The echo of the last chant still lingered in the air of the Great Temple of Dipt-hjoser. The musicians, with their harps and flutes, had fallen silent. They remained in distant areas, behind columns and curtains, for it was not permitted for them to witness the ritual, despite their important role.
The blood of the sacrificed animals had completely dissipated, now transformed into filaments that lazily danced between the columns, feeding the hieroglyphs carved into the walls all the way to the center of the altar.
"So this is the answer." Uras stood in the center of the hall, arms still slightly open, as if he continued to receive the flow of power coursing through his veins. His bronzed skin seemed lit from within; thin veins of golden light pulsed beneath the surface, slowly fading. He breathed slowly, feeling the weight of divine certainty settle in his chest like an invisible crown.
Neftraya remained close to the altar. Her white tunic flowed from the neckline down to her feet, while a blue fabric draped her shoulders to the elbows. Polished stone jewels rested upon her body, and a golden tiara held in place the veil that fell along the side of her face.
Other priests had attended the ritual, but the ceremony had also been performed in several temples across the city, by order of the pharaoh, in thanks to the Gods. This particular ritual, however, the one that had just concluded, was a direct answer regarding the war.
"I was right, Neftraya." The pharaoh turned to the woman with a smile. She returned it with a nod, as if acknowledging his wisdom. "You were too, evidently, after changing your mind. Our awakening clearly comes from the light of the Creator. And I, the honored of Ptah, Uras'Diptsur, God on earth, am right."
The priestess of Amophf was surprised. Amophf himself had been unable to intervene, he had told her. Therefore, Uras's certainty, born from the outcome of the sacrifice, was real.
"I don't know exactly what happened, but during the ritual I faced the same light I saw in Krarvathar's eyes," Amophf had said in her mind. Amophf's lack of knowledge about certain things had never troubled Neftraya until that moment.
The scent of incense hung in the air as though it had descended from the dwelling place of the Gods. The obsidian altar, still floating a hand's breadth above the floor, held by chains, emitted a low, steady glow, like the pulse of a satisfied divine heart.
The statues of the gods—the first triad: DiptsurRá with his crown of living flames, Ahnyjis-Ptah with his scepter and deep onyx eyes, and Izhis with half-opened wings that seemed ready to take flight—continued to exude their auras: a comforting warmth, a protective shadow that moved like smoke, and gentle gusts of wind carrying the fragrance of desert flowers that never wilt.
Neftraya had never received such a clear answer, nor had the pharaoh, who stood in ecstasy. From an opening high in the wall, a calm breeze entered. The pharaoh glanced back and ordered everyone present to leave. His look toward General Nahkit—who had been permitted to remain at the back of the hall during the ritual—was enough for the soldier to understand what to do.
Only the pharaoh and Neftraya remained when sand coalesced at the far end of the hall, taking the form of the old elf Jóarnaliel.
The pharaoh wore a smug smile as he stared at the elf from afar. Jóarnaliel returned the gaze with one of sorrow and a sigh, quickly understanding.
"Uras—"
"The will of the Gods is the law of our world. Return whence you came and do not threaten to bring war to Khemet. Whatever the old stories claim about the past no longer holds any value now."
"That which gave you certainty comes from the enemy side, not from the one you call DiptsurRá." The elf's voice was calm, but grew more serious as he turned his eyes to Neftraya. "I see the one who hides within you, impious woman. Your soul is foul."
The priestess's eyes widened, her lips curving into a subtle smile. But Uras intervened first.
"My doubts are over, Jóarnaliel. Your accusations are unwelcome in this sacred center. The Gods are watching, and they will protect us." The pharaoh declared, authoritative. "I will not be held responsible if elven blood is spilled by my servant… Krarvathar, the beast of the Sun."
The old elf closed his eyes, feeling defeated.
"What you said is correct, Uras'Diptsur: the will of the gods is the law of our world. And the will of my Goddess will not allow that creature to continue existing. It is truly a pity—"
"Are you talking about me?" The deep voice resounded as the hall's gate opened. The three inside turned toward Krarvathar.
"Well, well, an old elf… old enough to have witnessed the death of your race at my hands?" he said, walking calmly forward.
Jóarnaliel started for a moment and observed carefully; the dragon appeared far more human than when he had seen him through Thswoner's memories, and that was a serious problem.
Uras and Neftraya were stunned by the appearance. Their breathing quickened, as though death might claim them at any second.
"But if you didn't see it in the past, don't worry." He stopped in front of the altar. "I'll do it again."