Standing on a bluff that provided a vantage point of Naktamun, Samut shaded her eyes against the setting suns and surveyed the ruins of the city. The ground behind her quaked as Hazoret approached from behind. Samut didn't even reach the god's knee, so when she turned from the city to bow reverently to Hazoret, she was blinded by the glint of the suns off of Hazoret's gold shin bracers.

Samut knelt before Hazoret, now Amonkhet's only god, and said, "My lady, I have been observing the city for several weeks now. It appears that it is minimally occupied by mummies and the planeswalker, Liliana, who I believe has cast aside her facade of being on our side."

Hazoret sighed and knelt to the ground so that she didn't tower quite so dramatically over her tiny acolyte. Samut had noticed that the god seemed to physically feel the burden of being the only god left to the straggling band of people on Amonkhet. "I STILL BELIEVE THAT IT WILL BE IMPOSSIBLE TO SECURE TRUE SAFETY WITHOUT THE PROTECTION OF THE HEKMA. DESPITE THE CHALLENGES, WE HAVE TO RECOVER THE CITY OR AT LEAST SOME PART OF THE CITY."

Hazoret's voice rumbled like a coming storm. Samut could hear it with her ears and inside her mind simultaneously. She remembered that Oketra, Rhonas, and Kefnet had preferred exclusively telepathic conversation while Bontu had only vocalized externally. For some reason, Hazoret was the only one to use the two methods simultaneously.

Samut nodded in response. Though they'd established a respectable camp in the past few weeks using the items they'd been able to salvage from the outskirts of the city and things that Hazoret had unearthed from ruins beneath the sand, it was no substitution for the Hekma.

"Let us return to camp. We'll convene with the council, and I will inform them of your decision."

Hazoret held out her hand to Samut, who climbed into the god's palm. With a jolt, Hazoret rose from the sand, golden face gleaming in the last rays of the suns, and they moved back across the sands to the camp.

The camp established by the refugees of Naktamun was home to almost 400 Survivors of the God-Pharaoh. The early days had been a rude awakening. Everyone in the camp had spent every day of their lives training and had few skills beyond hand-to-hand combat. Some of the viziers that had abandoned their dead gods had a few more nuanced skills, like creating potions and basic cooking.

The wizards among their number had spent weeks learning to transform their knowledge of destruction into that of creation. They learned to join fabric without the use of needle and thread, and they learned how to make small, contained cookfires that wouldn't spread beyond their magical barriers. Some of the most talented refugee wizards had discovered how to recreate some of the Hekma's properties and could maintain a quasi-solid barrier to prevent the undead from wandering into the camp. Attacks did still happen, and in this, at least, the Survivors were well prepared.

Hazoret set Samut down at the border of the camp. At her arrival, those nearby knelt briefly before carrying on with their duties. Samut surveyed the goings-on of the camp, amazed to see so many whom she knew engaged in the mundane activities of daily life. Freed from the constraints of barracks, people were forming relationships, and someday, she hoped they'd have families. Carvings unearthed from ruins had shown the Survivors that their ancestors had a very different life consisting of individual homes, work, and children. Now, they were trying to return to a way of life that none of them had actually ever known.

She strode through the camp, greeting people as she moved. In the center, they had erected a large tent that served as both her sleeping quarters and a council chamber. Initially, she'd had her own small tent, but it was more efficient to eat and sleep where she worked, so she'd moved her bedroll into the main tent. Samut pulled the canvas aside and started when she saw Djeru leaning over her table, rummaging through various hand-drawn maps and lists. He turned when she entered.

"How was scouting?" he asked.

"Nothing of interest. I think you were right in your assumption that Bolas is no longer interested in eliminating us. The God-Pharoah seems to have left the situation for his necromancer to wrap up. If we're lucky, she'll soon leave us too," she paused.

Djeru looked up from the papers, "What is it?"

"Hazoret has decided to retake the city. She thinks she can restore the Hekma."

He raised an eyebrow, "I'm not surprised. Our wizards have done an excellent job with their wards, but they require constant attention and don't have the range of the Hekma. Not to mention, we'd gain access to the available materials in the city, which is much better than Hazoret digging up things from the sand."

"You don't seem to need much convincing."

"I don't relish the thought of launching an invasion in our current state, but it's the best chance we have for long-term survival. Besides, if our God has decided that this is our path, who am I to argue."

Samut dropped into a chair with a huff. "I don't like it either. We don't know really know what kind of numbers are in the city. And we don't know what the necromancer is capable of." She looked around the tent as if a strategy would present itself on one of the canvas walls or from the paper-covered table that Djeru stood behind.

"We'll call a council meeting in the morning and request the advice of Hazoret." He paused, "Do you remember Gideon?"

Samut nodded.

"When he first arrived, he told me he hated gods, and I considered striking him down on the spot for such blasphemy. Now I understand why he hated gods. Come, let's go find something to eat!"