Satiah stared into the moonsplashed lowland, where the seven Wedju Shrines stood like silent sentries, guarding hundreds upon hundreds of borrowed spirits. She hadn't been back inside them since her second day in Thebes, when Atem had called on his mother's ka. Thinking back now, Satiah felt an unexpected knife of guilt at how she'd turned away from the benevolent spirit, who had done nothing but offer up a small token of compassion in a time of sorrow. But the wounds of Metka's death had been so fresh then — and her anger still so raw. Now, she almost felt a thrill at the thought of walking inside the towering hall — to finally be reunited with her spirit after three long months apart.

A moment later, she heard hushed voices approaching, and she turned to see her husband emerging from the palace with a small attendance in tow — her father, Shimon, and Seto, whose Millennium Item would be needed to release their imprisoned ka.

Satiah tried to temper the smile that broke unbidden to her face as they approached, but when she saw a similar grin plastered on her father's features, there was no hope of concealing her excitement. They stood beaming at each other for a moment before Atem lifted his arm to her. "Shall we?"

Satiah threaded her hand beneath his arm and turned, still grinning, to descend the steep stairwell nearby. When they leveled off into the lowland, Satiah couldn't help but lift her eyes up to the towering obelisk over the Shrine designated for the Pharaoh. It truly was immense and beautiful, even if hauntingly so.

Her smile fell slightly as they entered it, her attention drawn instantly to the back of the chamber, where two stone tablets had been erected — one carved with the visage of her father's ka, and the other bearing the image of her Shieldmaiden. Her heart began to beat wildly against her ribcage, like a bird eager to be free.

Atem turned to her and offered a curt nod, then released her arm to move toward the perimeter of the Shrine. His presence was replaced a moment later by that of her father's. The sight of his smile warmed her fluttering heart again.

"Step forward."

Seto's sharp voice cut across the Shrine, causing Satiah to stand up straight. She squared off against her ka's tablet, then took several long paces toward it, her father doing the same with his. They stopped in the middle of the Shrine, directly beneath the yawning, hollow obelisk.

A moment later, Seto stepped up beside the tablets. He lifted his Rod, its spherical head glowing darkly before two beams of light erupted from it, racing out to strike the stone slabs.

Satiah winced back as the chamber was suddenly swallowed with bright warmth, but she didn't need her eyes to know what was happening before her. In her heart, she felt it — the familiar, smoldering glow, the arcane whispers in a language only she could understand. When the light finally dissipated, she looked up to find herself face-to-face with her spiritual reflection — dark, fierce eyes shaded by the pelt of a lion, cascading down battle-worn armor, with rigid arms bearing a spear, and the impenetrable shield which had saved Satiah more times than she could count. The spirit smiled proudly as she looked upon her former master, as if she knew exactly why she had been summoned this night.

Beside the Shieldmaiden, her father's ka also stood, but Satiah felt a flicker of worry to see the Servant of Ptah had completely sealed itself inside its gilded sarcophagus. She looked to her father, finding anxiety painted on his face as well. But a moment later, the cover of the sarcophagus cracked open, swinging outward to reveal the spirit within. Mummified arms unfurled themselves, reaching out to Metjen as if expecting an embrace.

Relief washed over Satiah when she saw her father's face break with a very pleased grin, but their eyes were redirected again by the sound of Seto's voice.

"The ka have accepted their former vessels," he announced. "Prepare yourselves to be re-inhabited."

But he left no time for any preparation. With a sweep of his Rod, Seto sent both ka rushing across the Shrine, and Satiah felt as if her chest had been crushed beneath a pile of stones when her spirit collided with her body. A shock of cold rippled along her flesh, replaced a split second afterward with a burning sensation, as if she'd been taken by a deadly fever. Gritting her teeth, Satiah doubled over and hugged her middle, battling each searing wave of vigor and might and terror and ecstasy. Finally, after an agonizing moment, the sensations narrowed to a pinpoint in her heart, causing her to hiss a sharp cry and crash down to all fours.

"Satiah!"

Gasping for breath, she turned up to see Atem pivoting in her direction. His eyes bore worry, but she waved him off and sat up, quickly looking to her father. He, too, was crouched to one knee, his shoulders pulsing raggedly, as if he'd run a mile in noonday heat. But after a moment, he turned and met her eyes, and she knew that all was as it had been, before all the death and destruction, before the marriage and the uprising — before their spirits had been infected with wrathfulness. Choking a sob, Satiah threw her arms around her father's neck, pressing her cheek into his heaving chest. He held tight to her, and for a moment Satiah felt like she was a child again, her father's embrace filled with all the same pride he'd shown her after her ka had manifested for the very first time.

Once again, Seto interrupted the happy moment. "You may now choose whether or not to destroy the tablet which holds your ka," he explained.

Satiah released her father and turned to face the priest. "What will happen if we do?" she asked.

"You will become the sole possessor of your spirit, and no spellcaster will ever be able to call upon it again," Seto said. "But you will no longer be able to send your ka to slumber in stone to recover from injuries sustained in battle. Should you be defeated in a duel, your spirit will be forced to repair itself within the vessel of your body—"

Metjen huffed and forced himself back to his feet. "You need not lecture me on the duties of tending to my spirit," he said contemptuously. "I do not fear the pain of defeat. I will destroy my tablet, so that no man can ever claim my soul for his own."

Seto nodded. "As you wish."

Satiah staggered to her feet and watched as her father held his arm out firmly toward his tablet. At this, the Shrine was filled with the sound of cracking stone, which echoed into a thunderous crash against the close walls and sloped ceiling. Dark fractures spidered out along the surface of the slab, and each chunk came crumbling down, one after another, until there was nothing but a pile of smoking rubble on the floor of the Shrine.

Metjen dropped his arm, looking satisfied. He then turned to Satiah, and all other eyes in the chamber fell to her as well. When a moment ago she'd been comforted by the return of her spirit, Satiah now felt incredibly conflicted. She found her eyes drifting to her husband. To his credit, he managed to keep his features free of virtually any emotion — a skill he'd honed quickly since rising to the throne. But still, somewhere between the misty depths of his eyes and the tight line of his lips, Satiah felt the slightest flicker of doubt — a doubt that caused her arm to tremble as she lifted it toward her tablet. She stared hard at the strange, featureless etching on the surface of the stone, feeling moments passing like hours as her spirit thrashed fervidly in the pit of her stomach.

Finally, with a hiss of defeat, she dropped her arm, turning her reddened face toward the floor. "I will keep my tablet," she said quietly. When she lifted her head again, she looked not to her father or the slab, but her husband, whose eyes had gone wide in disbelief. "As Queen of Egypt, it is my duty to use my spirit to protect my people. To that end, my ka will continue to answer the call of those who are most in need."

Atem let slip a long, smooth sigh of relief. But Satiah still felt her own worries prickling along her flesh, which sharpened into nails of shame as she turned toward her father. The joy and pride and delight he'd shown her just moments before were now gone, replaced with cold judgment. He lifted his head up, turning to face the king.

"Thank you, Pharaoh," he said, bowing at the waist. "I will forever remember your kindness and graciousness."

Without another word, he turned and set off into the night, his shadow clawing its way up the endless wall of stone slabs behind.

Deep into the night, Atem was awoken from a very pleasant dream by the sound and feel of his wife moving beneath the covers beside him. Inhaling deeply, he looked over to see Satiah turning toward him in her sleep, her heavy head nestling into her feather pillow. He smiled instinctively at the sight, which could only be described as captivating — her breaths whispering in and out from between parted lips, her fingers twitching around the sheets tucked up under her chin. A thin river of her hair was splashed across her face, and Atem, unthinking, lifted a hand to brush it away and allow himself a better view of her peaceful features. At this, her lashes fluttered open, her eyes purging of their dreamy glow as she focused on him.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he whispered.

In that gracious way of hers, she smiled, and Atem felt a warm glow kindling in his core. His half-asleep mind was suddenly overpowered by impulse, leading him to lean forward and catch her lips in a soft, but firm kiss. She faltered a moment, but soon gave in to the affections, her shoulders opening to him.

His fond whims pulled him onward, telling him to deepen this tender moment. Grasping her hand lightly at the palm, he pressed it down into the bed and rose above her, parting his lips to tempt her into him. Distracted by his own desires, he failed to notice the subtle signs of her hesitance — the twinge of her nails on the back of his hand, the slight twist of her head away from him. It wasn't until she reached her free hand up and pushed gently at his chest that Atem finally pulled back, opening his eyes to stare, startled, down at her.

"I'm sorry," he said, releasing her hand and falling back to give her space.

Satiah looked up at him, and he was surprised to see a hint of guilt in her eyes. "No…" she hissed. "It's not you."

She exhaled sharply, then rose up onto her elbows, tilting her body back against the headboard. Atem relaxed into a similar position, but in doing so, he lost her eyes. She stared across the room, out the window and into the perfect circle of the moon. The cold light brought all the shadows of her doubt to the surface, and Atem remembered how the same brush strokes had painted her earlier in the Wedju Shrine.

Slowly, he lifted his hand and caressed her arm. "Talk to me," he said.

It was several long moments, but eventually she turned to face him again, the mechanism of thought clearly ticking behind her eyes. "It's just…" She trailed off, her hand rising to rest over his where it lay nestled in the crook of her arm. "Have you ever stopped to think about whether you even want to bring a child into this world?"

Atem fought the astonishment he felt creeping into his features, tempering it with a breath so deep it strained at his lungs. The silence gave him an opportunity to consider her words, which conjured up conflicting feelings of duty and desire yet again. Even before he'd risen to the throne, Atem had assumed the winding path of his future would one day lead to fatherhood. But such thoughts had always been lazing in the back of his mind — a whimsical eventuality that would come about when the time was right. Now, with the line of succession whittled away in less than three months, he was beginning to feel the pressure from every angle. Though he tried his best to ignore it, Atem often heard whispers at court about a contingency plan should he meet an untimely end — like his father and brother.

"There's no rush," he forced himself to say aloud.

Satiah glanced back at him once again, offering a quiet hum of agreement. Atem knew just from the dry melody in her voice that she was privy to the gossip as well. "I just … worry," she went on. "With all this talk of darkness and vengeance … I worry about the kind of world my children would inherit. Is it a world I can be proud of, where they would feel safe? Where they have the freedom to choose their own paths?"

Atem sat up straighter and put his arm around Satiah's shoulders. "We will make it so," he said firmly, turning down to look into her uncertain eyes. "I promise you. We will not stop until we create a future worthy of the generations to come."

Satiah flashed a tortured smile, resting her head on his shoulder and sighing a deep breath across his bare skin. Atem slipped a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face back up. "There's no rush," he repeated, and then he kissed her again — long and slow and sweet.

Satiah felt strange finding herself in the Wedju Shrines for the second time in as many weeks, this time without fear or dread weighing heavy in her heart. Atem had asked her to oversee the curation of his own Shrine — the last inheritance passed down from his father upon his burial. The Shrine was a monument to the former Pharaoh's long and illustrious reign, its walls decorated with dozens upon dozens of spirits collected from all across the kingdom of Egypt. But now, it was being culled to make room for the new king's rising legacy.

In truth, Satiah was stunned when Atem had asked her to take on this task, and her first instinct had been to decline it outright — it still grated her nerves to walk in the shadows of so many imprisoned spirits. But something in the thin, mournful tone of his voice had rendered her unable to deny him. She felt as if she owed this to her husband — to help him purge the last whispers of his father's tainted dynasty, and lay the groundwork for what was to come.

And so, with a delicate hand, she'd set to work cataloging the Pharaoh's library of tablets, deciding which ones would remain and which should be removed, hauled off, and buried alongside the former king. She worked closely with Shimon and a collection of older priests of the Conclave, who gave their accounting of each spirit's origin and their assessment on its worth to the new Pharaoh's collection. To their credit, they were sensitive with their words, never disparaging a ka or its vessel. Still, by the time they were nearing the end of their work, Satiah's newly renewed spirit had been worn nearly ragged from the labor of making so many weighty decisions.

As they came upon the fourth and final wall, Satiah found her eyes drawn instantly to the top of the altar at the back of the Shrine. A good deal of Aknamkanon's most trusted tablets had already been removed from the flat wall at the top of the stairs, leaving only his own slab and those of his family.

"We will need to adjust the layout so that his highness's tablet is at the center of the altar," Shimon mused, looking over the long roll of papyrus in his hands. He glanced up at Satiah over the page, looking somewhat abashed. "That just leaves the positioning of your own vessel, my queen."

Swallowing hard, Satiah looked back up at the wall above the altar, tracing her eyes over the familiar carvings of the ka belonging to the king's father, brother and mother. She was having a hard time imagining her own slab hoisted up beside them, forever immortalized in the company of a family she had once cursed.

Her reverie was broken by the sound of a guard trotting up behind them. Satiah turned, grateful for the interruption.

"My queen," the guard said, bowing. "There is a visitor asking after you outside."

Satiah nodded her understanding and excused herself from the gaggle of old priests. She followed swiftly after the messenger into the open air, barely giving a thought to whom the visitor might be. But a jolt of anxiety returned to her heart as her gaze fell upon her father, standing on the threshold, bathed in bright daylight.

Satiah stopped short, watching as he traced his eyes along the Shrine behind her. Eventually, he lowered his stare, and her heart lifted a bit when he smiled ever so slightly, drifting closer to her with meandering steps. As he did, Satiah saw that he was cradling a tightly rolled scroll up against his chest.

"Cleaning house, are we?" he said, somewhat flippantly.

Satiah pursed her lips, trying not to look defensive.

"I'm surprised he trusted you to do it," he went on. "If it were me, I would have turned every single tablet to dust by now."

Satiah swallowed the knot in her throat. "It's hard to look at them and see anything but stolen legacies," she admitted, looking back to watch the shadows of soldiers working within the Shrine. "But it's not that simple. Our lives are made up of so much more than just what we leave behind."

After a long moment, Satiah turned to her father again, surprised to see the late afternoon sun illuminating a hint of pride on his features.

"You've changed so much," he said, moving even closer to her. There, he lifted a hand and rested it on her shoulder, his dark eyes shining. "I want you to know that I don't blame you, Sati. Not for a moment. I knew one day I'd have to say goodbye to my little girl. I just didn't think it'd come so soon." Satiah felt warmth flaring on her cheeks. "But I am glad that I now have my spirit to comfort me in your absence. It will never replace you, but nothing in this world ever could."

"I'm not going anywhere, Father," Satiah said, surprised by how urgent she sounded.

"Perhaps," he said, concealing his wistfulness with another twinkling smile. He lowered his eyes to his shoulder, then cleared his throat and extended the long scroll he held. "Here — the purpose of my visit today."

Satiah creased her brow and took the papyrus, unrolling one of the corners to see weathered hieroglyphs on the surface. "What is this?"

"One of the documents Aknadin brought from Memphis," he said. "I do believe the Pharaoh will find it most intriguing."

"Don't you want to deliver it to him yourself?" she asked.

"I can't," he said quickly. "Many more withering scrolls and dusty tomes in need of my eyes back at the temple."

Satiah gave him a reproachful look, but he simply smiled on.

"Goodbye, Sati," he said, leaning forward and kissing her cheek. "I'll be back if we find anything else of interest."

He bowed slightly as he backed away — a strange and deferential motion, which she found strikingly unbefitting of her father. Turning, he melted into the shadows of the other Shrines, leaving Satiah feeling stone cold, even in the beating sun.