* * *
Prayer didn't reach his ears too often anymore.
The hope of a god's mercy as distant as the sun's hidden bands by the tops of pyramids. He never saw the sun much anymore as well, unless it was already the beginning of twilight and his shadow had already begun to disappear beneath his heels.
When he'd sleep during the day, he'd dream of the face of a man he couldn't see. Until that evening, when he listened to his shadow praying. From his half conscious state, he could smell the scent of Frankincense seeping into his lungs. The side of his temple was resting on a cot that was harsh to his burnt skin. Where was he?
"Thief." Came the voice of the shadow. The prayer had stopped, and he felt his head sink against the cot, he breathed in, unable to feel the sensation in his right leg. Hoisting himself up on his bruised left elbow, he realized this shadow was speaking to him behind bars.
"Where am I?" The cautious words fell heavily from his tongue, the back of his head throbbing from a blow that was unknown to him. The last thing he could remember, was slipping away with the shadows of the evening, high up in the caves out in the desert. What had came from that evening?
"My palace." The tone itself was humble, and a glint from what slivers of light were somehow left through the cracks, he saw the Eye of Horus staring back at him. The gold headdress easily catching the light, outlining the contours of the young man's face clearly in his wake. The eyes were red, blazing against the complexion of his skin, as dark as a desert's restless eve.
Pharaoh.
The energy he'd sensed in that moment, was nothing short of a bittersweet miracle that left his tongue dry. His blood seeped and raged through his veins under his bruised skin. His heart lay in his throat, while his eyebrows creased with anger. This was the man that he had dreamt about for so long, but had in truth hated more than fate itself. His humble face, was also the face of destruction that he'd still hear screaming in the back of his mind.
The licking flames of his people, reduced to nothing but ash.
"You." He spat, half sitting up on his elbow.
"I wouldn't force yourself to move too much. Your wounds were extremely extensive. You've already been treated, regardless of your actions." He heard his footsteps drawing close to the bars, and hissed from the cot. This caused the young man to stop, but not retreat. His cape draped at his feet, and even from down below, he could make out the shimmer of his jewelry.
Words flooded up the back of his throat, but the pain from numerous burns on his legs silenced nothing but the air flowing from between his lips.
"They were going to burn you alive, for your crime against the sleeping in the tombs. However, I will not have your blood on my hands in start of this new season. With the sake of the gods, you are at my mercy, thief."
"I'd rather been burnt to death, and spend eternity alive to torture you for the rest of your life." His eyes struggled to focus, now that the light had disappeared from the Pharaoh's face.
"I'll never die."
* * *
"I'll never die."
Were the words he could taste on his tongue, whenever he heard the thief writhe in pain by means of candle light down in the prison chamber.
Between his lips was a dirty piece of linen to not give the guards the satisfaction of hearing his discomfort.
It was he, Atem that had ordered the thief to be kept alive - after nearly being burnt alive for the crimes against the slumbering kings in their tombs. Atem, who later on wiped the sweat from his brow after his wounds had been drained and cleaned. The thief seemed most like a subdued, caged animal when Atem'd touch him, and despite the cautious words from his advisers, Atem still wanted to gain his trust.
He never spoke to him again. Atem found this intriguing, because he'd visit him down in the chamber each day. Though, when he opened the door to get closer, the thief never reacted outside of his joints tensing.
"Come."