake off the water from his hair.
When he finally opened his eyes, he saw a person standing before him—a figure taller than himself. Squinting against the sun’s glare, he barely made out the other’s face, but a shadow cast by their movement gave him a clearer view.
The boy’s eyes sparkled with curiosity.
He met a pair of eyes, as red as blood—intense and surprised. They belonged to an older boy with a hairstyle just like his own, a detail that grabbed Yugi’s attention. The shape of those eyes reminded him oddly of a fennec fox. But what stood out the most was the boy’s clothes—not like the simple garments the other kids wore. His were finer, cleaner, even shiny. Where did he get such nice clothes? How did he keep them so bright?
Atem had arrived at the camp his father had set up shortly after Ra reached the highest point in the sky. They were camped at a safe distance from a small Libyan farming village—close enough to keep them under watch but far enough not to be noticed. He spent the morning accompanying his father, uncle, and friends, watching them study maps, discuss technical terms he didn’t fully understand, and give orders about enemy villages. Atem and Mahad had maintained their composure but weren’t thrilled about being there. The honor was great, and they knew it was their duty to learn, but it was terribly boring, and they couldn’t wait for the chance to bolt once the adults stopped paying attention.
Mana, the youngest among them, was the loudest in showing her displeasure at standing still all day listening to adults talk about things she didn’t understand. Despite her teachers’ scoldings, she refused to keep quiet. Only when she was about to throw a tantrum did the other two see their chance to escape. Mahad took Mana under his arm, and with the Pharaoh’s permission, he and Atem led her away until she calmed down.
Once away from adult eyes, Mana wiped the scowl off her face, and the three friends couldn’t help but laugh. Seizing the moment when no one was watching, the children left the camp, guided by Mahad, who had spotted a river a few kilometers away where they could play away from the grown-ups’ chatter.
Atem was ecstatic to finally feel some freedom. He rarely left the palace unless accompanied by his father or the guards. Knowing he had a chance to roam with his friends—even for a few minutes—was something he wasn’t going to waste.
The kids were unleashed. Mana climbed onto Mahad’s back, trying to play and help him relax, while the older boy kept glancing nervously toward the camp, watching for adults or Libyans nearby. Atem had wandered off chasing a fish with shimmering scales. Only when he lost sight of it and realized he wouldn’t see it up close did he turn back to join his friends.
Or so he thought—until he heard loud laughter behind him and suddenly felt a sharp hit on his waist that made him startle and look back.
What he didn’t expect was to find a small child there. For a moment, Atem feared it was a Libyan boy, but then he noticed the child’s appearance.
Was that boy’s skin white? And…did he look like him?
“Are you alright?” Atem managed to ask the kid rubbing his head after the bump.
“I got wet,” the boy replied, making a disgusted face at the fact.
Atem couldn’t help smiling as he watched the little one shake his head like a dog to get the water out of his hair—hair as wild and unusual as his own.
Incredible.
Yugi looked him up and down without hiding his curiosity, fascinated by someone with hair like his and clothes so shiny. He didn’t know him and had never seen him in the village. Was he a new neighbor? Maybe a new friend! He loved making friends!
“Hello!” the little boy greeted, waving his hand high as if he needed to do so to be seen given how tall Atem was. “Happy to see you! But I don’t know who you are. You’re a big kid, aren’t you? Where’s your mom, big kid?”
Atem blinked in surprise at the boy’s boldness but couldn’t help smiling amused by his enthusiasm. He bent down to look at the child more closely, resting his hands on his knees before speaking.
“Nice to meet you,” he said carefully, as if wanting to make sure he was understood.
“Huh...?”
“You said it wrong. When you meet someone new, you don’t say ‘happy to see you,’ you say ‘nice to meet you.’”
Yugi tilted his head to one side, wondering if the older boy was really a child because he was doing the same thing his mother and grandfather did—telling him he was wrong and had to say it differently. Ugh, that’s so annoying!
“You’re a big kid, not a ‘big,’ donno tell me how to talk,” he protested, puffing out his cheeks.
Atem smirked. It was clear that this little guy had no idea who he was talking to, and it was refreshing. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone outside the palace treated him like an ordinary person.
“You say ‘don´t,’ not ‘donno,’” he corrected again, just to tease him.
“Stop itttt!” Yugi shouted, splashing water in a tantrum, making Atem want to burst out laughing at his funny face.
“What are you doing here? You’re too small to be walking alone by the river. Where’s your mother?”
“Back there!” The little boy pointed toward the dunes where his house was beyond. “Mom needed water, so I came to get it! My grandpa is sick, and Mom will make him tea to get better! Because I’m big now and do big kid things!”
Atem looked where the boy pointed. The dunes were high, and he couldn’t see any signs of a nearby village—no smoke, no livestock noises. That gave him some reassurance; the kid wasn’t Libyan. Maybe he came from a group of travelers or wandering merchants making a stop.
Still, his curiosity was piqued. Where was this kid from? He didn’t look like anyone he’d ever met. He’d heard stories about people with pale skin being a bad omen and bringing bad luck, something to avoid—but looking at this kid, what trouble could a baby like him cause?
“You came for water?” he asked.
“Yes, but the water is cold, and it’s hot out,” the boy excused, laughing as he shook his hair again, sending droplets flying.
“That’s not right. You should stop goofing off and do what you were told,” Atem scolded, trying to sound stern but failing, since he was basically doing the same thing. “Don’t worry your mom,” he finished, giving Yugi a friendly tap on the head, making the boy groan in protest.
“Hey! That hurts!” the boy grumbled, taking the older boy’s hand away from his head. But the touch was enough to catch his eyes on Atem’s fine clothes. “Wow, they’re so nice! I’ve never seen clothes like these!” he declared, stretching out a small hand to touch the fabric. “Wow, they’re really soft!” he smiled at the pleasant feeling.
“Yeah, well... they’re made from cotton from the northern plantations,” Atem said nervously, not quite stopping the innocent boldness. The prince knew he shouldn’t let a commoner touch him—after all, he was the future Sun of Egypt and shouldn’t mingle with any random kid.
But somehow, he couldn’t stop himself. No one had ever dared touch him like this before, except maybe his friends tapping his shoulder for attention. This was different—these little touches exploring his chest and stomach were innocent in the boy’s eyes, who just thought the soft clothes were fun to touch. Atem felt the tickles, though he didn’t even realize he had them.
“Enough!” he finally raised his voice, stepping back to put some distance between himself and the child.
“Sorry, but they’re so soft and pretty,” the boy smiled. “When I’m big, I want to get clothes like these so my mom will look really beautiful.”
Atem blinked at that—both the answer and the conviction behind it. The boy had no idea how rare and hard it was to grow cotton in the few northern oases.
“Well, I guess it’s normal for a kid to be clueless about how hard it is to get this stuff,” Atem thought, chuckling softly.
Then suddenly—
“Atem!” a female voice called, approaching the two boys.
“You shouldn’t wander off without saying anything, we were looking for you,” Mahad scolded, relieved to have found his friend.
Mana stood watching the little boy in front of Atem, water droplets still dripping from his wild hair, so similar to her friend’s.
“Atem, who’s that boy?” Mana asked, pointing at the small child, who shrank away, intimidated. His mother had told him pointing at people was rude, and here was a girl doing it! How mean!
“I don’t know, he just bumped into me,” the prince replied, focusing back on the small boy, who tilted his head as drops fell from his hair tips.
Curious about the boy’s pale skin, Atem gently stroked the little one’s rosy cheeks. His friends were shocked—was Atem really touching a commoner? Worse, a Libyan kid? Had he lost his mind? It was forbidden to touch the Son of the Sun! Yet Yugi, unaware of their thoughts, stayed still, feeling comforted by the gesture, which he always associated with affection. Atem caressed the boy’s chin and throat with a finger, then with his whole hand, expecting rough skin like stone—but it was warm and soft. The boy seemed to enjoy it, tilting his head to let the touch glide over his throat, melting under the feeling.
Atem couldn’t help but think with amusement that the boy just needed to purr to be a cat.
“Hey, Atem, I don’t think you should—” Mahad started, confused at the prince’s freedom with the stranger.
“He’s adorable!” Mana interrupted, lunging at the boy and hugging him tightly like a doll, surprising Atem with the sudden intrusion.
Atem and Mahad felt a wave of compassion at the same time as they saw the poor little boy trapped in Mana’s tight embrace. She was still young and didn’t control her impulses, so it was common to see her act so rough when something caught her affection—like hugging anything adorable until it nearly suffocated.
“How cute! It’s like having another Atem but smaller and in white! Mahad, can I keep him? I promise I’ll take good care of him!”
“You know he’s not an animal, right, Mana?” Mahad asked, hoping his little friend wasn’t serious about keeping the boy like a pet. “Atem, where did this kid come from?”
“He said his mother sent him for water, so I guess she must be nearby,” Atem said, then felt the hairs on his arms rise as Mana didn’t realize her strength and the boy’s face was turning purple… was his soul about to leave his body?! “Mana, let go! You’re going to kill him!”
Mana immediately released the boy at the prince’s firm command, dropping him carelessly into the water with a splash. Yugi took a deep breath, feeling as if his father had greeted him from somewhere in the spirit world.
“He’s a very strange boy,” Mahad remarked, looking fascinated by his features. “I’ve never seen one like this, nor have I heard that Libyans look like this. Where does that skin color come from? And why are his eyes so oddly shaped?”
“I don’t think he’s Libyan, honestly,” Atem commented, looking again at the little boy, convinced once more that he shared no common traits with the Libyans.
Mahad pointed to the boy’s hair, asking about that detail. It was far from normal for it to be so similar to the prince’s own. Atem just shrugged—he didn’t understand it either, and really didn’t care. In fact, he found it amusing to have found someone with hair as wild as his.
“How old are you, little one?” Mana asked enthusiastically, ignoring her older friend’s comment.
“Tw…” Yugi started, holding up two fingers, then paused and thought better of it. He raised a third finger and, with a big smile, answered, “Three!”
“Aaaw! He’s just a baby!” Mana exclaimed, hugging the little boy again and rubbing her cheek against his, growing addicted to his softness and ignoring the disgruntled expression on the boy’s face.
“Yugi is not a baby! Yugi’s already big!” he protested with all the dignity a child could muster, stepping away from Mana’s face and squirming to get put down.
“You’re a baby! You probably can’t even walk without wobbling! That only happens to babies!” Mana argued, teeth clenched, resisting the boy’s hands pushing her face away.
“Yugi is NOT a baby!” he shouted, sticking out his tongue at the girl. Him? A baby? No way, he just lived in a world of giants!
“Bet your mom still breastfeeds you!” Mana teased, sticking out her tongue in return, leaving Yugi wide-eyed at such a low blow. That wasn’t true! Well, not exactly—he still nursed at night sometimes, but not most of the time! That didn’t make him a baby!
“Yugi? Is that your name?” Mahad asked, surprised as he looked at his tricolor-haired friend, who seemed as confused as he was by that strange word—the boy’s name.
He’d never heard a name like that, especially not with such a peculiar accent. The boy spoke fluently and without mistakes, but pronounced his own name in a strange way. Mahad wasn’t sure if that name, or strange word he understood as a name, could even be translated into the hieroglyphics he was used to studying.
It was clear the boy wasn’t Libyan, though he spoke like one… maybe he was foreign? But if he was foreign, from where?
“That name’s not Libyan. Where do you think it comes from?” Mahad asked, intrigued, mentally reviewing what his teachers had taught him about geography. He tried to recall if any nearby lands might have names like that, but there was no match. Not just the accent or pronunciation—also the syllables, letters, and sounds surrounding it were unlike any other language he knew.
Atem looked at the young creature locked in a fierce tongue-sticking-out war with Mana, curious about having met such a strange little boy. He resembled him so much yet they looked nothing alike. Like Mahad, Atem was struck by the boy’s odd way of saying his name, repeating it several times in his mind to be sure he had it right. What was this little one doing in Libyan lands? Clearly, he was just a baby, so fragile it seemed he might break like a clay jar if he fell.
“Prince, although he’s a strange boy, it’s clear he’s a peasant or something like that. I doubt your father, the Pharaoh, would be happy if he saw us talking to someone like him,” Mahad commented, crossing his arms.
Suddenly, the little boy’s eyes went wide as saucers at the older boy’s words. “Prince? Pharaoh?” Then his fur stood on end—Egyptians! Those kids were Egyptians! And the one who looked like him was the son of his boss. Yugi pulled away as if he’d been burned, his face turning to sheer terror. Everyone had always told him how evil Egyptians were, how they hurt people and kidnapped children to eat them or sell them to bad people. His mother and grandfather had always warned him to stay away from Egyptians!
Atem immediately noticed the sudden change in the boy when Mahad spoke. The friendly gaze had switched drastically to one full of fear. Atem felt something break inside seeing that look was directed at him—and him alone. Did the boy fear him? Why? Why did he look at him like that? Atem tried to approach, but the boy misread his intentions and bolted.
“Wait!” Atem shouted, but the boy, unsteady on his feet, tripped and fell flat into the water. Atem quickly rushed to help him up.
“Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?” he asked, worried.
Yugi looked terrified, shrinking like a threatened kitten. Atem tried to stroke his head to show he meant no harm, but the boy pushed him away, making him fall back into a seated position, then ran off again.
“Wait! Don’t go!” Atem called, chasing after him but tripped over a submerged rock and fell. Meanwhile, the little boy grabbed his abandoned water jars and ran up a sand dune as best he could. Atem was left staring after him, feeling desolate and confused by the boy’s reaction.
“Atem! Are you okay?” Mana asked. He didn’t answer, just watched the spot where the tricolor-haired boy disappeared. “Wow… he left. Mahad, you’re such a blabbermouth!”
“I didn’t think he’d react like that…” the older boy excused. It was possible the boy would be scared, but not that he’d run away like that—or that Atem would chase after him.
“How not? He’s a baby! Everything was fine a second ago! Now he’s scared because of you!” Mana grumbled, raising her fist to emphasize her anger.
“How can you expect a three-year-old foreign kid to know we’re Egyptians and enemies of the Libyans? He doesn’t even look Libyan…”
“We have to go after him; he’s alone. What if he gets lost or hurt?” Atem whispered, eyes fixed on the dunes, disturbed.
That look he gave him… Atem didn’t need the boy to say a word to know the message in his eyes: “Monster!” Was that how the little one saw him? How did the Libyans see him? Like a monster? No, he wasn’t a bad kid. His father was a good man, teaching him to be a good boy and prince. It was the King of Libya who rejected his father’s peace offerings. Why was he the one looking like the villain?
“Atem, we should leave,” Mahad said, helping his friend up since the prince seemed unwilling to rise.
“Yes, your father will be angry. We’ve been out of his sight too long,” Mana added, stepping out of the river.
“But…” the prince murmured, still staring at the dune where the boy disappeared. He wanted to go after him, at least keep an eye on him until sure he was safe with his family.
“Don’t worry about the boy; he’s probably on his way back to his family,” Mana assured, grabbing his arm and pulling him along. “A kid that small is never far from their parents; don’t worry so much.”
But the worry stayed heavy in Atem’s chest. He wanted to go after the boy, but his friends wouldn’t allow it, unaware of Libyans nearby. They had to return to camp and be safe—maybe tell his father what happened.
Still, Atem wanted to keep that secret to himself, fearing his father might do something against the boy for letting him be touched.
/*/*/*/*/*/*/
Yugi ran like the devil was chasing him, occasionally stopping to catch his breath but then taking off again as fast as his small, chubby legs would carry him. Was that older boy really the Pharaoh’s son? Oh, his mother and grandfather were going to be so angry with him. He had let an evil Egyptian come near him. He’d trusted because he thought they were kids from another village just passing through or maybe new neighbors, and he believed he could make some older friends. But no—it turned out they were evil Egyptians, those who wanted to hurt his mother and his people.
But he had never seen an Egyptian before! He had no idea what they looked like! How could he have known...?
“I have to warn mother and grandfather!” he panted, running as fast as he could, even climbing up dunes when he felt like he was tripping over his own feet.
Suddenly a strong smell of burning filled his nostrils. He stopped to sniff more carefully—had someone lit the fires? No, it wasn’t yet time to cook, his mother had told him there was still work to do in the fields before eating. Were they burning weeds? Then Yugi looked up and saw a thick curtain of smoke rising from the direction of his village. Worried, the tricolor-haired boy ran toward his home only to witness a horrifying scene.
All the houses were on fire, the fields were ravaged, people ran around fleeing horse-mounted soldiers. Children cried, calling for their mothers, men trying to protect their families lay lifeless on the ground, and soldiers captured all who fled in nets, then locked them in barred wagons.
Kami-sama, what had happened? He hadn’t been at the river long enough for such a catastrophe to unfold.
Yugi was in shock, dropping the two jars he held, spilling water that quickly soaked into the dry desert sand. He couldn’t scream or cry, only stood trembling and frozen as he watched his village consumed by flames, people slaughtered, and men on horseback bellowing.
Then he saw a familiar figure fleeing from a rider in the distance.
“Mother? Mother!” the tricolor-haired boy shouted, running down the dune toward her but stopped short when a horse thundered past in front of him.
Frightened, Yugi ran to hide behind some rubble, looking everywhere for his mother but had lost sight of her. He could only remain hidden and helpless as he watched the bravest villagers fall dead before the riders’ swords while others were captured and locked away. Yugi observed the entire nightmare, terrified.
“Why are they doing this?” Yugi cried. “Are you sent by the Pharaoh? He’s ordered you to punish me, hasn’t he?”
Tears streamed down the little boy’s cheeks like two rivers, eyes fixed and unwavering. Unable to bear it, he screamed loudly and ran through the village calling for his mother and grandfather, unaware of where he was going or who he might encounter.
“Mother! Grandfather!” the child shouted before falling to the ground, pushed by someone. He looked up to meet the cold gaze of one of the horsemen.
“Well, brat, where do you think you’re going?”
Before Yugi could answer, he was suddenly caught in the ropes of a heavy net. He screamed and whimpered, struggling in vain to free himself. Then he felt the rough ground scraping his back and arms as he was dragged by the rider who showed no care for him. When the rider tossed him into the prisoner wagon, Yugi saw all his neighbors, wounded and exhausted, some screaming helplessly as their families and friends were killed or captured. Some peasants tried to resist, but their only weapons were farming tools and a few crude weapons to scare off jackals. But for now, Yugi didn’t care about what was happening outside—he looked around desperately for his mother and grandfather, hoping to find them there.
“Have you seen my mother? Or my grandpa?” Yugi immediately asked Anzu, his next-door neighbor who sometimes looked after him when his mother was busy.
“Little Yugi…” the eleven-year-old girl murmured, looking compassionately at the boy. How could she explain? “We don’t know where your grandfather is, but about your mother…” she looked to the back of the wagon. Yugi smiled in relief seeing his mother sitting in a corner, curled up, breathing shallowly.
“Mother!” the tricolor exclaimed, running toward her, dodging bodies and legs in his way. “Mother, I found you! Are you okay? Where’s grandfather?” he asked, standing on tiptoes to see his mother’s face, resting his small hands on her legs. When he got no answer, he blinked in confusion. Suddenly he felt something warm touch his hand. He looked down to see it was covered in a reddish liquid flowing from his mother’s belly down her legs. Yugi didn’t know what the liquid was or its importance, but just touching it made him shiver.
“Mother…?”
Shiori finally seemed to hear her son’s voice, struggling to open her eyes. It was hard to see him because his face was lit only by the flames consuming their homes. Her tired, weak eyes sparked with happiness seeing her little boy safe and mostly unscathed.
Kami-sama! How glad she was to see him unharmed! She had been so scared for him!
“Yugi, oh, my Yugi… my boy, my boy,” Shiori murmured, opening her arms and weakly hugging Yugi, kissing his head and face tenderly. “My little one, thank goodness you’re safe.”
“Did I wake you?” the boy asked, touching her face. Maybe she needed to rest; she looked so tired and exhausted.
“I was just resting my eyes…” Shiori murmured without letting go of her son. “Kami-sama has heard my prayers, let me see you again, and has brought you back safely. Oh, but how I wish you weren’t here, my son…”
Yugi clung to his mother as he heard her say those anguished, tearful words, noticing that she mentioned Kami-sama in front of the others, as if it no longer mattered.
Deep down, that was a very bad sign.
“Mother, it’s my fault,” the little boy cried, rubbing his face against his mother’s chest. “This happened because I was bad.”
“No, my child. Why would it be your fault? You did nothing.”
“Yes, I did. Ra is angry with me, that’s why he destroyed our village,” he whimpered. “I was at the river… sniff… but I was hot… sniff… so I went to cool off… I bumped into an older boy… I didn’t know who he was, really,” he said quickly through tears. “That boy… sniff… was an Egyptian, he was the son of the bad leader of our people…”
“Did you meet Prince Atem?” Shiori asked, frowning at her son’s words. So the Egyptians had been nearby all along, and apparently quite confident to bring their young prince into Libyan territory so openly. “Don’t you dare think this is your fault, Yugi. You had nothing to do with this…”
“Of course I do!” the boy insisted. “I bumped into him! I touched him! I looked into his eyes and talked to him! I didn’t realize he was Egyptian! I thought they were new friends! And now everything’s wrong because of me!”
No, Shiori was definitely not going to allow that. Her son would not bear that burden—not while she was alive.
“It wasn’t your fault!” the woman raised her voice, silencing her son. “None of this is your fault, and I don’t want to hear you say otherwise, or I’ll be very angry with you.”
Yugi sniffled loudly, looking at his mother with fear.
“Then why did this happen?” the little boy sobbed, unable to understand why his village had been destroyed right after he had met those Egyptians.
Shiori gazed at her little boy, who couldn’t stop crying while the screams of horror and pain from their neighbors and friends echoed around them, the noise of houses collapsing like papyrus under the flames, the smell of smoke and blood filling the air.
“My child doesn’t deserve this,” the woman thought, knowing she had little time left with her son. The sword wound in her belly was too deep for her to treat on her own, caused by her attempt to rescue her trapped father inside their home.
“My child, your grandfather isn’t here, and your mother will be leaving very soon,” Shiori thought, pain etched on her face as she kept watching her greatest treasure. Then she looked at the small brown-haired girl sobbing at the scene.
“I’ll talk to Anzu, I’ll ask her to take care of you. She just lost her father too. She’ll take care of you, and you’ll be her reason to live, and she’ll be yours. You’ll have each other through good times and bad,” Shiori coughed violently. “But I will not leave this world like this—not with Yugi feeling this way. I won’t let that wretched Pharaoh steal my son’s peace.”
“Yugi,” the woman called weakly. The boy, unable to hear well, moved closer to her face.
“I’m very tired, and I need to take a little nap. I think if I do, I’ll see Kami-sama. I can tell him what happened, and I’m sure that if I explain everything, he won’t blame you for anything.”
“Really?” the boy smiled weakly, tears still falling as relief washed over him.
“But now you have to be a strong boy. When I fall asleep, I won’t be able to wake up again.”
“What?” the little one muttered in disbelief. “Are you going to leave me alone?” the tricolor-haired child asked, terror clear in his eyes.
“Don’t worry, Yugi. You’ll stay with Anzu. She’ll take care of you from now on. You’ll be fine with her; you’ve always gotten along well.”
“But I don’t want to be with Anzu. I want to be with you!” the boy protested, unwilling to say goodbye to his beloved mother. It was true—he adored Anzu, but she… “Anzu isn’t ‘mother.’ You are!”
“But I have to go, Yugi. Maybe you don’t understand now, but you will in time. Until then, will you promise to be a good boy and listen to whatever Anzu tells you?”
“…I promise,” the little boy swore through tears. He didn’t like the idea, but if his mother asked, he would obey. “Can I… sleep with you…?”
Shiori knew perfectly well she should say no. She shouldn’t let her son wake up to the coldness of her lifeless body. But she couldn’t refuse him either. The boy wanted to spend his last moments with her. What could she do? Call Anzu to take him away? That would be the right thing, but the boy would see her dead anyway when the wagon reached its destination and they unloaded her. If she had to die, she would do it making her little one feel safe.
Her hope, her dream, her light, her determination, her everything…
The woman cradled the boy in her arms as best she could. The little one gradually gave in to sleep while his mother protected him from the terrible screams still coming from outside, soothing him with a gentle lullaby that burned itself into the boy’s mind as he slipped into unconscious dreams. When Yugi fell into a deep sleep, Shiori kissed his head in farewell and whispered:
“May the grace of Kami-sama always be with you.”
“Anzu,” Shiori called to the girl at the far end of the wagon. Anzu rose immediately and knelt before the woman.
“He just fell asleep. Be careful not to wake him,” she said, placing Yugi in the girl’s arms. “Take care of him, please, Anzu. He’s my most precious treasure, my reason for everything. When I’m gone, you will be his mother. Care for him and love him. I know I’m asking a lot, given how young you are, but now you are all he has. And he will be all you have.”
“I’ll do everything in my power, Shiori-neesan,” the tearful girl assured her, aware of the tragic fate awaiting the woman she so admired, just as had happened with her own father. “I promise.”
Anzu bowed respectfully and made a farewell gesture before returning to her place with the sleeping boy in her arms, while Shiori slowly stopped fighting the inevitable, feeling she could finally see a familiar face bathed in light. A man with long tricolor hair smiling mischievously at her, as if welcoming her, raising a hand in greeting.
“My love…”
Shiori could only smile, feeling once again cradled by the love of her life.
/*/*/*/*/*/*/
That night was pure madness for Atem. People rushed back and forth, and he could only follow their movements with his eyes, clueless about what he could do — it was overwhelming! There were shouts, Libyan women and children crying inside the wagons, men cursing the soldiers who would then punish them. Some warriors returned with several wounds from sickles and had to be treated by the healers. His father and uncle barked orders left and right, and Atem struggled to keep up, constantly losing track of who they were addressing or where they were sending people. Everything was noise, voices, the smell of smoke and blood.
It had been a long while since he’d been separated from Mahad and Mana, who were taken by their respective masters to assist with healing and clairvoyance duties. Meanwhile, Atem was to stay close to his father and uncle — watching and listening, but without doing or saying anything. Fear gripped him at the suffering he witnessed; there were so many hurting people…
He knew they were Libyans — the enemies of his people, those who had tried to take his home and country, those who had attacked his father… but these people seemed so ordinary, so much like the Egyptian peasants who earned their living honorably by farming the Nile’s banks. They didn’t seem like the same people his father described.
“Are you taking notes on all this, Prince?” his uncle’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, surprising him into a small moan.
“Yes, venerable uncle…” he replied weakly, gripping his knees tightly and not moving from where he sat.
Akhenaden glanced sideways at his nephew, briefly caught in the boy’s frightened expression and tense posture. Compassion flooded him as he recalled how he’d felt when his father took him to his first battle to learn about war. At least his brother had been merciful enough to keep Atem safe in the camp; his father had left him protected by guards but close to the battlefront when he was barely older than Atem.
At the time, no one was there for him. He had to face the overwhelming emotions alone, which haunted him in nightmares for weeks. He looked back to his brother, who was deeply absorbed in explanations from the general in charge of the battle and seemed to be concentrating hard not to reveal the weakness he felt in his body. Akhenamkhanen was too busy to pay attention to his son at that moment, as expected. Akhenaden thought showing some support to his nephew wouldn’t hurt, just like he had done with his own son once.
“All this is necessary, Prince,” the priest assured softly, approaching the boy and placing a hand on his shoulder. “Your father knows what he’s doing. He’s done this many times in his life, and don’t doubt that it’s to protect our people.”
Atem nodded; protecting his people was something instilled in him from birth — his father’s duty and soon his own, when he became Pharaoh. The Pharaoh’s role was to protect and bring prosperity to Egypt. Anyone who threatened Egypt’s peace deserved punishment…
“But… they aren’t warriors,” Atem pointed toward the wagons, where he could see Libyans screaming and begging in ways he couldn’t understand. “What threat do they pose?”
“They pose none,” the priest replied, “but to defeat their leader, they are everything. A king is nothing without his people, Atem. If you attack and claim the people, you weaken the king. And when the king weakens, the king is defeated.”
Atem fell silent for a few seconds, not averting his eyes from those poor people…
“What… will happen to them?” he asked, concern gripping his voice as he grabbed his uncle’s cloak. “We aren’t going to kill them, right? They haven’t done anything to us!”
“Prince! Don’t think we’re barbarians!” Akhenaden exclaimed, offended that his nephew would think such things. “We won’t execute anyone; now they are prisoners. We will take them to Khemet, where they will be assigned to various duties for us.”
But Atem was no fool; he knew exactly what those words meant.
“We’re going to make them slaves, aren’t we…” the boy whispered, letting go of his uncle’s cloak, who, seeing the troubled look on his nephew’s face, tried to soothe him.
“They won’t lack food or shelter,” Akhenaden explained. “We will offer them that in exchange for work. It’s no different from palace servants.”
Atem was not convinced. A servant and a slave were not the same — a servant was free to leave if they wished. A slave was not…
From afar, he heard children’s cries, calling for their mothers, and once again, he trembled from head to toe as an idea crossed his mind.
“Is he here?” he wondered, remembering the little boy he’d encountered earlier. “I hope not… I really hope he’s not here…”
He couldn’t get him out of his mind. They were so close to where they had met that Atem couldn’t shake the thought that the little boy might be in this village. He hoped the boy had reached his parents in time to warn them, that they had escaped, that he wasn’t here. He didn’t want him here…
A scream cut through the air. Atem shuddered. It wasn’t an ordinary scream. It was painful — sharp, desperate, full of loss. He knew it was a child. He knew, with certainty, that it was him. He stood up abruptly. Before his father could stop him, he was running, driven by an impulse with no regard for reason or protocol.
“Prince!” the priest called after him, but it did not stop Atem, who ran until he found a scene he knew he’d never forget.
One of the prisoner wagons was wide open. Bodies were being dragged out — people who had died after capture, their corpses discarded. And from the wagon, they pulled out a woman, followed by a boy clinging to her with all his might.
The blaze of colors in his hair was like a torch in the night, and Atem froze at the sight of the little boy crying and screaming while clinging to that pale woman lying motionless on the ground.
“Mother! Mother!” the boy shouted, holding on tight.
“Yugi! Get out of there!” a girl shouted from inside the wagon. “Your mother isn’t here anymore! She’s gone!”
“No!” the boy shook his head vigorously without letting go of his mother. “Mother’s eyes are open! She’s not asleep! She hasn’t left! No, no, no!”
“Brat! Move!” one guard growled, slamming his whip against the ground, producing a sharp, unpleasant crack.
Yugi jumped at the sound but didn’t let go of the body. He was scared; those men terrified him, and that thing they were hitting the ground with looked like it could hurt badly. He just wanted to be with his mother, to be comforted and protected from those people! Why wasn’t she moving? Why wasn’t his grandfather anywhere?
The guard, enraged, struck the whip harder near the boy but without touching him. It was no use; the boy stayed put, clinging even tighter. The guard didn’t know what to do — intimidating captured children was one thing, but whipping one attached to his dead mother was not in his nature. He had neither the stomach nor the heart for it.
“Your mother is now walking the spirit world, not in the corpse you’re hugging,” Anzu insisted, trying to reach the boy, but the warriors kept her at bay, threatening her with daggers. “Yugi, please! Come with me! She’s not here anymore!”
“No! That’s not true!” the boy denied, anguished. “Mother! Mother!” he kept calling.
Atem couldn’t bear to watch the little boy shed such bitter tears. Most of all, he couldn’t bear seeing him call out desperately for his mother. Oh, Ra, he was so small! He couldn’t understand why his mother wasn’t moving or what was happening. He didn’t deserve this. Atem had to make him let go, or it would be worse for him. Slowly, he approached the boy without taking his eyes off him. The warriors looked confused at the prince’s attitude and weren’t sure if letting him through the commotion was a good idea. By instinct, all their gazes shifted to the Pharaoh, who had arrived moments before with the priest.
Akhenaden quickly alerted his brother about the prince’s abrupt behavior, so Akhenamkhanen came out to find him standing near a commotion caused by a prisoner child.
At first, Akhenamkhanen was surprised to see a boy with the same hairstyle as his son and late wife, but otherwise, that child seemed a complete stranger who didn’t resemble anyone he had ever seen — he didn’t even look Libyan! Who were these moon-skinned people? But he set those thoughts aside to investigate later, focusing instead on his son, whose wide eyes were fixed on the scene.
Atem was still young, and his face showed every feeling he had — in those moments, terror and sadness that the Pharaoh had never seen before. Was his son showing sympathy for the strange little boy? Was it because of the woman the child clung to?
“Atem, do you want to take charge of the situation?” was the question the ruler of Egypt considered as the prince began walking toward the crying child.
He felt the gaze of his warriors upon him, questioning whether to allow the prince through or not, and after exchanging looks with his brother, Akhenamkhanen gave a hand gesture granting permission. The warriors immediately obeyed, stepping aside as the prince passed without paying them any attention, focused entirely on the poor boy.
Yugi looked up when a shadow fell over him. He recognized the figure of the scarlet-eyed boy he’d met the day before. Fear filled Yugi’s eyes again. It was him. The reason the gods had punished him. The reason his grandfather wasn’t with him. And the reason his mother didn’t move. Yugi pulled back from them as if burned, his face twisting in horror. Everyone had always told him Egyptians were evil, that they hurt people and took children away to eat or sell to bad men. His mother and grandfather had warned him never to approach Egyptians.
Atem knelt down before him, and Yugi clenched his teeth, bracing himself for whatever was about to happen, ignoring Anzu’s pleas to spare him. But when he saw the dark-skinned boy’s hand raised toward him, instinctively, Yugi squeezed his fists tightly into his mother’s clothes and shut his eyes, expecting a blow or to be shaken roughly.
He felt nothing.
Seconds passed, and no grip came. Slowly, hesitantly, Yugi opened his little eyes again, meeting those scarlet eyes once more. He trembled because he couldn’t understand why the boy was looking at him that way or what he intended. It wasn’t anger, nor mockery, nor malice in that gaze; it was full of sorrow, of compassion. But Yugi was too young to comprehend what those emotions meant or why they were being shown to him at that moment.
Atem, for his part, had been tempted to reach out and touch the little boy’s head—to stroke it gently, to show him he meant no harm—but he stopped cold when Yugi curled up tightly and squeezed his eyes shut. The child was so frightened, and Atem didn’t know what to say or do to calm him; his home had just been destroyed, he was clinging to the body he assumed was his mother’s and had just lost her, locked in a rolling prison cell, surrounded by men who shouted and threatened him nonstop.
And Yugi had seen him, looking at him as if to accuse him with all his fury—that this was his fault. What could Atem do? He hadn’t wanted any of this to happen!
He glanced at the woman’s body the child held so tightly and shivered as he noticed she had died with her eyes open, staring into nothingness, devoid of life’s spark.
Atem looked back at the boy, who had opened his eyes again and was staring directly into his. There was so much pain and fear in those bright eyes that Atem felt his heart break into a thousand pieces. Unsure what to do, he let his instincts take over, following what he’d seen in the healing chamber at the palace when someone died.
Slowly, he extended his hand back toward the boy, moving carefully so he wouldn’t frighten him. His fingers passed just over the child’s face and gently touched the woman’s eyelids. Yugi seemed to hold his breath for a moment, but all Atem did was carefully and respectfully close her eyes, then withdraw his hand.
Yugi stared at his mother’s face, not understanding why the Egyptian had done that, yet a flicker of his anguish softened. His mother’s eyes were now closed, as if sleeping. No longer were they wide open, staring blankly without focus. That simple act was enough for his young mind to process what had happened and, despite all the pain in his soul, to decide he must let go.
“She can rest better now...” the young Egyptian’s voice startled him, lifting his gaze to meet Atem’s, frozen, unsure what to do next.
Atem returned the look and, needing to do something more for the boy, swallowed back his own tears to appear calm and firm. He cupped Yugi’s face gently and wiped the streams of tears from his pale, soft cheeks. Scarlet met amethyst.
“Let go of your mother,” Atem whispered as softly as he could. “Let her rest in peace.”
Unable to hold back, Yugi collapsed there, burying his face in his arms and pouring out his tears, his frustration, his rage, his fear, and his pain beside his beloved mother’s body and before the Egyptian who showed him mercy. Atem could only watch, unable to do more than be there with him, sharing the feeling and somehow supporting him in that raw moment.
Akhenamkhanen nodded proudly at his son’s merciful act and, with a new gesture, ordered the guards to lower their weapons. This allowed the white-skinned, brown-haired girl to approach the boy. She didn’t even glance at the prince but quickly gathered the small child into her arms. Yugi immediately wrapped his arms around her neck and continued crying on her shoulder, seeking the warmth, comfort, and safety his mother had always given him.
Atem watched once more as the guards loaded the girl and boy back into the wagon with the other prisoners. Their cries were softer but relentless as the woman’s body was carried away by two men. He searched for the child’s location but had no time when the wagon began moving. By instinct, Atem took two steps to follow, then stopped, feeling the eyes of his father and uncle on him just a few paces away.
How long had they been watching?
Akhenamkhanen waited still while Atem hurried toward him, shaken by what he had witnessed.
“Father, where are they taking those people?” Atem asked, pointing to the wagon fading into the dunes.
“They’re being taken to the palace, my son. You need not fear for them,” the pharaoh soothed.
Atem wanted to bombard his father with questions about what had just happened but forced himself to bite his tongue. They were in public, surrounded by warriors and prisoners, and the cries of the others trapped in the other wagons still pierced the air.
But the cries that haunted Atem’s mind most were those of that little boy.
“Father...” Atem whispered solemnly. “I don’t want them to hurt him.”
Akhenamkhanen watched as Atem lowered his head before him, submissive, silently begging him to accept this plea.
“Compassion is what I hoped to see from you, Atem,” said the pharaoh. “You will be a good pharaoh when your time comes. Keep that merciful heart with you always. Remember what you saw today, what you heard, what you saw in that child’s eyes, and what you felt that made you want to give him your compassion. That is what you must give your people, and even your people’s enemies...
...And keep your spirit calm, my son.” Akhenamkhanen passed by his eldest, “No one will lay a hand on him.”
Only after hearing those words did Atem feel he could breathe again.
TO BE CONTINUE...maybe