The First Gate – Truth
Before me rose black walls, a gate so tall its top vanished into the darkness. Jackal-headed guardians stood motionless, their eyes empty and yet piercing.
"Who enters?" a voice asked, sounding from everywhere at once.
"Amenemhet," I answered, "servant of Pharaoh, the one who seeks truth."
"Speak of what you have done. And what you failed to do when you should have."
The words burned on my tongue. But I knew that lies here meant death.
"I have designed temples that still stand. I repaired shrines when others turned away. I taught the daughter of Pharaoh, played for her, guided her. These I have done."
I drew a long breath. "I did not protect my body. I did not guard my voice when I should have spoken. I kept silent when I should have cried out. These I have not done."
The silence stretched until I thought its weight would break me. Then, with a deep rumble, the gate opened. I stepped through.
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The Second Gate – Memories
Beyond the gate, the dark turned into shadows. At first flickers, then entire visions.
I saw my mother weeping when they dragged me away. Her arms stretched toward me, mine to her, but the chains between us snapped. The cry I had heard that day struck me again—sharp and merciless.
Then the knife. The cold. The blood. The pain that tore my breath away. The memory I had buried for years stood before me now as an open wound.
I wanted to turn away. I wanted to flee. But the papyrus in my hands glowed, and the lines upon it spoke:
"He who turns away loses memory. And without memory, there is no path."
I stood and looked. My body shook, but I endured. Slowly, the shadow faded. Before me stood another gate.
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The Third Gate – Temptation
This one was different. Not pain, not memory. A test of desire.
The hall that opened before me was filled with treasures. Golden vessels, jewels, swords inlaid with emeralds. The floor was covered with carpets soft as clouds.
And women. Beautiful, alluring, their bodies glimmering in the torchlight. They laughed, called my name, reached out as though I were a king, not a slave.
"All of this can be yours," a voice whispered. "Take what you want. None will see. None will punish. Just reach out your hand."
My fingers twitched. Not for the women, not for the gold—but for the thought of finally belonging to myself. To prove that I could have power. That I was more than a tool.
I stopped. I remembered Thoth's words: "Do not let them give you more than you need. For then they own you."
I closed my eyes. "I need none of this. Gold will not protect me when shadows fall. Women will not stay when night comes. What I need lies ahead, not here."
The laughter turned to hissing. Gold crumbled to dust. The women became shadows and vanished.
The gate opened.
---
Anubis
Beyond the gate, the jackal-headed god awaited. Darker than darkness, yet his eyes glowed like stars. In one hand he held scales, in the other, a feather.
"Your heart," he said.
I felt my chest open—not in flesh, but in spirit. My heart was in his hands, and he placed it on one side of the scale. On the other, he placed the feather of Ma'at.
The scales shifted. First the heart sank, then the feather. Back and forth they swayed, until at last they stilled in perfect balance.
"You have passed," said Anubis. His voice was not a roar, but truth itself.
He looked at me. "And that which was unjustly taken from you shall now be restored."
In that moment, warmth spread through me. Not sudden fire, but steady, like a river filling after drought. After years of emptiness, a part of me returned.
When Anubis vanished, the air trembled and light spread around me. It was not sunlight, but presence. From every side, figures began to appear. Isis with radiance in her eyes, Thoth with his reed pen, Hathor in her jeweled collar, Horus with the sharp gaze of a falcon, and finally Shai, the goddess of Fate, holding a scroll that never stopped turning.
They surrounded me, and I knew there was no way back.
Shai spoke first:
"Amenemhet. You believed you were only a slave, whose path twisted by chance. The truth is different. At your birth, you were given gifts. Every god who met you was preparing you for this day. None of it was accident. Your destiny was written."
I froze. "No. My deeds were mine. My choices… those were my freedom."
Thoth said: "Your choices were your own. But the wisdom you carried was not from your bloodline. It was mine. You were meant to lead, even when everything was taken from you."
Isis leaned forward: "Even your purity was not your own. It was given so that you could see truth where others saw lies. Without it, you would have fallen long ago."
"Why?" I forced out. "Why me?"
Shai, her voice hard as stone:
"Because Egypt has always been your burden. From the moment you drew breath. And now you must know the whole truth. Not only about yourself. But about her."
Ice gripped me. "Whom do you speak of?"
Isis looked at me gently: "Cleopatra."
My heart caught in my throat. "No. Not her. She is innocent."
Horus answered: "Her fate is not in your hands. After her father's death, she will become queen. But not alone. She will share the throne with her brothers. And to keep her power, she will take them as husbands."
I staggered back, knees giving way. "No… that goes against everything I taught her…"
Shai continued: "And still her path does not end there. She will bind herself to a foreigner from Rome. First to Caesar, then to Antony. All for power, not for love."
Hathor, usually serene, was sorrowful now: "She will be loved, sung about, but her heart will harden. She will be a queen who gave Egypt brilliance—and its fall."
"No… she…" I whispered.
Isis cut in: "That is what she will become. But fate changes people. And her end will be tragic. When she loses everything, she will take her own life. Thus ends the last of the Pharaoh's line."
I gasped for breath. "And you knew this? All along?"
Thoth nodded. "We knew. But we could not change it. Just as you could never change that she could never return your love. Not in the way you wished."
"Then why bind me to her?" I cried. "Why let me love her, if it could never be?"
Isis, her voice heavy with grief: "Because without love, you would not have protected her. And she needed a guardian. Without you, she would never have become who she was. But the love you carried was sacrifice. And only sacrifice gives meaning to your destiny."
I fell to my knees. "And what if I refuse? What if I stay here, with her?"
Shai raised her hand: "If you remain, you will only live to see her downfall. You will watch her sink deeper into her own choices until she dies by her own hand. And you, powerless, will be nothing but a shadow, witness to her end."
"But I swore to her father that I would protect her!" I cried out.
Thoth replied: "And you did. You taught her more than anyone else. Without you, she would have been lost long ago. But what comes now is not in your hands. It was written long before her birth."
"Then why me? Why give me feelings I could never fulfill?"
Hathor bent closer: "Because only one who knows love can give sacrifice. Without your love, you could not do what you must now. And now—you must leave."
Shai lifted the scroll, spinning in the air:
"You will return to the time of the first Pharaoh-queen. To the moment when the cracks began that led Egypt toward ruin. That is your place. That is where you must act. The Egypt you know is lost. But the Egypt that was—you can still save."
I wanted to scream, to beg, to resist. But I knew words would change nothing. They had decided long ago, even before I first opened my eyes