Cyclone's fist never reached Ren.
A hand stepped into its path. It was an ordinary hand, open, raised at chest height with the fingers relaxed, and it closed gently around Cyclone's knuckles as if it were catching a falling leaf. There was a sound like a cracked walnut. Cyclone's whole arm jerked, and his eyes went wide.
The Pharaoh stood between them.
He had appeared without any light or sound, as if he had always been standing there. He wore a plain white tunic with gold at the collar, and his gold eyes were calm. He didn't look at Cyclone. He looked at the boy behind him, who was staring up at him with a broken sword in his hand and a face as pale as paper.
"Ren," the Pharaoh said quietly. "You are alive."
"My… my Pharaoh?"
"Step back."
Cyclone screamed.
The Pharaoh's fingers tightened, only slightly, and the bones in Cyclone's hand folded in on themselves like wet clay. Cyclone twisted and tried to rip free, wind roaring around him, but the grip didn't loosen. The Pharaoh lifted his arm and flung him. Cyclone flew across the plain like a thrown stone, spinning, crashing into the middle of a group of Greek soldiers with a clatter of armor. Spears scattered. Men fell.
The field went silent.
On the plain, no one moved. Luna and Sofia, half-buried in the crater Alexzander had made, stared with their mouths open. Kahn lowered his greatblade by an inch. Naram- Sin's grip tightened on Mashkan.
"That's…" Luna whispered.
"The Pharaoh," Sofia breathed.
Alexzander had gone still. His axe hung at his side, the red light on its blade flickering, and his dark eyes were fixed on the man in white. He had faced Egyptian recruits and Egyptian generals. He hadn't expected this.
The Pharaoh turned his head and met his gaze.
He vanished.
Alexzander's eyes widened, and he lifted his axe. He was too slow. The Pharaoh appeared directly in front of him, so close that Alexzander could see the flecks of gold in his eyes, and extended one open palm. He touched it softly to Alexzander's chest.
The air cracked.
Alexzander left the ground as though he had been hit by a boulder. He flew backward, trailing dust, past the ranks of soldiers, past the ridge, and over the plain beyond it. He crashed down hundreds of feet away and skidded to a stop in a long furrow of ripped earth, and for a moment he didn't move.
"Commander!" The soldiers around him broke ranks and ran, scrambling to reach him. Several grabbed his arms and hauled him upright, and he spat blood and cursed.
On the outcrop, the young hunter had risen to his feet.
He had one arrow left. He reached for it slowly, and for a moment, he hesitated, his golden eyes fixed on the man who had just crushed Cyclone's hand and thrown Alexzander away like a doll. Then he set the arrow against his bow, drew back the string, and released it as the last of the red glow drained out of every Greek soldier on the plain. It was an exact shot, a thin silver line crossing the distance in less than a heartbeat.
The Pharaoh caught it between two fingers.
He didn't turn his head. He didn't even look. He held the arrow for a moment, then flicked his wrist, and it flew back toward the outcrop faster than it had come. It went straight through the bow in the hunter's hands and snapped it in half. The two pieces fell from his fingers and clattered onto the rock. The arrow stuck in the stone behind him, still humming.
The hunter stared at his empty hands. He said nothing.
"Fall back!" Cyclone's voice was a ragged gasp. He was on his knees in the dirt, cradling his ruined hand against his chest, and his face was grey with pain. "Fall back! The attack is called off! Everyone fall back!"
The Greek soldiers hesitated. Several began to withdraw. Then the Pharaoh raised his hand.
His expression hadn't changed. It was blank and unreadable, with no anger in it and no satisfaction, only a flat, empty calm that was somehow worse than rage. He lifted his open palm toward the sky, and the light went out of the world.
Darkness fell across the plain like a lid closing over a pot. Black clouds boiled up out of nowhere, vast and heavy, and the sun vanished behind them. Thunder rolled. Wind howled across the ground, and sand rose in great, whipping sheets.
It didn't fall everywhere. Only where the Greeks stood.
...
On the plain beside the crater, Luna and Sofia crawled out of the dirt and stared.
The edge of the storm was as sharp as a knife. On one side of an invisible line, the sky was blue and the sun was bright. On the other, black clouds churned, and lightning cracked down in thick, white bolts that tore through the Greek ranks. Soldiers screamed. Sand whipped through the air like knives. The ground shook in short, violent tremors that threw men to their knees, and shields flew out of their hands.
Asam, Kahn, and Ren stood in the sunlight a few steps away from it, watching in silence. Not a single grain of sand touched them.
"He's choosing," Asam said quietly. She was breathing hard, her dagger lowered at her side. "Look. The storm stops exactly where our people are standing."
"That's not possible," Ren whispered.
"It is when he does it."
Kahn rested his greatblade on his shoulder, and a slow breath came out of him that was very nearly a laugh. "I haven't seen him do this since the war in the south."
"You've seen him do that?" Ren asked.
"Once." Kahn's voice was low. "I hoped I wouldn't again."
"Is he angry?" Luna asked.
Asam shook her head slowly. "That's the worst part," she said. "He isn't."
Behind them, Naram-Sin and Tallia stood shoulder to shoulder, watching the lightning dance across the plain. Naram-Sin's face was grim. "I've known him for ten years," he muttered. "I've never seen him fight."
"No one has," Tallia said. "That's the point."
•••
At the north wall, the darkness came down on the Greek soldiers a few feet in front of Magnolia's squad.
It was like watching a wall of black glass descend. Magnolia stopped short and threw up an arm, and the rest of the squad stumbled to a halt behind him. They stood in warm sunlight and looked at a boiling, roaring cloud that had swallowed the soldiers they had just fought. Lightning exploded across the stones. Sand hammered the walls. The soldiers who had risen from the ground a minute earlier were thrown back onto it, shielding their faces, shouting words that were lost in the wind. "Is that the Pharaoh?" Emma shouted.
"It has to be!" Valentina said.
"It only hits them," Matthew said, rubbing his chin with a shaking hand. "Look at the line. It's perfectly precise. He's controlling the storm to the inch."
Amelia pressed a hand to her mouth.
Magnolia didn't answer. He stood very still, his silver eyes wide. He remembered the first time he had met the Pharaoh, in a crowded room full of strangers, when the man had smiled at him and said atta boy. He remembered the warm gold of his eyes. He had never thought of him as dangerous.
He wasn't shouting. That was what frightened him. There was no fury in this at all, only a patient, terrible control, and that was the thing Magnolia had been trying to learn all week.
That's restraint, he thought. That's what it looks like when someone is strong enough not to lose it.
At the front gate, Poison stood with his hands in his pockets, staring at the storm that had swallowed the six soldiers he had gassed. Abraham stood beside him with his notebook forgotten in his hand, and Sous stood on his other side, as calm as ever, though his eyes were fixed on the black sky.
"I've been thinking," Poison said, "that I might not be the strongest person in the room."
"You were never the strongest person in the room," Abraham said.
"I know. I'm just saying it out loud."
The heavy Babylonian soldier who had questioned Poison's orders sat down on the ground and put his head in his hands. "Those damn contracts," he muttered. "Those damn, wonderful contracts."
•••
The storm lasted several minutes.
When it ended, it ended all at once. The Pharaoh lowered his hand. The clouds tore apart like wet paper and folded back into the sky, and the sun came out as if nothing had happened. The wind dropped. The thunder faded. The air was warm, quiet, and bright.
The battlefield was not what it had been.
The ground was torn. Craters scarred the plain where lightning had struck, their edges fused into rough black glass, and long cracks ran through the earth where the tremors had split it. Shields lay in splinters. Banners were charred to threads. Greek soldiers lay scattered across the dirt, some groaning, some very still.
Babylonian guards were already pouring out of the gate. Ashur led them, his huge shield on his back, bellowing orders, and his men moved among the fallen soldiers with ropes and chains, binding wrists and dragging the unconscious to their feet. Samira ran between the groups, shouting directions. The fallen soldiers were marched toward the gates in lines, a long, silent column of bruised, bleeding men with their heads down.
Not all of them were there.
On the far side of the plain, three hundred and thirty Greek soldiers were running south, hauling their wounded between them. Cyclone limped at the front, his ruined hand wrapped in a strip of torn cloak. Soldiers carried Alexzander on a shield, his head lolling and his armor cracked across the chest. The young hunter walked at the rear with his broken bow in his hand and his face unreadable. No one spoke.
Above them, a figure rose into the sky.
The Pharaoh lifted himself off the ground with no effort at all. He rose slowly, hands at his sides, until he hung high above the plain with the afternoon sun behind him. The retreating soldiers stopped and looked up. A few of them dropped to their knees.
He raised one hand.
A bolt of lightning came down from a cloudless sky. It didn't strike a man or a banner. It struck the ground in front of the retreating Greek army and kept going, carving through the earth in a single long, glowing line. Another bolt followed, then another, each one drawing a shape in the dirt, until the whole plain was marked with letters the size of buildings.
WAR ISN'T KIND TO CHALLENGERS…
AND THIS IS WAR YOU'VE CHALLENGED…
The lightning stopped. The last echo of thunder faded.
Cyclone stared at the glowing words. His face was white. "He wants us to read it," he whispered.
Alexzander lay on the shield with his eyes half-open, his chest rising and falling in short, painful breaths. He read every word. A faint, bitter smile touched his bloodied mouth.
"It's ingrained." he said hoarsely.
On the ridge, the hunter slowly stopped walking. He looked up at the figure in the sky, and for a long moment, he stood perfectly still. Then he turned and followed the others. The Pharaoh descended slowly, until his feet touched the ground without a sound. The fused glass beneath him cracked softly. Kahn and Asam stepped forward at once and bowed. Ren, Luna, and Sofia stood close together behind them, trying not to stare.
"My Pharaoh," Asam said.
"You came quickly." The Pharaoh's voice was calm. The blank, empty look had left his face, and his gold eyes were warm again. He glanced past them, scanning the plain. "Where are the other recruits?"
"At the north wall and the front gate, my Pharaoh," Naram-Sin said. He had stepped forward and bowed his head. "Squad One and the rest of Squad Two."
"And the General?"
"In the throne room, with the King."
"Good." The Pharaoh turned to Samira, who had just skidded to a halt a few steps away, panting. "Gather them. All of them. Every recruit in this city is to report to the King's throne room at once." He glanced at Ashur, who was striding toward them across the plain. "Your guards will take every Greek soldier they can reach. Chain them. Hold them for questioning."
Ashur bowed. "It will be done."
The Pharaoh looked down at Sofia. She was leaning against Luna, her face drawn, and her legs were trembling. Her eyes were glassy.
"She is hurt," he said.
"She used her contract against the man with the axe," Luna said quickly. "She pushed too hard."
"Take her to the healers first." The Pharaoh's voice softened. "Then bring her when she is able."
Kahn stepped forward without a word and lifted Sofia into his arms as though she weighed nothing. Sofia opened her mouth to protest, and then she didn't. Kahn carried her across the plain toward the gates, with Luna jogging beside them.
Ren stayed where he was. He was still holding the broken half of his sword.
"Ren," the Pharaoh said.
"Yes, my Pharaoh."
"You did well." Ren blinked. "I broke my sword."
"You survived." The Pharaoh studied him for a moment, and then he turned away and began walking toward the city. "Come."
•••
By the time everyone had gathered, the sun was low and the throne room was filled with a quiet, orange light.
Belshazzar sat on his throne. The Pharaoh stood beside him, speaking in low tones. Their voices carried softly through the hall, and the two of them were close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. Behind them, Babylonian guards and Egyptian recruits stood in neat, quiet rows, still dusty from the battle.
Saijew was walking along the line of recruits.
He stopped in front of Ren, Luna, and Kibo. His arms were folded, and his face was hard. "You three left your post."
Ren straightened. "Yes, General."
"You left without orders, without warning, and without telling anyone where you were going. One of you almost took an arrow through the head." His eyes flicked to Kibo. "Do you have any idea what would have happened if you had died out there?"
Kibo looked at his feet. "No, sir."
"Neither do I. Saijew paused. His voice dropped, and the hardness in it cracked just a little. "But you gave us a count of their companies, their lanes, and their leaders. Your scouting probably saved lives. And you." He turned to Ren. "You used your contract better than I've ever seen. You protected the people around you."
"My sword broke," Ren said again, quietly.
"It happens." Saijew's expression softened. "When we get back home, I'll entrust something to you."
Ren looked up sharply. "What?"
"You can wait."
Saijew walked on, stopping in front of Poison, Abraham, and Sous. "Front gate. You held your formation and took six soldiers without a single casualty." He nodded once. "Well done. Don't let it go to your head."
"Too late," Poison said. Saijew almost smiled. He moved to Squad One, and stopped in front of Magnolia. "North wall," he said.
"Yes, General."
"You did what I told you to do. You held your post. You protected the others." He paused. "You also burned two soldiers who might have been talked down."
Magnolia's face fell. "I…"
"Next time, try. But you didn't lose control." Saijew looked at him for a long moment. "Your hand shook afterward. That's the right reaction. Keep it."
Magnolia nodded slowly. "Yes, sir."
At the front of the room, the King rose from his throne.
The murmuring died away. Belshazzar looked slowly across the hall, from his own guards on the left to the Egyptians on the right, and his amber eyes were steady. "The Greeks have attacked my city," he said. "They have attacked the Egyptian recruits who came here under my protection. They have called war down on Babylon, and I will not ignore it."
He turned to the Pharaoh. "From this day, Babylon stands with Egypt. We will be your closest allies in this war. Our soldiers, our walls, and our storehouses are open to you."
The Pharaoh inclined his head. "And Egypt stands with Babylon. What is yours to defend is ours to defend." He faced the recruits. "Setkhem and Bubastis will be our prime allies in the south, and the rest of Egypt's cities will be informed of what has happened here. Each of them will prepare." His gaze moved along the line of children. "Your training will become more intense. You will be asked to do more than you have ever done. I will not pretend it will be easy."
Nobody spoke. Nobody argued. Ren straightened, and Valentina's fingers tightened on her spear. Luna looked at the floor, and Poison stared at the ceiling. Magnolia lifted his chin. It made sense. They had seen what was coming. They had seen it with their own eyes.
"Understood, my Pharaoh," Saijew said quietly.
Belshazzar turned to his own soldiers. "The same will be true for you. Your training will be harder, and your watches longer." His voice was firm. "But you will also give your time to rebuilding. The walls, the gate, and the streets. Babylon will not stay broken."
Ashur stepped forward and bowed. "My King, Ishkur will have a great deal on his plate. Our chief architect cannot rebuild this city alone." "Then you soldiers will aid him," Belshazzar said, without hesitation.
Ashur blinked, and then he smiled slightly. "Yes, my King."
•••
When the meeting ended, the Pharaoh gathered his recruits in the corridor outside.
"Who is hurt?" he asked.
"Ren, Luna, and Sofia took the worst of it," Saijew said. "Sofia is already in the hospital."
The Pharaoh walked slowly down the line, examining each of them in turn. He rested a hand on Luna's shoulder. Her scrapes and bruises had already faded, and she was breathing easily. Ren stood next to her, still scowling, with the broken hilt of his sword gripped tightly in his hand. His wounds were nearly gone. His pride, on the other hand, was clearly wounded.
"You are both recovering well," the Pharaoh said.
"I'm fine," Ren said shortly.
"You are angry."
"I'm annoyed," Ren said. "It was a good sword."
"It was." The Pharaoh studied him for a moment. "Swords can be replaced. The man holding them cannot."
Ren looked away, but his shoulders relaxed.
•••
The hospital room was quiet. Sofia lay in the bed by the window, the same bed where Magnolia had rested for days. Her face was pale, and her black hair spread across the pillow. Bandages were wrapped around her arms and ribs. Her divine energy had drained almost entirely away, and she could feel the emptiness inside her like a hollow place where something used to be. Her body ached all over, but her mind was clear. She stared at the ceiling and counted the cracks.
The door opened. She turned her head.
Sous stood in the doorway.
His expression was blank, as it had been for days. His hands were at his sides and his clothes were folded neatly, as if nothing had happened. He walked to the foot of the bed and stopped.
"You're alive," he said.
"Barely." Sofia tried to smile. "I'm told it was close."
"It was." Sous's voice was flat. He looked at her bandages and her pale face, and his own face didn't change at all. But he lingered there for a long moment. Then he pulled a chair to the bedside and sat down.
"What did you see?" he asked.
"A man with an axe who was stronger than me." Sofia let out a breath. "I pushed everything I had into him. It didn't matter. He just kept walking." She paused. "And then the Pharaoh came."
"I saw it from the gate." Sous's eyes stayed on the wall. "He didn't look angry."
"No."
Neither of them spoke for a while. Then Sous said, in the same flat voice, "I heard a voice."
Sofia turned her head. "What?"
"While the storm was happening. Inside my head." He didn't look at her. "It said, Justice strikes. Crimes pay price. It said it again and again."
Sofia stared at him. "I don't know what that means."
"Neither do I."
"It could be nothing."
"It could."
Sofia didn't know what else to say. Her brother sat in the chair, as calm as stone, and she couldn't tell what he was feeling. She never could.
"That is your god speaking to you, boy."
They both turned.
Asam was leaning in the doorway, her arms crossed, a faint amusement on her face. Her dark braids were pulled back, and the golden rings in them caught the light. She had come to check on the injured, and she had stopped in the corridor when she heard Sous speak.
"How rude of you," she went on mildly, "to not indulge in conversation."
Sous blinked. It was the first time in days that anything had shown on his face. "It's… my god?"
"Mm." Asam stepped into the room, walked over to the bed, and looked down at him with a speculative gleam in her emerald eyes. "A god who talks to you. That's strange, at your age. Most contractors hear nothing for years. Some never do." She tilted her head. "Your divinity must be higher than it seems."
Sous said nothing. His hands tightened slightly in his lap.
Asam patted him on the shoulder, once, lightly. "Answer it next time," she said. "Gods hate being ignored."
She turned and walked out of the room. In the corridor, her husband was waiting, huge and silent against the wall. He fell into step beside her without a word.
Sofia looked at her brother. "A god."
"A god," Sous said.
They sat together in silence.
•••
Several days later, Sofia was healed.
The healers had worked on her patiently, and her body mended itself in time, though her divine energy would take longer to return. She walked out of the hospital on her own legs, stiff and sore but standing. The Egyptians gathered their things, thanked the Babylonians, and set out on the long road home.
The journey was quiet. Magnolia rode with his squad, listening to Valentina and Matthew discuss formations. Poison argued with Abraham about nothing in particular. Kibo slept in the back of a wagon. Ren walked alone at the edge of the group with the broken hilt of his sword in his belt, and Luna walked beside him without saying anything. The sun rose, and the sun set, and the desert rolled by.
At the end of it, the walls of Setkhem rose on the horizon.
•••
A parade was waiting for them.
The road leading to the city was lined with people, cheering, waving banners, throwing flowers. Drums beat along the streets. Children ran beside the procession, shrieking with excitement. Nobody had asked for this, and nobody had planned it, except one man.
"It was Hans's idea," the Pharaoh said, as the procession wound through the gate. Hans stood a little to the side, smiling nervously at the crowd. He bowed deeply when he caught the Pharaoh's eye. The Pharaoh smiled back. It wasn't the controlled, careful expression he showed in his throne room. It was a real smile, wide and warm, and it lit up his whole face.
He walked at the head of the parade with his hands loose at his sides, looking at the faces of the citizens as they passed. These were people who had grown up in dust and mud, whose homes were built from the ground itself, and they were cheering. He had left them days ago. He had worried about them. They had held.
At the center of the city, a platform stood in the square. The Pharaoh climbed the steps and turned to face the crowd. The noise slowly died.
"People of Setkhem," he said. His voice carried through the whole square. "I have been away, and you have endured. You have kept this city standing while I was gone. You have shown the world what resilience looks like." He paused. "I thank you. I thank you also for attending the ceremony for my late father. It meant more to me than you can know."
Applause rolled through the crowd. The Pharaoh waited for it to fade.
"I also have something to tell you." His smile faded. His eyes grew steady. "War has started."
The crowd went silent.
"The Greeks have attacked our young recruits. They have damaged our ally city of Babylon. And they want more." He let the words settle. "We, Egypt, are strong. My Egypt is powerful. I will not allow them to harm anyone here. I swear it on our god, Ra."
Nobody spoke. Mothers pulled their children closer. The Pharaoh looked slowly around the square, and his voice softened.
"I would like you to meet some of the people who fought for you."
He turned and held out one hand. "Saijew."
Saijew stepped onto the platform. He looked uncomfortable, and his hands clenched at his sides. "The man who led our recruits to a safe return."
The crowd applauded. Saijew bowed stiffly and stepped back.
"Asam," the Pharaoh said. "The queen of our sister city, Bubastis. She stood with her husband, King Kahn, and together they protected our soldiers when it mattered most."
Asam walked up the steps with her head high, her braids glittering, and Kahn followed a pace behind her, huge and quiet. The crowd roared. Asam inclined her head. Kahn gave a short nod. "And our twelve recruits."
He called them one by one. Magnolia walked up first, small and nervous, with his hands clasped in front of him. Valentina followed, her chin raised. Matthew rubbed his chin and tried to hide how badly his hands were shaking. Amelia smiled shyly at the crowd. Emma stared at the floor and blushed. Kibo waved, grinning. Poison bowed with elaborate mockery. Abraham nodded stiffly. Luna kept her eyes down. Sous stared forward without expression. Sofia stood a little straighter than she felt. Ren stepped up last, jaw set, as if daring anyone to say a word.
The cheering rose and rose, until it was almost too loud to bear. Magnolia looked out over a sea of faces. He didn't know what to feel. He felt small, and he felt proud, and he felt afraid.
The Pharaoh raised his hand, and the sound died away.
"Exalt not thine heart," he said, "that it be not brought low."
He lowered his hand. "Remember that. All of us."
He stepped back, and the square erupted. The parade was over. In its place came the announcement, and with it, the war. The citizens of Setkhem clapped and clapped, long after the Pharaoh had left the platform.