The sun's rays were only just breaking through the mist along the Nile as we marched in a long column. We were two thousand men, disciplined and better trained than ever before. Drums set the rhythm, banners flew high.
Karem marched beside me, now truly my right hand. He was no longer just the young soldier who followed me—now he was a commander in his own right, and the others looked him in the eye with respect.
The journey took three days. In the villages we passed, people looked on with fear, but also with hope. They knew the Pharaoh's army was coming. And with it came justice.
The first town was small, defended only by mud walls and guards at the gate. Yet it resisted. Their leader refused to hand over weapons and supplies.
We built a camp and I divided the army. Karem took a hundred men to attack from the flank. I pressed forward with the main force at the gate. Stones and spears rained down from the walls, but when our arrows pinned down their defenders, the pressure began to tell.
Karem led his attack decisively. His men crawled through a gap in the wall I had shown him and opened the gate from inside. The fight was short but hard. In the end, we occupied the town and brought its leader before us.
"Why did you resist?" I asked.
"I had no reason to trust the north," the man answered, bloodied and beaten.
"Now you do," Karem said, pointing at the soldiers who were keeping order instead of looting. "We will not steal or destroy. Your women and children are safe. We came only to fight those who want to divide Egypt."
Those words spread quickly among the people. And with them, Karem's name.
The next town was stronger. Stone walls, more soldiers. There would be no waiting for an open gate this time.
I split the army into three groups. One feigned an attack from the front, another launched a river raid with boats, and the third lay in ambush. When the defenders turned to fight the river assault, Karem led his men in a side attack. It was bloody, men fell on both sides.
In the end, though, we stood on the walls. The Pharaoh's banner flew from the tower. Losses were heavy, but the victory was ours.
After this battle, my name spread among the commanders. I was no longer just an advisor. I was a man who knew how to break an enemy. Karem was always at my side, his determination and courage an example to all.
At the third town, the people opened the gates themselves when they heard we were coming. They already knew they had no chance against us, and that if they surrendered, their lives would be spared.
This was how we advanced through the south. Each day brought a fight, a negotiation, or a siege. It was never easy—supplies ran low, men grew tired, some commanders doubted. But every time morale began to falter, Karem stood among them.
"We are the Pharaoh's army," he shouted. "We are her shield and her sword. If we fall, Egypt falls. But if we endure, our names will be remembered forever."
And the men believed him.
The hardest battle came at the great city in the south, where the leaders of the rebellion had gathered. It was fortified, full of soldiers and stores. Everything pointed to a long siege.
But I knew time was against us. So I devised a plan.
We waited until evening. Then a small group of men—Karem among them—slipped forward to set fire to stacks of hay by the walls. While the defenders rushed to put out the flames, our main army attacked.
The fight was fierce. Arrows flew, stones crashed down. I stood in the front line, though I was no warrior. I saw the soldiers' eyes on me—if their advisor stood with them, they too would stand.
Karem fought with unmatched courage. His sword struck, his shield held firm. When I watched him, I knew that one day he would lead an army of his own.
After long hours of combat, we finally broke their defenses. The gates fell, the city surrendered. The leaders of the rebellion were brought before us.
The south was broken.
Our fame grew. Soldiers sang our names, people in the towns welcomed us as victors. And I knew we had won Egypt time. Time it needed to survive.
The soldiers stood in line, shields resting on the ground, spears ready. The wind carried the smell of smoke and sweat. Before us lay the city on a branch of the Nile, the last stronghold of the rebel leaders. Archers stood on the towers, baskets of stones and pitch prepared on the walls. I knew this would not be a quick fight.
Karem walked before the first rank. He spoke briefly, clearly.
"Hold your ground. Do not break the line. When the lord gives the signal, we move."
I nodded. "We begin as always. We don't take their head first. We cut off the hands."
Orders went quickly. Two companies of men split off, heading for the docks beneath the city. Two more slipped into the reeds to drive away the guards at the water gate. The main force stayed before me. Drums set the slow step. We advanced in squares, shields overlapping, spears pointed forward.
The first arrows rained down from the walls. They struck shields, some found gaps. The men growled, but the line held. Until our archers moved within range, I kept everyone steady. Then the signal came, and we answered—not at the towers, but at the stairways where men pressed together. The goal was to break their rhythm, not shoot them all down.
To the right, I saw smoke. Our smaller detachments had set fire to the stores of hay and timber at the harbor. The defenders on the walls shouted, some rushed down. A squad poured out from the water gate to put out the fire. Our men were waiting in the reeds. They hit them close and drove them back.
"Now the gate," I said. Stonecutters rolled forward a wheeled battering ram. Karem and chosen men covered its flanks. On the walls, they poured pitch; flames flared. Our carriers of clay stood ready, dousing the ram in mud and wet mats. The ram struck once. Twice. Three times. The gate groaned, but held.
From the left came a shout. A sally force struck our flank. Commander Menkhet held the line, but the pressure was heavy. I sent reinforcements. I watched as the squares moved, lines unbroken, each man stepping half a pace to fill the gap. Slow, but firm.
The fourth strike at the gate. The wood cracked. Then a stone slab dropped from above. The man before Karem fell without a sound. The stonecutters scattered, the ram slipped. I rushed forward, grabbed Karem's shoulder.
"You live?"
"I live," he spat dust. "I'll take the second team."
"Do it." I turned to the carriers. "Lift the second ram. Fresh mats, more mud. Archers—cover the windows above the gate!"
The fight split into parts. On the right we held the sally. On the left we kept the waterway clear. In the center we prepared the second push at the gate. Meanwhile, our small group in boats forced their way into the city by river. Their only task: reach the stairway of the gate tower and pull the lever inside. I knew they might all fall. But if they succeeded, they would save us hundreds of lives.
The second ram rolled forward. Crash. The gate shook. From the walls, they dumped baskets of stone. First ranks had to shield overhead, the row behind braced them. I walked the line, speaking to the wounded, sending fresh men forward. I was no front-line swordsman, but I stood close enough to be seen. The men needed to know I was there.
From within the gate tower came the sound of metal. The lever. For a moment the gate eased, locks loosened. Karem roared and drove the ram into the fifth strike. The gate burst. Space opened like a wound. Our men shouted and surged.
"Watch the sides!" I cried, but it was late. From side passages poured defenders with long knives. At the gate throat, chaos. Those who stepped back were trampled, those who rushed forward risked being cut off.
I pulled men left and right, forcing them to form shield points. Karem saw at once. He shouted names, split his squad into two wings, each blocking a side passage. Spears jabbed short and hard. Not pretty, but effective.
I felt a sharp stab at my side, more pressure than pain. I looked down and saw a short blade stuck in me. The man who stabbed me stood before me. Reflex carried my hand—I struck his wrist, the knife fell, I kicked his knee. He collapsed. Karem noticed, shoved him away. I pulled the blade from my side, blood ran. I pressed my hand on it, clenched my teeth. "I'm fine," I told myself more than him. I knew I wouldn't die. But the men must not see weakness.
We broke through the gate. Inside the courtyard, smoke and shouting. Defenders tried to form a second line at the tower stairs. I sent a third of men there, another third left toward the stores, the rest to clear the yard.
The fight dragged. Step by step, yard by yard, alley by alley. I saw Karem leading men up the right stair, throwing down barrels of pitch they had readied for us and turning them against them. I saw Menkhet hold the corner of the yard against triple numbers. I saw a young water-carrier bring his skin to the one who needed it most, then run for more though arrows fell everywhere.
When the tower fell, the city fell. Leaders were brought in chains. The priest who backed them tried to hide in the stores. We found him. I had him brought forward.
"Your judgment is not mine," I told him. "Judgment belongs to the Pharaoh."
He stayed silent, but his eyes were poison. These men would not bend even in bonds.
While the soldiers tended the wounded and fires, I sat on a stone by a well. The pressure in my side did not ease, but the bleeding slowed. I breathed deep and looked at the yard. Blood and mud everywhere. The Nile was close, I felt its damp air. I put my hand on the ground. It was warm.
Then it came. Not a sound, not a vision. A sense I had known before—where the river is not just water. A weight in my gut, not from the wound but from something new. Rough, raw, as if the land itself breathed for the first time. In the blood that had run into the ditch by the water gate, something stirred. Not a snake. Not a fish. A presence born from blood by water.
I looked at the Nile branch. Still. The men shouted and moved, but the river lay calm, as if it cared nothing for the battle. And yet I felt something had happened. Something that would one day have a name. Not today. Not tomorrow. But someday.
Sobek.
I told no one. There was no one to tell. No one else would feel it. No one else would understand. But I knew what it meant. This battle, heavy with blood by water, had opened the door for a force tied to river and hunt, to power that guards and devours.
Karem came when the smoke thinned. He sat beside me. "You holding?"
"Holding," I said. "The men?"
"They live. Many wounded, but they live. The city is ours."
I nodded. Met his eyes. They were tired, but clear. "Write the names of the fallen," I said. "And send word to the palace. Tell them the south has fallen."
He nodded. His eyes dropped to my side. "We have to treat that."
"It will be fine," I said. "Bring only clean cloth and honey."
"You always say it will be fine," he smirked weakly. "One day I'll believe you."
"Believe it," I told him. "Someone has to."
When he left, I looked again at the water. The new presence had not gone. It was deep, but there. Like a stone in the river that stays though the current flows on. I understood then: even though I had won the battle and secured time for the north, another story had begun. The story of a god born from what men do when blood spills by the river.
I stood slowly, careful not to tear the bandage I had pressed to my side. I picked up a broken spear and leaned it on the wall. The men needed to see me on my feet. I walked among them, heard their reports, gave orders: put out the last fires, check the stores, guard the gates, gather the broken arrows, tie the prisoners, give water.
When night came, we camped inside the city. Guards doubled, for raiders strike after defeat. Karem chose men he trusted and set them at the gates and the water gate. I sat on a low parapet by the yard wall. The wound hurt, but held.
"Tomorrow we count," Karem said on his return. "We must find their account tablets. If we learn who sent them supplies, we'll know who to put before the Pharaoh."
"Correct," I nodded. "And send a messenger to Menkhet. He deserves honor. He held the right flank longer than I'd believe."
He sat beside me. We were silent for a time. We heard only camp sounds, and the city easing from fear. Then he said: "I was afraid for you."
"Today?"
"At the gate."
"You didn't need to be," I answered. "But… thank you."
I did not tell him what I had felt by the river. I did not want to burden him with something he could not grasp. This was mine. I knew what it meant. Even if I fought for a new order, some things would not change. Gods would find a way, even uncalled. Perhaps by what we did, we called them more.
I drew a long breath and decided. Tomorrow we would send word to the palace, divide supplies, leave a garrison, and return. We would not strip the city beyond what was needed. We would not punish it for following bad men. That was our oath: fight those who divide, not those who were misled.
"Rest," Karem said. "Tomorrow will be long."
"It will," I nodded.
When he left, I sat a while longer. I laid my hand on the ground. Felt the warmth, the damp from the river. And I felt Sobek had taken his first breath. No one else would say it. I could. And I knew it meant one thing: I had not yet changed what I meant to change. The path continued. And it would be harder than I had hoped