A day turned to a week as Jahar slowly recovered from his injuries, though he had yet to walk more than a few steps around his cell before weakness would take him again. The Guardians continued to hover, with Seto looking particularly anxious during his shifts. But Satiah knew even if Jahar did ever manage to summon his ka again, his dueling days were most likely behind him. She tried not to let this make her morose — Jahar had lived a long and fulfilling life, and he'd won many more battles than he'd lost. Still, it seemed odd to even think that the man who had taught her everything she knew about magic might never again wield it himself.
As the days wore on, Atem and Jahar eased themselves into negotiations with one another. Predictably, little progress was being made, with Jahar stubbornly refusing to talk about his followers' chain of command, and Atem hesitant to offer much in the way of pardons. But it gave Satiah hope to see the two men speaking on equal footing, if only for a few brief moments each day.
With things slowly returning to normal, Satiah resumed her work translating the Millennium Tome. The second spell of the Holy Gods was soon fully transcribed — this one titled "Ode to Osiris, Protector of the Heavens." Like Obelisk's spell, it was to be cast over Khafra's sarcophagus — this time at sundown after the new moon.
But when the day finally arrived for them to make the journey to Giza once again, Satiah began to feel a haze of dread at the thought of descending into the second pyramid. After a night of tossing and turning, she awoke in the late morning with her stomach tying itself into nervous knots.
Atem was already gone again — likely coordinating last-minute preparations for their journey. In solitude, Satiah's mind raced with thoughts of what challenges they might face within Khafra's tomb — and what fearsome shape the Protector of the Heavens might take.
At the sound of the door to the residence opening, Satiah snapped out of her reverie and forced herself to sit up in bed. She wrapped an arm around her roiling stomach, expecting to see Tuya making her way up the stairs, but thoroughly surprised when her husband took shape in the doorway instead. He paused on the threshold, fighting a mirthful smile before making his way further into the room. Satiah couldn't help but smile back, and as he came to stand over the side of the bed, she noticed one of his hands was tucked behind his back.
"Good morning, my queen," he said, leaning over to place a kiss on her forehead.
Satiah tilted her chin up, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. "You're looking rather cheerful."
"That's because it's a special occasion," he said, leaning up. Then, in a flash, he whipped his hand out from behind his back, revealing a beautiful bouquet of blue lotus blossoms, wrapped in a yellow silk ribbon and framed with bulbs of safflower, just beginning to bloom. "A little bird told me you turn twenty-two years old today."
An unbidden sob hitched in Satiah's throat, and she lifted a hand to cover her mouth as tears welled into her eyes.
Atem's smile fell. Looking panicked, he dropped the bouquet to the bed and sat down to take her quivering shoulders in his hands. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Was it something I said?"
Still muffling sobs into her hand, Satiah shook her head wildly, tears squeezing out and gathering along her fingers. Atem clicked his tongue, then reached out and pulled her close. She wrapped herself around him, pressing her wet face into his shoulder.
"Come now," he said, stroking her hair. "No more tears."
But Satiah only sobbed harder at all the nostalgic feelings suddenly circling in her heart. Birthdays weren't a common tradition, even amongst nobility, but Satiah's father had always sought to make them a special day for his children when they were growing up. He'd have the cooks prepare one of their favorite meals, or charter a vessel to sail the Nile for the day. And for Satiah, her father and brother would always build a bouquet of blue lotuses to give her when she first woke up.
But this birthday was different. It was the first birthday of her marriage. The first birthday of her queenhood. Her first birthday without Metka. And she hadn't even realized it was coming.
Atem quietly hushed her while her sobs tapered off. When at last her shoulders settled, she pulled back a bit, wiping her cheeks hard to rid them of the salty trails her tears had left.
Still lightly caressing her arms, Atem smiled again. "I know I'm no florist," he said, reaching over to take up the bouquet. "But they can't be that bad, can they?"
Satiah choked out a laugh and took the flowers, holding them close to let their fragrant scent envelop her. "They're perfect."
The entire ride to Giza, Satiah's stomach continued to thrash and stir. She couldn't fathom why she was so nervous; ahead of their descent into Menkaura's tomb, she remembered feeling nothing but conviction — even bordering on excitement. But between witnessing Obelisk's strength firsthand, and then watching that strength be wielded against her beloved mentor, Satiah's nerves had been thoroughly frayed.
With a deep sigh, she lifted a hand from her horse's reins and ran her fingers along the nape of her neck, where Tuya had braided one of Atem's lotus blossoms into her hair. Touching the silky petals helped to settle her thoughts a bit, and she allowed herself a small smile when she turned to see her husband watching her. He smiled back, his crown glinting red-hot in the sinking sun.
After navigating steep dunes and rock-cut mastabas, they soon arrived at the foot of Khafra's pyramid. Like his son's, the entrance to his tomb was cut into the structure's north face. With Ra's eye now drifting toward the horizon, the pyramid's shadow grew sharply eastward, reaching for the banks of the Nile like a long, pointed finger.
After bidding goodbye to the convoy and the Guardians, Atem and Satiah once again descended into the dark unknown. Satiah pulled her cloak tight around her to stave off the chill that followed them all the way to the entrance of Khafra's burial chamber. Together, they crossed the threshold, Atem's torch carving red light along the angled roof and rigid walls. At the back of the chamber, the Son's sarcophagus took shape, set several feet into the floor and surrounded by thick granite slabs. As they came to stand above it, Atem set his torch down on one of the slabs, helping to illuminate the weathered stone. With a reverent pause, he turned his palms up to the ceiling and closed his eyes in preparation to utter the spell that would take them to meet the God of the Underworld.
"'Wise Osiris,'" he said, "'protector of the heavens and chaperone of souls — your ka circles the world and leads the virtuous to splendor. Gift unto us its Thundering valor, and let us not fall to the temptations of sin.'"
Satiah held her breath tight in her lungs, waiting for the familiar rushing sensation to take her.
When it did, she was still not prepared.
The chamber bled away into nothingness, sending her plummeting through melting dimensions of light and shadow. She tumbled, breathless — reaching for something to anchor herself to, but found nothing until a sparkling plane surged up from below. Swinging her momentum around, she just barely managed to get her feet beneath her before she collided with this new surface, only to find herself falling several inches through it — where she splashed down to her hands and knees, surrounded by ankle-deep water.
Sucking in a deep breath, Satiah scrambled to her feet, just in time to hear another splash nearby. She spun to see Atem lying flat on his back several feet behind her. She rushed over to him, dropping to her knees to help him sit up.
"Are you hurt?" she asked.
He shook his head, then pushed himself to his feet, taking her up with him. "What is this place?"
Satiah cast her eyes around the dreamscape in which they'd landed. Beneath their feet, the glassy water stretched out like a single, unbroken sheet of obsidian, and even though she knew it was only as deep as her ankles, she could not see the floor below. All around them, countless hypostyle pillars grew up from the water, standing in perfectly equal rows as far as the eye could see. The columns diffused into a dark void overhead, though it seemed as if the blackness were moving in some spots — twisting and flowing like a gentle current. As Satiah looked closer, she realized the void was actually blanketed in rivers of sand — snaking around the pillars and braiding together to form a large stream above them.
Satiah glanced at Atem, who looked back at her as if he had the same urge as she did — to follow the river deeper into the darkness ahead. He was first to set off, his footsteps trickling lightly through the water as he walked. Satiah followed him, keeping her eyes turned up to the mass of sand ebbing overhead. Even in the shifting desert dunes, Satiah had never seen sand move like this. The uncanniness of it set her teeth on edge.
Slowly, they wove in and out between the massive columns, following only the largest river, into which many dozens of tributaries seemed to feed. In this surreal landscape, Satiah had no frame of reference to tell whether or not they were going in circles, but she knew somehow the God's will was pulling them to where they needed to go — as only it could.
After walking for what could have been moments or hours or days, the pillars finally opened to a vast, empty clearing, vaguely circular in shape. Several more rivers of sand flowed out from the surrounding columns to converge in the very center of the clearing. There, the sand cascaded down toward the floor, gathering in a shallow, swirling vortex that sat just above the water's surface.
Again, Satiah looked to her husband, and again, his eyes were filled with wonder. He turned toward the center of the room and immediately set off for it, Satiah trailing behind. They stopped before the rushing torrent of sand, which seemed infinitely larger up close. The sound, too, was deep and thunderous — like a thousand voices, crying out together in want. It was so loud, Satiah almost missed a new noise rattling up from below. By the time she felt and saw the ripples of water around her ankles, it was too late — a streak of red suddenly shot up through the middle of the sandy vortex, sending sharp grains flying off to rain over Atem and Satiah. Both shielded their heads and fell back several paces, gazing in terror at the looming figure that now curled itself around the cascade of sand.
Immediately, Satiah thought of a snake: thin, slithering body; scales writhing like fire — but along its red-and-black trunk, two sets of clawed hands took shape. Above the foremost set soon unfurled a pair of huge, bat-like wings, which the creature stretched outward, forming a shield against the rushing sand, allowing it to rear its massive head through the new void.
Yellow eyes, shimmering like citrine, pierced Satiah's soul. And then — teeth — dozens and dozens of glinting white fangs, set in along not one, but two sets of jaws. First, the creature parted its lower jaw to let out a fierce cry. Then, its second jaw opened, gathering blinding blue light within the misting cavern of its mouth.
Satiah felt a hand grip around her arm as Atem jerked her backward, out of range of the God's attack. She stumbled after him, looking over her shoulder just in time to see the blue light streaking outward, striking the floor where they'd stood only moments before. Surprisingly, the attack brought with it no heat or destruction — in fact, it barely disturbed the water on the floor of the clearing. Upon seeing this, Satiah leaned her weight backward to stop Atem's flight as well. They both turned, and Satiah could just barely see a small form taking shape in the shadow of the creature. Atem stepped forward, eyes squinted, and in the sudden silence, Satiah heard him let out a soft, sonorous gasp.
"…Meriti?
Satiah felt her heart falling through her core as she, too, set eyes on the child who now stood between them and the God. She recognized him immediately — his mother's deep skin, his father's golden hair threaded through his braided sidelock — but whether he was truly flesh and bone, or if this was just some illusion summoned by Osiris, Satiah could not tell.
Atem took two meek steps forward, though the boy had yet to raise his eyes from the floor of the chamber. "Meriti," Atem repeated, raising a hand to cover his heart. "It's me. It's your uncle."
Another step, and finally the child raised his gaze.
Satiah nearly let out a gasp of her own at the sight: hollow, blackened eyes — deep, endless pits, swirling with stars.
"Uncle Atem?" Meriti said, his voice low and twisted, as if the very God who had summoned him were speaking through him.
Atem nodded his head eagerly, and even in the dark, Satiah could see tears shining at the corners of his eyes.
Meriti lifted his head further, casting his nebulous gaze around the room. "Why am I here?" he asked.
A shallow inhale hitched in Atem's throat. "Meriti—"
"Why can't I see Mama anymore?"
Atem released his stolen breath, heavy and laden with guilt. He took another step, but he was brought to a standstill as Meriti suddenly raised his hands before his face.
"Stay back!" Meriti shouted. A dull glow surrounded the boy, followed by a trilling cry and a flash of light. A tiny creature then took shape before Meriti — a small sphere of brown fur, sprouting green hands and feet beset with razor-sharp claws. Its yellow eyes glared angrily out from beneath its shaggy mane.
Instinctively, Satiah moved up so she was standing side by side with her husband. But while she glared defensively at the creature before them, Atem's gaze was still filled with tenderness.
"Who is this, Meriti?" Atem asked.
Meriti lowered his hands, revealing his empty eyes again. He turned his head, looking briefly over his shoulder at the God which still curled itself around the pillar of sand rushing down from the center of the room.
"Papo says this is my ka," Meriti said, looking back at them. "He says … he says I have to fight you."
Atem's eyes went wide, revealing more tears brimming along his dark lashes. He waded a few steps further. "Meriti, please—"
"Go, Kuriboh!"
Another eager warble took the air, and the ball of brown fur began streaking across the arena. Satiah saw Atem flinch and move to raise his hand, but he faltered — frozen by fear or guilt or both.
Satiah reached up, her skin bristling with the warmth of magic, and the chamber was soon washed in a blinding flash. Before her, Atem's silhouette grew blacker than night, and a moment later she felt a dull sting of pain in her middle. But as the light faded, relief took her to see that both her husband and her ka appeared unharmed. Behind the Maiden's broad shield, a cloud of smoke billowed darkly; when it dissipated, Meriti's spirit had gone.
Then, the Shieldmaiden staggered a step, nearly brought to her knees, and Satiah remembered the flash of pain she'd felt a moment before. As the spirit lowered her shield, Satiah saw it — a long, thin crack, spidering out across the surface of the shaped bronze. Meriti's ka must have self-destructed on contact with the shield, dealing a hefty amount of damage.
Bereft of his spirit, Meriti crumpled to his knees, crying out in pain.
Atem made a move to race forward, but Satiah quickly ordered her ka to block his path. The Shieldmaiden enveloped him between her shield and spear.
"No!" Atem cried, beating his fists against the shield. "Forgive me, Meriti! Know that you are loved! So loved—!"
But the boy's body soon faded into a wisp of dust, rising up like a sandspout to be gathered in with the flowing stream above.
When Meriti was gone, the only thing Satiah could hear was the labored, tear-filled breaths of her husband. The Shieldmaiden stepped back, allowing him space for his grief.
Then — Osiris reared its head again. Its upper jaws parted once more to gather blue light and send it streaking across the clearing. Satiah shielded her eyes from the blinding flash that followed, only to feel them widen as another familiar form took shape beneath the God's shadow.
Tall, proud, and filled with bitter resentment — the former crown prince lifted his blackened eyes to gaze upon his brother.
"Tef," Atem breathed.
But only silence followed his words, and suddenly, Tefnak turned his head to look upon Satiah. "You."
He raised his hand, pointing accusingly, and yet another streak of magic swallowed the clearing. In its wake, the crown prince's ka materialized. Touching down to the floor of the chamber, the Tomb Guardian straightened and brandished its enormous hammer, its nostrils flaring with rage.
Atem called out again, but not even his urgent voice could reach this dark shadow of his brother. The crown prince thrust his arm out to his ka, sending it instantly into motion. Satiah fell back a step, urging her Shieldmaiden into a defensive stance. And not a moment too soon — the Tomb Guardian crashed upon her ka like a sandstorm, slamming its hammer into the Maiden's shield with all its force. Bravely, she held the creature at bay, but Satiah could see and sense and feel her spirit's fear — growing like the crack that spread further across her shield with each beating of the Guardian's hammer.
Gritting her teeth, Satiah continued to fall backward in step with her ka, her eyes flashing through the darkness to see her husband standing frozen in terror behind the fray.
Crash! — another fall of the hammer — crash! — another chink in her spirit's armor — crash! — another lash of pain through Satiah's heart.
Crash!
"Atem!"
All at once, her husband came surging back to the present moment, and he reached up to the blackness above. Satiah heard a crack like a thunderbolt, and the Tomb Guardian was brought to a sudden, staggering halt. Steadying herself, she looked up to see a thread of black wrapped around the Guardian's hammer — and across the arena, Atem's Magician held tight to the other end of its whip.
Fists clenched, Atem looked to his brother. "Please, Tef!" he pleaded. "Stop this madness!"
"She did this!" Tefnak shouted back. "This is her fault!"
Even from this distance, Satiah could see doubt seizing her husband. "Atem!" she cried. "Don't listen to him! Look at me!"
"If it weren't for her, I'd still be alive—"
"—Atem—"
"—Meriti would still be alive—"
"—Look at me, my love!"
Finally, his violet eyes fell to her. But in a moment, he sealed them shut, gritting his teeth and growling out his anger and turmoil. His ka responded in kind, pulling hard on the handle of the whip until the Guardian toppled backward and splashed to the floor.
"Do it!" Atem shouted.
Satiah swept her arm out to her ka, sending the Shieldmaiden instantly on the offensive. She dashed beside the downed Guardian, kicked herself into the air, and thrust her spear down to impale the fell creature through its abdomen.
More light, more chaos, more howls of pain. Across the arena, the crown prince toppled to his knees, his nebulous gaze once again turned toward his brother. This time, Atem was wise enough not to chase the winnowing spirit — or perhaps too ashamed to. He watched, wide-eyed, as Tefnak faded into a swirl of sand, rising up to join his departed son.
Satiah, too, was left afflicted by what she'd been forced to do, so much so that she almost didn't notice the God rearing its head again. Soon came another quiet flash of blue light, and before it even cleared, Satiah knew who Osiris had summoned to serve it next.
Through the thick dark, father and son gazed at one another with longing in their eyes. But words failed both men. Both kings. Nothing — not a single word seemed fit to bridge the rift that was soon to split between them.
Aknamkanon wasted not a moment forging it. He raised a hand and summoned forth his ka — the calm and cunning Wise Sphinx. Golden mask glinting, thin tail flickering, it touched lightly down to the floor of the chamber, sending wide ripples out to lash against their ankles. Satiah kept her eyes trained intently on Atem, looking for any sign of doubt that might leave him open to attack. But he had since braced himself, shoulders drawn up, fists still curled and quivering — fighting more pain than fear.
Slowly, he turned his head up to the heavens, his lips parting to release a withering sigh. "I know it's not you," he whispered. With the space between them, Satiah barely heard it. "I know you'd never fight again. I know you are … at peace."
When he dropped his head, there was new conviction in his eyes. He reached out to his ka, and the shadow of his father mirrored the motion. Satiah shrank back when she saw the Sphinx lift a hand to its golden mask, knowing the brutal assault to her senses that would soon follow.
What came was anything but. A warm, silvery glow filled the chamber, bringing with it a divine melody Satiah once thought only conceivable in dreams. Through squinted eyes, she saw the composer of this tune taking shape: the Heavenly Muse materialized between the two kings, running her fingers deftly across the strings of her sweeping silver harp.
The melody she thrummed, beautiful as it was to Satiah's senses, sent violent waves thrashing across the water's surface. In the shadow of the God, the Wise Sphinx and its master reeled as if the benevolent song was torture to their ears. Aknamkanon wrapped his arms up around his head, his mouth parting in a silent scream. But bravely, Atem kept his hand outstretched to his mother's ka. The Muse plucked another set of silky notes, causing the Sphinx to crack and crumble like a pane of brittle glass. A moment later, it burst into a million shimmering pieces, raining down to sink beneath the black abyss below.
Its dark master came crashing down after it, splashing to his knees with his arms wrapped around himself in a quiet shiver. Aknamkanon's eyes gave off a starry glint as he turned them up to his son — glaring bitterly in an attempt to drive one last stake of guilt into his heart. But as Satiah swept her gaze across the clearing, she saw Atem had since dropped his chin down against his chest — no longer willing or able to watch as another shadow of his kin turned to dust.
When the last wisp of the former Pharaoh had risen up to join the torrent of sand overhead, Satiah fell back and prepared herself for another summoning from the God. And while the great Protector of the Heavens did rear up once again, its upper mouth did not part. Rather it released a scathing cry, beat its hellish wings, and twisted its great, writhing body before diving back down into the vortex of sand from whence it came.
Satiah's ears, bereft of the God's voice and the Muse's song, were now flooded with new, visceral sounds — her ragged breathing, hot blood rushing through her head and neck. Had they truly conquered the ka of Osiris, without even inflicting so much as a scratch on its hide? Though her own doubts had rooted her to the spot, she found herself pulled forward at the sight of Atem moving in her periphery. His head still downcast, he set off for the sandfall in the center of the clearing, passing through and dispersing his mother's ka on the way.
"Atem," Satiah said softly, but he did not falter. He came to stand before the river of sand, his head finally lifting in muted awe. Again, Satiah called for him, taking several hesitant steps in his direction, enough for her to see him lifting his hand and reaching toward the rushing cascade before him.
She could hear it — the scintillating sound made by the grains of sand passing through his fingers and pooling in his palm. It hypnotized her to stillness again, even as the chamber rumbled with the threat of a new danger.
Suddenly, the vortex of sand at Atem's feet began to twist and rise — growing all at once into a crystalline wall that wrapped around him, encasing him in a sheer, glimmering basin. The glass continued to climb upward, bending in at the middle before opening up to a similar oval shape above him: an hourglass, into which the rushing sand soon began to gather, filtering to a slow trickle that rained down into the lower basin, where Atem now stood trapped.
He turned to her, eyes shining like two stars in the dark, and raised his hands to press them into the wall. His mouth parted, and Satiah knew he was calling her name, but it was swallowed by his shimmering prison, turned to nothing but mist against the glass.
Satiah surged forward, but found herself brought to a halt as another flash of red streaked up from behind Atem. Osiris let loose a shrieking cry, then encircled the hourglass with its long, slithering body, wrapping its foreclaws around the lower basin and leveling its head directly at Satiah.
Thrown into the God's mighty shadow, Satiah could only bring herself to stagger backward a few steps before Osiris parted its upper jaws once more. She stared into its cavernous mouth, frozen with horror as a blue glow gathered on its tongue and flew out to strike the ground before her.
Satiah reeled — unready, unwilling to gaze upon the servant Osiris had summoned. But her other senses fed the vision directly to her mind's eye: the subtle fragrance of lotus blossoms, the whispered lilt of a laugh, the thin tweak of a bowstring being pulled taut. At this, Satiah finally lifted her head, finding her vision first filled with the blue-green glow of a familiar ka, then the warm, rich hazel of her brother's eyes.
His true eyes.
Not shrouded in darkness as had been the three who came before him. He smiled — even that was true — and his teeth flashed the same pearlescent white as the arrowhead pointed directly at her ka. Satiah flicked her eyes to her brother's spirit — the Defender's arm was beginning to quake from holding the bow string at full extension. Looking at it caused her vision to grow long and spinning — crowded with spirit and spectre and God and…
And her husband.
The glass of Atem's prison bowed and bent with each pound of his fists — the sand in the basin piling up toward his knees now.
Another laugh brought Satiah's eyes back to her brother. He, too, was looking over his shoulder at the hourglass, and when he turned back around fully, he wore a smirk of vindication. Slowly, he lifted his hand toward his spirit, and Satiah felt as if her very heart had turned to glass.
"Metka—"
The sound of the arrow streaking across the chamber was loud — and louder still when it connected squarely with the Maiden's shield. Satiah gasped to see the arrowhead had pierced the thick bronze where the earlier crack had begun to form. The Defender of Nefertem wasted not a moment nocking another arrow and drawing it back. Satiah lifted her arm, directing her ka to keep her shield raised.
Bang! Another direct hit, this one following the upper line of the crack.
The Defender drew his bow again, and Satiah fell back a step, her ka following suit.
Bang! A third arrow struck between the two already protruding from the shield.
"Metka, please!" Her voice sounded far in her own ears — muted like the cries of her husband, choked by gallons of sand now climbing toward his waist.
Bang! Bang! A fourth and fifth, and the Shieldmaiden was backpedaling now, her black eyes sealed shut.
Satiah felt her own vision narrowing to pinpoints, catching only the shine of arrowheads sailing across the chamber. Soon, the Maiden's shield was awash with them, sprouting arrows like weeds. Another loud bang, followed by two splashes, and Satiah suddenly felt herself falling, her gaze drowned in the yawning blackness overhead until she reflexively blinked back drops of water dousing her face. Reawakened by the cold deluge, she forced herself to sit up, sweeping her eyes over her ka, now doubled over and heaving with breaths as labored as her own. On either side of the Maiden, two jagged pieces of her shield lay floating on the water's surface — split down the middle like quarried limestone.
Across the chamber, Metka reached out to his ka. The Defender obediently pulled the last arrow from its quiver, and Satiah trembled while the spirit nocked and drew its bow. Through the space between the arch and string, she glimpsed her husband once more — now neck-deep in shimmering sand and cradled in the claws of a God.
Then came a twang of string, a brush of feathers, a hiss of air — a cry so keening it could have been a death wail.
And music.
A familiar holy melody filled the chamber once again, and Satiah's eyes went wide to see the Heavenly Muse taking shape between the two warring spirits. The soundwaves made by her silver harp sliced through the air, knocking the last of the Defender's arrows off its mark and sending it harmlessly into the water at the Shieldmaiden's feet.
The Muse's song faded instantly to a whisper. She turned her head over her shoulder, blessing Satiah with an encouraging smile before letting herself fade back into the darkness like a snuffed flame.
With renewed vigor, Satiah surged to her feet and thrust her hand out to her ka. The Shieldmaiden rallied and lifted her spear, shifting her grip to a javelin hold. The spirit took three long strides and put all her body weight behind the spear, loosing it like a lightning bolt through black night. The spear first pierced the Defender, then her brother — turning them both to dust in an instant — before sailing on to strike the heart of the God.
With a pealing roar, light rained down upon Satiah like a million falling stars, and she fell with them — down through more morphing, melding worlds, until her body landed flat against cool stones. The gabled ceiling of Khafra's tomb grew overhead, and she found herself momentarily perplexed by its irregularities — as if she had forgotten that it was possible for anything in this world to be so imperfect.
It was only when a rattling, life-giving breath filled her lungs that she remembered that imperfection was reality — that this was the only truth she knew. She sat bolt upright and threw her gaze frantically around the chamber, finding a limp mass curled beside the sarcophagus nearby. She rolled over and scrambled toward it on all fours, laying her hands on it and finding her heart hammering to life as it moved beneath her touch. With a dry cough, Atem drew his arms up beneath him and pushed himself to his side, gazing weakly up at her through the dark. Sand still dusted his hair and pooled in the folds of his cloak, but his breaths were full and true.
Seized with guilt, Satiah drew him against her, sobbing wretchedly into his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she wailed. "I'm so sorry."
Just then, a streak of blue fell down past her cheek, swirling lazily to the floor of the burial chamber. Through her tears, she saw it take shape — the once-immaculate lotus blossom her husband had given her not hours before.
Now — dead.
AN: Phew! Another chonky chapter. These action sequences always turn out much longer than I plan… But hopefully you enjoy them regardless! Thanks so much for reading, and I can't wait to see you in the next chapter!