That night, the open temple glowed with hundreds of torches. Laughter, music, and the scent of roasted lamb filled the air.
Everyone had come—farmers, merchants, priests, nobles. Even the lowest of the low stood shoulder to shoulder with gold-braided soldiers.
Raymun stood near the marble steps, her long white cloak stirring in the Nile's cool breeze. Thea had vanished into the crowd, leaving Raymun with her guards and a thousand staring eyes.
She looked up at the night sky, where the stars burned like a thousand small prayers.
Then the drums stopped.
"People of the Nile!" the high priest shouted, his voice echoing across the courtyard. "Your Pharaoh approaches!"
A hush fell as Pharaoh Senefru emerged from the shadows. Gold and lapis gleamed on his collar, his voice booming with power.
"My people!" he cried. "The gods have tested us. The Nile did not rise. Our crops withered. Our children starved. We have sinned, and the gods demand atonement!"
Murmurs rippled through the crowd—fear, guilt, fervor.
Raymun's lips twisted. Atone for what? Their greed? Their stupidity?
Senefru lifted his arms toward the river, where the dark water reflected the flames like liquid gold. "You all know what the gods require when the river sleeps," he declared.
A heavy silence followed. Then, as if guided by one terrible memory, the people bowed their heads.
They all knew the story. Every century, when the Nile's waters thinned and the earth cracked under the sun's wrath, a maiden was chosen—pure, untouched, and beautiful—to become the river's bride.
She would be veiled in gold, blessed by priests, and carried by torchlight to the water's edge. Then, as the drums thundered and the crowd chanted prayers, she would be given to the current.
They said her soul descended to Hapi, god of the Nile, and her sacrifice would wake the river once more.
None had ever returned.
Senefru's voice rose above the wind. "This time, we will offer what is most precious. A divine beauty! A true bride for the Nile!"
Cheers erupted. The crowd cried out blessings, praising their Pharaoh for his devotion. But Raymun felt the world tilt under her feet.
She turned to leave. She wouldn't stay to watch another innocent girl die.
Then his next words froze her blood.
"She is the most radiant of all. The gods have marked her since birth—skin white as clouds, hair pale as the moon. A child of divinity, chosen by the heavens themselves!"
The air seemed to collapse.
Senefru smiled, his eyes gleaming as they found hers across the sea of faces.
"Come forward, Raymun," he said. "Our Bride. Our hope. The gift of the gods."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. The torches flickered, as if the flames themselves hesitated.
Raymun couldn't breathe. Every face turned toward her—some in awe, some in fear. Their stares crawled over her skin like fire.
She shook her head once. "No." Her voice cracked. "No, you can't—"
The priests whispered frantically. Thea's voice cried out her name somewhere in the crowd, but soldiers were already moving.
Spears glinted as they stepped forward, forming a slow, closing circle.