Maya's POV
The sword at my throat doesn't shake.
Neither does the hand holding it.
I'm still on my knees in the sand, my bleeding palm clutching the ankh, staring up at the most terrifying man I've ever seen. His face could be carved from stone—sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, eyes so dark they're almost black. Those eyes study me like I'm a problem he needs to solve. Preferably with violence.
"I asked you a question," he says in that impossible language I shouldn't understand. "Who sent you?"
"Nobody sent me!" My voice comes out too high, too panicked. "I don't even know where I am!"
His expression doesn't change. "You're holding the Temporal Ankh. You appeared in the middle of the Sacred Desert in a flash of light that could be seen for miles. And you expect me to believe nobody sent you?"
"I'm an archaeologist! I found that ankh in Egypt—in a temple—and when I touched it, something happened, and now I'm here, and—" I stop, realizing how insane I sound.
"Egypt?" One of the soldiers behind him laughs. "What's Egypt?"
The man with the sword—clearly their commander—raises his free hand. The laughter stops immediately.
"Stand up," he orders me.
I try. My legs are shaking so badly I almost fall. The heat is incredible, pressing down like a physical weight. Sweat drips into my eyes.
"I can't," I gasp. "I need water. I need—"
He grabs my arm and hauls me to my feet with one hand. His grip is like steel. I stumble against him, and he pushes me back roughly.
"Search her," he commands.
Two soldiers move forward. One grabs the ankh from my hand—I try to hold on, but he's stronger—while the other pats me down like I'm a criminal. They find my phone in my pocket.
"What is this?" The soldier holds it up, suspicious.
"It's a phone. For communication. It won't work here—" I stop again. Where is here? When is here?
The commander takes my phone, examines it with narrowed eyes, then hands it back to his soldier. "Destroy it. Could be a weapon."
"No, wait!" I lurch forward.
The sword is back at my throat instantly, stopping me cold.
"Give me one good reason," the commander says quietly, "why I shouldn't assume you're an assassin sent to kill the Pharaoh."
"Because I'm not! I'm just—I'm lost! I need help!"
"Help." He says it like the word tastes bitter. "You appear with a sacred artifact that's been missing for a thousand years, you speak our language perfectly despite claiming to be from somewhere called Egypt, and you want help?"
"I don't know why I can understand you!" My voice breaks. "Two minutes ago I was in New York City, and now I'm in a desert with people on horses, and nothing makes sense!"
Something flickers in his eyes. Not sympathy—more like recognition. Like he's heard something similar before.
"Commander Khalid," one of the soldiers says nervously. "Look at her shoulder."
Khalid's gaze drops to my left shoulder, where my shirt has torn. My birthmark is visible—a constellation-shaped mark I've had since birth. My parents used to call it my "star kiss."
Every soldier around me drops to one knee.
"The Star-Marked Woman," one whispers again, louder this time. "The prophecy is true."
Khalid doesn't kneel. His sword doesn't lower. But his jaw clenches like he's grinding his teeth.
"Get up," he snaps at his soldiers. "It's a birthmark. Nothing more."
"But Commander, the prophecy says—"
"I know what the prophecy says!" His voice cracks like a whip. "And I know what prophecies are worth. Exactly nothing." He turns back to me. "What's your name?"
"Maya. Maya Hartwell."
"Well, Maya Hartwell, you're now a prisoner of the Kemet Empire. You'll come with us to the Palace of Sun's Gate, where the Pharaoh will decide what to do with you." He sheathes his sword finally. "If you try to run, my soldiers will catch you. If you try to fight, they'll subdue you. If you cause any problems whatsoever, I'll personally make sure you regret it. Understood?"
I want to argue. I want to demand answers. I want to wake up from this nightmare.
Instead, I nod.
"Put her on a horse," Khalid orders. "Bind her hands. We leave immediately."
"My hands are already bleeding," I protest as a soldier approaches with rope.
"Then you'll bleed." Khalid's tone makes it clear he doesn't care.
The soldier ties my wrists together—not tight enough to cut off circulation, but firm enough that I couldn't escape even if I knew where to run. Another soldier lifts me onto a horse like I weigh nothing. I grab the animal's mane with my bound hands, trying not to fall off.
Khalid mounts his own horse in one smooth motion. He takes the ankh from the soldier holding it and secures it to his belt.
"That's mine," I say before I can stop myself.
He looks at me with something that might be dark amusement. "Nothing is yours anymore. Not even your freedom." He kicks his horse into motion. "Move out!"
The soldiers surround me, and we start riding across the desert. I've never been on a horse before. Every step sends jolts of pain through my legs and back. The sun beats down mercilessly. My throat is already dry as dust.
After what feels like hours but is probably only minutes, I see it on the horizon.
A city.
But not like any city I've ever seen. Massive walls that gleam gold in the sunlight. Towers that seem to reach the sky. And something else—something that makes my archaeologist brain short-circuit.
Technology. Advanced technology mixed with ancient architecture in ways that shouldn't be possible.
"What is this place?" I whisper.
Khalid doesn't turn around. "Your new home. Or your prison. Depends on whether the Pharaoh believes your story."
"And if he doesn't?"
"Then you'll wish you'd died in the desert."
We ride through gates that are twenty feet tall, into streets filled with people who stop and stare at our group. Children point. Adults whisper. Word spreads fast—the Star-Marked Woman has arrived.
The palace at the city's center is enormous, all white marble and gold. Khalid dismounts and pulls me roughly from my horse. I stumble, but he doesn't let me fall.
"Walk," he orders.
Guards in bronze armor flank us as we enter the palace. The inside is cool and beautiful—but I barely notice because my brain is screaming that this can't be real.
We enter a massive chamber. At the far end sits a man on a throne—younger than I expected, maybe forty, wearing a crown that catches the light.
The Pharaoh.
Khalid pushes me forward. I fall to my knees on the marble floor.
"My Pharaoh," Khalid says, bowing. "I bring you the woman from the prophecy. She appeared in the Sacred Desert carrying the Temporal Ankh."
The Pharaoh studies me with sharp, intelligent eyes. "Does she speak?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," I manage. "I speak. And I have no idea what prophecy everyone keeps talking about."
A woman in white robes steps forward from beside the throne. She's beautiful and terrifying, with eyes that seem to see right through me.
"You don't remember," she says softly. "Of course you don't. The journey through time erases so much." She approaches me, kneels, and touches my birthmark with gentle fingers. "But your blood remembers. Your soul remembers."
"Who are you?"
"High Priestess Nefertari. And you, child, are exactly where you were always meant to be."
"That's impossible—"
"Come." She helps me stand. "Let me show you something."
Nefertari leads me to a wall covered in paintings. Ancient paintings, faded with age. And there, in the center, is a woman who looks exactly like me. Same face. Same birthmark. Same ankh in her hands.
Below the painting, in symbols I can suddenly read, are words that make my blood run cold:
She will come from beyond the stars when the world is breaking. She will save us or doom us. The choice is hers alone.
"These paintings," Nefertari says quietly, "are three thousand years old."
I can't breathe. Can't think. This isn't possible. Time travel isn't real. Prophecies aren't real.
But I'm standing in a palace that shouldn't exist, in a time I shouldn't be in, staring at my own face painted centuries before I was born.
"What do you want from me?" I whisper.
The Pharaoh speaks from his throne. "We want you to save our empire from the Great Shattering. The war that will end our civilization unless you stop it."
"I'm just an archaeologist! I can't stop wars!"
"You can," Nefertari says. "Because you're not just an archaeologist. You're—"
The chamber doors burst open.
A man strides in—handsome, younger than Khalid, wearing royal robes. He looks at me with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
"So this is the famous Star-Marked Woman," he says. "How... interesting."
Khalid's hand goes to his sword. "Prince Ammon. You weren't summoned."
"No?" Ammon walks closer to me, studying me like I'm a puzzle. "But surely the Pharaoh's cousin has the right to see the woman who will supposedly save us all." His smile widens. "Or destroy us. The prophecy is rather unclear on that point."
He reaches out to touch my birthmark. Khalid moves between us so fast I barely see it.
"Don't," Khalid warns.
Ammon laughs. "Protective already, Commander? How sweet." He steps back, hands raised in mock surrender. "I simply wanted to welcome our honored guest."
The Pharaoh stands. "Enough. Commander Khalid, you will be responsible for the Star-Marked Woman's safety and training. Protect her. Prepare her. Fail, and the Empire falls with you."
Khalid bows stiffly. "Yes, my Pharaoh."
I grab his arm without thinking. "Wait—training for what? How long am I staying here? How do I get home?"
Everyone looks at me with something like pity.
"Oh, child," Nefertari says softly. "You can't go home. Not until the prophecy is fulfilled." She pauses. "And perhaps not even then."
The world tilts.
I'm trapped. Three thousand years in the past. With a prophecy I don't understand and a war I can't fight.
And the only person who can help me is a warrior who looks at me like I'm his greatest burden.