That night, the open temple blazed with the light of a hundred torches. Laughter and music spilled across the courtyard; the scent of roasted lamb thickened the air until it felt almost celebratory—almost.
Everyone had come.
Farmers in rough linen. Merchants wearing their finest. Priests with shaved heads gleaming beneath the firelight. Even the poorest stood shoulder to shoulder with soldiers in braided gold, all waiting for the Pharaoh's decree.
Raymun stood at the base of the marble steps, her long white cloak shifting in the Nile's cool breeze. Thea had wandered into the crowd, leaving Raymun alone with her guards… and the weight of a thousand staring eyes.
She tipped her chin up. Above her, the night sky shimmered—stars burning like small prayers trying to reach the gods.
Then the drums stopped.
"People of the Nile!" the high priest boomed, his voice echoing through the courtyard. "Your Pharaoh approaches!"
A hush fell so quickly it felt unnatural.
Pharaoh Senefru stepped forward from the shadows, gold and lapis glinting across his broad collar, his expression carved from stone and authority.
"My people!" he proclaimed. "The gods have tested us. The Nile did not rise. Our crops withered. Our children starved. We have sinned, and the gods demand atonement!"
Fear rippled through the crowd like a shiver.
Raymun's jaw tightened. Atonement. A word the powerful used when they wanted someone else to suffer for their failures.
"The river sleeps," Senefru continued, raising his arms toward the dark water. "And you all know the price when the Nile refuses to wake."
The crowd bowed their heads in a single, somber wave.
The legend echoed through Raymun's mind—one she had heard whispered her entire life:
When the Nile thinned, when its currents stilled, a maiden was chosen to become its bride. A sacrifice. A plea. A promise.
Pure. Untouched. Beautiful.
Led by torches. Blessed by priests. Carried to the water's edge.
Offered.
None had ever returned.
Senefru's voice rose louder, fueled by the people's fear. "This time, the gods demand what is most precious. A divine beauty! A true bride for the Nile!"
Cheers broke out. Hopeful. Desperate. Worshipful.
Raymun's pulse spiked. Her stomach twisted. She stepped back, ready to flee—she would not stand here and watch another innocent girl die.
Then Senefru spoke again.
And her blood turned to ice.
"She is the most radiant of all. Marked by the gods since birth—skin white as morning mist, hair pale as the moon." His gaze locked onto hers. "A child of divinity. Chosen."
Raymun froze.
"You," Pharaoh Senefru breathed, voice echoing like a verdict. "Come forward, Raymun. Our Bride. Our hope. The gift sent by the heavens."
Gasps tore through the crowd. Torches flickered—as if even the flames hesitated.
Raymun's heart hammered against her ribs. Every gaze burned into her—fear, awe, hunger. She tried to breathe, but the air felt thick, molten.
"No."
Her voice cut through the silence, sharp as obsidian. "I will not."
Whispers erupted. The priests paled. Thea shouted her name, but soldiers were already moving, closing in with spears glinting under torchlight.
Raymun stepped back, eyes darting around the tightening circle.
No escape.
No choice.
No mercy.
Unless she made her own.
Her breath steadied. Her fingers clenched the hem of her dress. The edge of the marble steps gleamed behind her. Below—dark water waited. A thousand eyes followed her every breath.
"Is this what you want?" she shouted, voice ringing across the courtyard. "To see me bound and thrown like an offering?"
Silence. A dreadful, expectant silence.
"Fine," she snarled. "Then I'll do it myself."
Gasps swallowed the night.
She ran
Soldiers lunged. Senefru shouted. The crowd surged in panic, but she was already sprinting, cloak billowing behind her like a wing of white fire.
Her feet struck stone—one step, two, three—
And she leapt.
The wind roared in her ears. Torches blurred. For one suspended heartbeat, she flew above the city that had feared her all her life.
Then the Nile rose up to claim her.
Cold. Violent. Alive.
Water swallowed her whole. Her lungs burned. Her limbs thrashed. But for the first time, she felt something like freedom.
She sank deeper, moonlight fading above her, the world narrowing into shadow.
And through the darkness, the words of the prophecy echoed—
not as chains
but as a promise.
When the river forgets its song…
a maiden will wake the drowned.