Atem awoke at dawn on the third and final day of their journey to Memphis. The sun had forced its way between the slats of his cabin, creating a pillar of light that teetered back and forth across his face with each roll of the ship's hull through the swift currents of the Nile. Between the heaving of the ship and unsettling dreams, he had barely slept a wink. Grudgingly, he rose and dressed himself before exiting the cabin and climbing the stairs to the top deck. There, he flinched and shielded his eyes from the blinding sun — it seemed only fitting that Nefertem, one of the patron deities of Memphis and god of the rising sun, would greet their arrival with such disdain.

Once his vision had adjusted to Nefertem's unforgiving gaze, Atem was able to make out what looked like the silhouette of his father standing toward the front of the ship. As he approached, however, he realized it was in fact Aknadin, one of his father's most trusted priests and Guardian of the Millennium Eye. Atem froze as Aknadin turned toward him; the sun's harsh rays seemed pleasant compared to the golden glare of the Eye. Aknadin may have been close with his father, but Atem had always felt a bit uneasy around the stoic priest. The lines of his face seemed carved with grim foreboding, and his voice carried with it an eerie undertone, as if a tortured spirit were speaking through him.

"Good morning, Prince Atem," Aknadin said. "I hope you slept well."

Atem braced himself and forced a smile. "I did," he lied. "Thank you."

"Good. The Pharaoh will need you well-rested if you are to support him during today's parley."

The words brought a roil of nervousness into the pit of Atem's stomach. Soon, he would be standing on the unfriendly soil of Memphis, ready to face down the rebel Metjen and his followers. His father had assured him repeatedly that no aggression was expected from either side during the parley, but Atem had still tossed and turned all night in anxious anticipation.

Atem's attention was soon drawn away from Aknadin and his piercing Eye, to a flash of light far on the horizon. He turned, just barely catching sight of a gold-tipped, triangular shape hovering over the craggy ridge above Memphis.

Aknadin, too, turned his attention to it. "The Great Pyramid of Giza," he said softly. "The final resting place of the noble Pharaoh Khufu. Some say it is protected by the ka of Ra himself." Atem looked up at Aknadin, whose one human eye had grown wide in reverence. "Legend says there exists a chamber below the Pharaoh's resting place, where man can face the god-creator and harness his power by defeating him in a duel."

A soft laugh caused both Atem and Aknadin to turn around; Aknamkanon was standing behind them looking amused. "Naturally, hundreds of proud warriors and sly plunderers have tried to fulfil this prophecy," the Pharaoh said. "But there exists no such chamber within the Pyramid. Only Khufu's lonely sarcophagus."

A smile finally came to Atem's face upon laying eyes on his father. The Pharaoh looked calm and collected, despite the haze of anxiety hanging over the day.

"Besides," Aknamkanon went on, "the Giza Plateau is heavily guarded by the Memphis Conclave, and somehow I don't see them letting us make a stopover there before our parley."

Atem smiled wider. It comforted him to know his father could still be so relaxed in the face of such adversity.

"Good morning, your highness," Aknadin said with a short bow.

Aknamkanon nodded to his High Priest, then turned to Atem. "As usual, you're up before your brother, Atem. Aknadin, could you please go and rouse Tefnak? I wish to speak with both of my sons before we arrive in Memphis."

Aknadin bowed again and excused himself. The Pharaoh then took a step forward and laid a hand on Atem's shoulder, turning him toward the front of the ship. "You look tired, my son. Did sleep not come to you?"

"The Nile was restless last night," Atem replied.

"Indeed," his father confirmed. "And so, I think, were your thoughts." He reached out and ruffled Atem's hair.

Atem smiled, though a flush came to his cheeks all the same. "I'm sorry, Father," he said, looking down at the Millennium Pendant hanging around the Pharaoh's neck. "Courage does not come as easily to me as it does to you and Tefnak."

Aknamkanon stopped walking. He placed both hands on Atem's shoulders, summoning his son's face back up to him. "It takes more courage to seek peace than it does to stir conflict," his father said in a quiet voice. "For what king would be called brave if he used power only to oppress his subjects, rather than to lift them up?"

For the first time since he awoke, Atem felt his anxious thoughts start to dissipate; the quiet moment, however, was soon interrupted by the loud footsteps approaching. Tefnak suddenly surged past them, running up to the bow of the ship.

"Father — brother!" Tef said loudly, holding his arms open to the sun. "Memphis approaches!"

Aknamkanon straightened up and turned to his other son. "How astute you are, Tefnak," the Pharaoh said, chuckling. "I trust you slept well."

Tef turned back around and jumped down off the bow. "Like Horus on the eve of battle!" he said.

Aknamkanon looked suddenly grave. "Don't forget, Tefnak: we enter Memphis as guests of the nomarch, and nothing more."

Tef scoffed. "You speak as though he is the king, and we the subjects," he said. "Do you remember what Isis foretold? The rebel will be on his knees before the sun reaches its peak."

"That may be so, but I intend to exhaust all peaceful options to reaffirm Metjen's fealty before resorting to violence. Understood?"

Tef rolled his eyes before nodding.

"Good," the Pharaoh said. "I have faith that there is still good in Metjen, despite his spirited cheek."

Aknamkanon turned at the sound of more footsteps approaching. A kingsguard soldier trotted up and bowed. "My king, we are preparing to dock."

"Very well," the Pharaoh replied. "Come, my sons. Let us greet our subjects of this nome with good cheer."

Aknamkanon shepherded both of his sons up to the bow as the ship navigated its way through the many inlets and canals on the outskirts of Memphis. It didn't take long for the citizens there to realize their king was aboard — crowds soon began to gather at the banks of the Nile to see the Pharaoh and his sons. Many were joyous, cheering and throwing offerings into the river. But not all shared in the jubilation — Atem could make out a handful of curses and rude gestures among those in attendance. Still, his father greeted each and every citizen with grace, and so Atem did the same, waving and smiling and until finally the ship came to rest at a stone wharf just outside the city proper.

His father and brother dismounted the bow, waiting at the side of the ship for the disembarking platform to be set up. Atem stayed to survey the vast city of Memphis, spread out as far as the eye could see. Above the sea of mudbrick houses and huts rose great temples and monuments, many of them still sporting the white limestone sheen of their youth despite the centuries that had passed since their erection. Atem's eyes were drawn to a large temple squared perfectly to the wharf where they were docked, its pylons flying flags with the lioness head of Sekhmet woven onto them. It took him a moment to notice a small mass of people gathered at its front gates. When he squinted, he could see that some of the individuals were also holding flags sporting the image of the war goddess. A welcoming party, Atem thought. His stomach turned.

When the disembarking platform was ready, a small battalion of kingsguard soldiers entered the city to secure a safe path for the king up to the temple. Atem finally jumped down off the bow and joined the rest of the members of the royal court: Aknamkanon and Tefnak, as well as Aknadin, who had since been joined by both Mahad and Isis.

Isis stepped forward to greet Atem with a serene smile. "Good morning, my prince," she said, her whimsical voice helping to preserve what little optimism he had left. "Memphis welcomes you back to her embrace with open arms."

Atem nodded. "I still remember the last time I came here. You were with me, if I recall."

Isis's smile grew wider. "I didn't think you remembered," she said. "That was before your father bestowed upon me the honor of the Millennium Necklace. I was just your mother's handmaiden at the time."

Atem's heart grew heavy at the mention of his mother. She had died not long after their return from Memphis — a fever had struck her and took her away in less than a week. "I remember. We all prayed together at the temple of Hathor."

"I still recall what I prayed for. Although it has yet to come true."

Atem looked hard into Isis's eyes, which shone in the light of the rising sun. "Isis, may I ask you something? About the Millennium Necklace?"

"Anything, my prince."

"Is it possible for the Necklace to be … wrong?"

Isis hummed with interest. "There is no 'right' or 'wrong' with the Millennium Necklace," she said. "There is only 'truth' and 'untruth.' The Necklace has the power to show us either one — it is my job to interpret them both."

Atem stared at her, not quite comprehending her words.

"Think of the future like a painting," she went on. "Truth is like light — illuminating the image with color and hue. Untruth is like darkness — casting shadows and forming shapes. You cannot have light without dark, just as you cannot have truth without untruth. So you see, the Necklace shows me both — and I seek to uncover the image they create."

Atem lowered his head, letting her words sink in.

"But if you are asking about my vision of the nomarch," Isis said, "you needn't worry, my prince. The image I saw was as clear as day."

Atem turned his eyes back up, his heart lifting along with them. Of all his father's advisors, Isis was the one he trusted most of all.

"Atem." His father's voice floated in from nearby. "We must depart now."

"Coming, Father." Atem smiled and nodded to Isis before trotting off to meet his father and brother.

They disembarked together, and when they reached solid ground they were quickly surrounded by a phalanx of royal guards, who escorted them up the hill toward the temple. Many soldiers had already been deployed to the various alleyways and cross streets to stop foot traffic ahead of the king. Normally the Pharaoh would have been carried by a covered palanquin, but Aknamkanon preferred to travel by foot or horse when meeting with local leaders, so as to position both parties on equal footing.

It was a short walk from the wharf to the foot of the temple, and Atem felt as though his heart might burst with anticipation by the time the royal escort finally stopped. Even when they did, Atem couldn't see anything over the broad shields of the soldiers. He cursed his short stature, having to peer through the cracks to get a glimpse at what lay ahead.

Atem jumped when the foremost soldier suddenly shouted. "May I present his royal highness, the Great Pharaoh Aknamkanon, and his trusted members of the court!"

On perfect cue, the phalanx parted into two equal lines, finally revealing to Atem the nomarch's welcoming party.

It was easy to spot the nomarch himself: Metjen stood at the front of the pack, a tall man of forty or so, with a gray-streaked beard and shoulder-length hair, half of which was swept back into a ponytail. Upon his head was a simple golden circlet, a sign of the nomarch's high status. His arms were crossed in front of him, the length of his long, scarlet cloak clutched in one hand, concealing most of his body. After studying Metjen for a moment, Atem looked around at the rest of the nomarch's followers.

There were perhaps a dozen priests in attendance, many of whom were dressed similarly in white tunics with red shendyt coming to rest above their knees. Three of the individuals stood out from the rest, however: another brooding man stood beside Metjen — tall, but lithe, dressed in full leather armor and sporting a top knot. He looked like a younger reflection of the nomarch, and Atem supposed it must be his son. On the other side of Metjen was a young woman. She, too, had the same piercing gaze as Metjen, although her eyes were a warmer, earthen tone. She had dark, wavy hair that faded to the color of ash at the ends, which brushed her collarbone, and blunt bangs that framed her serious face. She wore a striking white kalasiris, with a red sash hanging from her waist. This must be Metjen's daughter, Atem thought.

The last of the unique individuals was standing behind the nomarch and his children, and if Atem hadn't been studying them so closely, he might have missed him: a man with hair as white as a full moon and eyes glinting like two scarab beetles. The anxious feeling returned to the pit of his stomach as Atem followed the man's gaze to where it rested — directly on Tefnak's Millennium Ring.

Atem's concentration was interrupted when a booming voice came from ahead. "King of Thebes!" Metjen exclaimed. "Welcome to Memphis!"

Atem watched as his father took several steps forward. The nomarch gave Aknamkanon a small nod of respect — a far cry from the full kneeling bow that was expected of him when greeting his Pharaoh.

"Thank you, Metjen," Aknamkanon responded. "It is an honor to be in your holy city once again." The king swept his arm out behind him. "Allow me to introduce the members of my court — my sons, Tefnak and Atem, trusted member of the Royal Conclave, Mahad, and my High Priests, Aknadin and Isis."

Metjen gave a single nod to each of them. "Welcome, members of the court. May I present to you my family — my son, Metka, and my daughter, Satiah."

"Your children have grown since last I visited," Aknamkanon said.

Metjen turned his chin up. "As have yours."

An awkward pause followed, and Aknamkanon smiled. "Perhaps your son and daughter could show us the way into the temple of Sekhmet, so that we may speak in private."

"If you have words for us, you may speak them for all the city to hear."

All eyes suddenly snapped to Metka. Out of the corner of his eye, Atem saw Tefnak curl his hand into a fist, but his father maintained a calm smile.

"Metka," the Pharaoh said. "Your name befits you. Your ka is quite bold."

Tef scoffed. "His ka may be bold … but his manners are lacking."

Metka took only a single step before he was met with a dozen spears pointed at him. He was stopped by his father's outstretched hand, and the nomarch shot his son a glare before turning his eyes back to the king.

"You say you want words, Pharaoh, and yet you point your weapons at my son as if he is a common criminal."

Aknamkanon reached out and placed his hand on one of the soldier's spears, lowering it. The rest of the phalanx followed suit. "My apologies, nomarch. Neither my soldiers nor my viziers mean any offense. We came here to exchange words of peace, not strife."

"It is not your words that offend us, my king." Eyes were turned to Satiah now, whose commanding voice betrayed her small frame. Her gaze was very clearly locked on the Millennium Pendant hanging around the Pharaoh's neck.

Aknamkanon lowered his eyes to the Pendant, then raised them back up to Satiah. "I see," he said. "There were many who feared the power of the Millennium Items when they were first forged in my name. And rightfully so — they afforded us abilities that man could only dream of until that point." Aknamkanon cradled the Pendant in his hand. "But as they brought the destruction of Egypt's enemies, so have they secured peace in our lands for long over a decade. Even now, my priests use them to fortify our might across the region, so that never again will Egypt fall victim to the threat of outsiders."

"You speak as if it was you alone who faced such adversity," Metjen shot back. "While you waited seven days for the enemies of Egypt to besiege Thebes, my kin fought and died defending Memphis from their attacks. We repelled the invaders using the strength of our ka alone, with no aid from you or your Items."

"Their sacrifice will never be forgotten," Aknamkanon said, his voice grave. "Egypt will forever sing the song of their triumph."

"Our people do not want your songs," Satiah said. "We seek only to preserve the sanctity of our magic — for we believe magic must be cultivated in the inner soul, not stolen from the ka of others."

Atem flinched as Aknadin suddenly surged forward. "You dare accuse your king of practicing blood magic?!" he cried.

Metjen's son pointed his finger at Aknadin. "What would you call it, when the souls of petty thieves are being ripped out and sealed in stone for all eternity?!"

"Enough!"

The Pharaoh's voice echoed across the courtyard of the temple. Atem could feel the blood draining from his face with each passing moment.

"It is clear that no amount of words will secure the peace I seek," Aknamkanon said. "I do not need for the nomarch to understand my position, but as Pharaoh I must demand his fealty, or he shall be charged with treason against his people."

Metjen looked surprisingly calm at being labeled a traitor. Slowly, he unfurled his arms, leveling his gaze at his accuser. "Fine. If words will not suffice, then let us settle this with action." Metjen raised his arm, pointing one finger at the Pharaoh. "There is no other choice: we must duel."