The desert was silent, the stars shining above us as the wind erased the last traces of the Sphinx's claws. The path before us lay open, yet neither of us moved.
Cleopatra sat down in the sand, her knees pulled to her chest. She stared ahead, though her thoughts were clearly far away. After a while, she spoke:
"When she asked if I was still a child…" She stopped, as if the words were difficult to say. "I felt as if I were torn in two. Part of me wanted to shout: I am ready! But another part knew that would be a lie. And I chose the second part. When I admitted it, I felt strangely stronger. As if confessing my weakness was not defeat, but victory."
I looked at her and nodded. "Truth often hurts, but it always frees us. That's why she accepted it."
She smiled faintly, though her eyes were serious. "For the first time in my life, I wasn't afraid to admit I wasn't ready."
We sat in silence for a moment before her gaze shifted to me. "And you? When she asked if you would leave Egypt. You answered instantly. As if you had never once thought about being free."
I lowered my head and let the sand flow through my fingers. "I thought about it. More times than I could ever count. But I understood that freedom without a place to belong is only emptiness. And I found my place—here, in Egypt. That is why my answer was quick."
Cleopatra tilted her head. "So you are bound, and yet freer than I am in my palace."
"Perhaps," I said softly. "Freedom sometimes lies in choosing, not in chains."
Her eyes glimmered as if my words had struck something deep within her. Then she brushed a strand of hair from her face and asked: "And were you not afraid that if you lied, the Sphinx would see through you?"
"I was afraid," I admitted. "But I knew if I spoke the truth, no matter how heavy, she would find weight in it. A lie would have destroyed us. The truth let us pass."
Cleopatra was silent for a long while, as though turning my words over in her mind. Then came the final question—the one I had been expecting.
"And finally," she whispered, "when she asked what you feel for me. Your answer was beautiful. But… was that truly all?"
Her gaze pierced me more than any divine trial. I knew that here I had to be careful.
I gave her a calm, measured smile. "The Sphinx wished to hear if I belong to you as a teacher and protector. And that is what I told her. You are the future of Egypt, the light that will one day shine for all. And that is all that needed to be said."
I paused, then added gently: "If I had spoken differently, I would have laid a burden upon you that you were never meant to carry. That is why I gave the answer I did."
Cleopatra exhaled, her body relaxing. "I see. So you chose what was best for me, not what was easiest for you."
I nodded. And she smiled—truly smiled this time, without suspicion. "Then thank you, Mehet. I am glad it was you who stood at my side."
She wrapped her cloak tightly around her and lay down upon the sand. Her breathing slowed, her eyes drifted shut, and soon she was asleep.
I remained awake, gazing at the stars, and in my chest only one thought turned into a vow:
"My answer was the truth—but not the whole of it. I can never say aloud that you are more than a princess, more than the duty your father entrusted to me. My love for you would be a betrayal—of him, of the gods, of Egypt itself. So I will carry it in silence, locked away with no witness but myself. You are the light in the darkness—but I am the shadow that follows you. And the shadow must never claim the light
At last, sleep claimed me. Heavy, deep, as if my body had finally laid down all its burdens.
In the dream, the desert parted and was replaced by a stone courtyard. Before me stood the temple I had once restored. No longer crumbling and broken, but shining in its full glory. The walls gleamed with fresh paintings, mosaics glittered with color, and the scent of flowers filled the air, just as I had once planted them.
From the sanctuary he emerged—Ptah, lord of creation, god of craftsmen and architects. His form was solid, draped in a tight-fitting garment. In his hands he held the scepter uniting the ankh, djed, and was—life, stability, and power. His head was covered with a close-fitting skullcap, and his eyes glowed with the calm known only to those who build, not those who destroy.
When he spoke, his voice was deep, yet carried softly, as though shaping the very air itself:
"Do you remember, Amenemhet, how you raised my house from the dust? How you placed flowers where there was only rubble? How you brought life to the walls with mosaics when others wished to bury them?"
I fell to my knees, my forehead pressed to the ground. "I remember, Lord of Creation. That was the day I first felt that I could serve not only men, but the gods as well."
Ptah stopped before me. Though shadows touched him, his presence filled the space with light. "That is why you stand here now, in a dream that is not only a dream. The Sphinx tested you, but that was only the gate. The truth you seek lies further on. Your path is not finished."
He raised his scepter, and the sand beneath my feet became a map. The Nile appeared, its branching arms, the desert, and roads vanishing into the endless expanse. One place shone like a star—the northeast, where the desert meets the arms of the Nile.
"There you must go," said Ptah. "There lies your next trial. The truth will not be in the sand, but in the depths. Water, which remembers more than men, will show you what you seek."
His voice deepened, until it seemed to shake the entire courtyard:
"Remember, Amenemhet— the gods remember those who did not fear them. And I have remembered you. Because you created where others destroyed. Because you restored where others forgot."
Then the vision of the temple shattered. The mosaics vanished, the walls collapsed, the flowers dissolved back into sand. Only his gaze remained, glowing like twin stars—then that, too, was gone.
I awoke with a sharp breath. The stars still burned above us, and beside me Cleopatra slept, her face serene, her breathing soft. But I knew we now had a new direction. Northeast. To the river that hid the truth.
I was about to sink back into the sand when I noticed something that surely had not been there before. Just within reach, half-buried in the grains beside me, lay a small object. I brushed it free and lifted it from the sand—an ankh, the symbol of life, beaten from bronze.
I held it between my fingers and felt its cold weight. It was no creation of a dream. It was real.
My heart pounded. Ptah… The god had left me a sign. Perhaps a reminder that, even though men had stripped me of my "treasures," life still remained to me. That even I—slave, eunuch—still had a path yet to walk.
I clenched the ankh in my palm.
"Thank you," I whispered into the night, though I knew the god would hear my gratitude without words.
Then I looked at Cleopatra. She slept, her breathing steady, her hair fallen across her cheek. She would need strength for what lay ahead. And I… I had been given a sign that I could go on.
Northeast. To the waters that remembered. And with the gift of the god of creation himself in my hand, I was reminded that even from ruins, a temple could rise anew. Even from a slave, something greater could yet be born.
The sand still cooled my palm where I clutched the bronze ankh when a soft murmur stirred beside me. Cleopatra shifted, opened her eyes, and sleepily sat up.
Her gaze went straight to my hands. "What is that?" she asked, her voice husky with sleep, though her eyes already gleamed with the spark of curiosity I knew so well.
I quickly closed my fist around it, but I knew it was pointless. She had seen. Slowly, I lifted my hand and showed her.
"It's just… an amulet," I said carefully. "Perhaps a gift from the desert. Sometimes the sand hides things from long ago."
She tilted her head and reached out, her fingers brushing the cold metal. "But it looks new. Not like something buried for hundreds of years."
My heart raced. I had to choose my words with care. "Perhaps that is because it was meant for us. And only now did it choose to be found."
Cleopatra studied the ankh for a moment, as if searching its shape for hidden meaning. Then she smiled at me. "It's beautiful. You should keep it. It will give you strength."
I smiled as well, though inside I knew this was no ordinary trinket. It was a god's gift, a reminder of the path still ahead. But that I did not tell her. Not now.
"Perhaps you're right," I said. "Perhaps it is a sign that we are on the right path."
She yawned, wrapped herself back in her cloak, and lay down again. "Then hold on to it. And let it lead us, wherever we're meant to go."
Soon she was asleep once more. But I still gripped the ankh tightly, feeling that it was more than metal. It was a promise—between Ptah and me. And, in its way, between her and me as well.