"My Lord." A guard entered Lord Hakon's royal chambers, his pace brisk but true, and dropped to one knee. A gloved fist pounded into the heart beneath his armor. "I bring news."

"For your sake, I hope it's good." The young lord was draped languidly within his throne, leg rested comfortably over the side and his silk robes spilling down the steps like a river of gold. Far more rings and rubies adorned his person since Amon's departure, seeming as if he was tallying every batch of bastard children that had been delivered accordingly to their Western ally. Silence stretched a moment too long for his patience and he stared pointedly at the guard. "You may speak today!"

The man jolted, but held his bow firm. "M-my apologies. Your special shipments have arrived. They're being loaded into the armory as we speak."

Lord Hakon lurched forward, eagerness splitting his lips into a smile. "Marvelous! I must say, their speediness is admirable, given the borders to cross..." Regardless, he snapped from his musings and waved a hand dismissively. "Out with you. Summon all units to the Armory and be sure to have shipments present."

"Of course, my Lord." His exit was swift, but Hakon preferred it to be much swifter. Regardless, his privacy was granted once more and he remained seated for a few moments, gaze roaming the shimmering ceiling above. An ode to Isis history hovered over the throne, casting a brilliant glow about the chamber whenever sunlight graced the lands, before dimming to something more tame when the moon rose. Sculpted into the gold by thousands of servant hands were depictions, linking together seamlessly, feeding into one after the next to form a story of the nation's existence. Royal family after royal family formed allegiance with Isis princes and princesses, passing down the bloodline into his ancestors' veins. Nurturing their prestige. Their power. Their birthright to rule.

Lord Hakon would continue the lineage no matter what.

And he would do so by finally, after centuries of waiting, merging with the sun.

"Witness my work," Hakon whispered while extending his hands above, fingertips urging to grasp his father. Just one last time. Osiris had not graced him with a hug since his mother's passing; from that moment forth, the wall between them developed into an impenetrable barrier. Unmoving. Unbelievably so. And so cold that his chest stung with frostbite every time his father looked the other way.

Yes, just one last time. One more chance.

What Hakon wouldn't give to wrap his hands around that pompous, flabby, arrogant column of flesh he called a neck, and squeeze until his lips pulsed blue. A moment of suffocation wrought with enough agony to match the scarring Hakon carried with him until his last breath.

"And wallow in jealousy." A grin split Hakon's cheeks, "Old fool."

†

"Stand at attention for our lord!" Isis guards scrambled into position, forming twin lines that ran from one end of the Armory to the other. They steeled themselves with a final and synchronized stomp of the boot, postures proud yet humble, and hands resting on the hilt of their swords.

The Armory held weaponry no different from what any Egyptian has seen; spears, swords, axes, daggers, maces, slings and shields. Each weapon possessed a golden trim of some sort, their blades sharpened to perfection, their handles and bodies polished exquisitely. For many years, it was lost on Hakon why Osiris held so much pride in the upkeep of tools that were fated to bathe themselves in blood someday.

But now, he understood the sentiment.

Among the endless multitude of shelved equipment, a collection of crates were scattered about the heart of the chamber. As the last few were rolled in by faceless servants, Hakon entered with a pair of guards manning either side of him. They were goliaths in comparison to his average stature, yet he seemed to bask in the muscle, in the fact that they would succumb to his every word.

He approached a crate three by four feet in size and with a flick of the wrist, a guard unlatched the lid and flipped it open. It revealed a bed of spices and ground roots in jars, all nestled within blocks of straw. Without a word, Hakon pushed the contents aside and shoved a hand below the surface. His fingers met metal. Grinning wide, he retracted a contraption and shook it free of hay; he paid little mind to the way his servants jolted a step back, wary of the weapon exploding randomly.

Once it was cleansed to Hakon's liking, he tentatively palmed around its body, failing at first to comprehend where his hands belonged. However, he managed after a moment or so, and aimed it at the ground between a guard's feet. "Amazing..." he said, completely mesmerized. Suddenly, the barrel raised to latch onto the same man's torso. "Guard! I've seen you import this crate. What is it? What does it do?"

The guard in question swallowed nervously, his throat bobbing. Regardless, he remained as still as his voice. "I believe it's called a gun, Your Majesty. A rifle. It throws small pieces of metal at blinding speeds and rips through people deeper than any blade could."

"I see." A noise of childish delight escaped Hakon. The young lord had only his wildest imaginations to rely upon before the shipment arrived, but now that he was wielding the Western Allies' gift in his hands, he knew that his fantasies didn't come close. Finally, Hakon lowered the gun and turned his attention to the rest of his servants. "This is a great day for Isis. Come the rising of morrow, we will--"

"Stop!"

The doors swung open as a body slammed into them, falling to their hands and knees. However, the newcomer showed no signs of stopping and continued to frantically crawl forth like a wounded lamb. She was an unrecognizable peasant woman, youthful but drained in every essence of the word, and her desperate gaze locked onto Hakon. Another guard came barreling in behind her. He hastily yanked her back by her hair and forced her onto her feet, yet she clawed at his grip wildly, refusing to heel. "Stop struggling!" the guard hissed.

"No!" she screamed. Tears rolled down her dirty face. "I demand to speak with the lord! I will die before I leave here!"

All the while, Hakon watched the altercation with an unreadable air about him, rifle dangling in his grasp. However, his voice rang out not a moment sooner and all activity in the room fell to a standstill. "Explain this intrusion," he said, voice flat.

"Deepest apologies, my lord!" With a grunt, the guard looped an arm around the woman's waist and dragged her back further. "I was merely taking her to the Royal Whorehouse. She's been unlawfully trespassing on palace grounds. I felt it within my jurisdiction to detain and make her of use--"

"Without my approval?" Hakon's head cocked to the side.

A chill coursed down the guard's spine.

"I... I didn't wish to bother you with trivial matters." Slowly, his grip on the woman slackened until she wriggled herself free. She sprinted out of his reach and came to a stop before Lord Hakon, a forest fire of rage and will burning in her eyes. Hatred.

"I'm here for my son! Give him back to me!"

"Ah, yes," Hakon hummed in realization, "You are a victim of the cleanse. Well, your valor and energy has been wasted, peasant. He's gone and it's no longer within my power to bring him back." He relayed the information like a fact about the weather; with every nonchalant syllable, the woman's visage grew paler and paler. She stumbled forward a few more steps.

"Y... You lie! You're lying! Do not think of me a fool just because I am not a heartless beast like you!"

"That is enough!" the guard roared. Whatever strength he'd lost from Hakon's displeasure came back tenfold and he seized her roughly by the arm. He spoke through clenched teeth. "Forget the whorehouse! I'll look into execution for your disrespect to the lord!"

"No, no. Release her."

Everyone froze.

Albeit reluctant, Hakon's order was heeded and the peasant was released once more. She snarled at every guard in the chamber, as if challenging them to try and restrain her, before slicing into the ruler with her broiling fury. "I will not ask you again! Give me back my son, now!"

A moment of silence.

Then, Hakon heaved a tired laugh and shook his head. "By Isis, your courage is admirable." Another pause. "Keep still, if you would?"

"What're you--"

A round of bangs.

Before anyone could react, Hakon whipped his aim onto the guard and pulled the trigger again. Two bodies laid in the Armory and marinating in twin pools of blood. "Someone come and dispose of this," Hakon muttered, his attention once more locked onto the rifle, appreciating its power. Its magic. Two mere casualties weren't deserving of his concern, not when one of them thought it necessary to treat him like a child while the other failed to know her place.

Only the future of Isis mattered. A future with Princess Rayna as his bride. His prize.

The corpses were dragged out promptly, leaving behind slick streaks of crimson on marble. Hakon paid it little mind. "Now then, before I was rudely interrupted," he huffed, "This is a great day for Isis. Come the sun of morrow, we will storm Anuket, crush all who oppose us, and finally take our place as the true figurehead of Egypt!" Cheers boomed throughout the chamber and shook the ground under his feet. A delicious screech of triumph. Crates were ripped open, weapons distributed to every able bodied soldier in sight. Soon, enough Sphinx blood would be spilled to fill the Nile River twice over.

Lord Hakon could see it now.

†

A vicious bloodhound thirsting for vengeance.

No other description could fit Rayna more as she raced through the shadows of Sphinx Nation. Not a single turn, not a single dodge, not a single breath from Amon could evade her senses. Whatever festering fear her first encounter with the man had inspired, it now morphed into a bottomless well of fuel for her blinding rage.

She would not rest until death befell Amon by her own hands.

The pair sprinted through a thin network of peasant huts, a faceless bystander unable to react before Amon harshly knocked him aside into a pig's slop bin. Rayna raced past not a moment later, hot on her prey's tail. Without pause, she jumped over the flailing villager and pushed on, only to sneer when Amon launched himself off a cart and scaled onto the roof. He cleared the gaps between each home like a spider monkey, boots slapping against clay and tin. Rayna hoisted herself up as well and her footfalls fell into sync with his. The pair's silhouettes glided across the inky backdrop of early morning, an astronomical painting peppered with stars and forced against the forefront of one assassin thirsting for the head of another.

Amon led her further and further into the guts of Sphinx Nation, until clay walls crumbled and splintered with age, rats skittered across cobblestone, and the massive shadowed figure of a warehouse came into view. Amon catapulted off the final platform separating him meters away from the building and cleared the distance like a graceful cougar. The window shattered as he disappeared inside, engulfed by darkness.

It was a jump too lengthy for comfort.

And yet Rayna pushed off the edge with every ounce of strength she had.

She knew without a slither of doubt that she wouldn't reach the window. With only a fraction of a moment to think, she stretched forward as far as she could and jabbed her Khopesh as deeply into mudbrick as she could muster. The momentum of her fall didn't slow in the slightest, even when chunks of hardened clay snapped free of the wall as her sword peeled down the surface. Rayna stabbed her second sword into the building and grit her teeth as a horrendous screech ripped through her ears. The ground grew closer and closer, so frighteningly fast that she could already envision her broken and bloody corpse--

A snag.

Her blade slipped into a gaping crevice up to the hilt, securing Rayna in place like a martyr dangling from their noose.

The stop was so sudden that it nearly ripped her arm out of its socket. But her grip never faltered. She refused to let go. Injuries, both fresh and old, ached all over her body, then proceeded to scream as she lifted her legs, planting her feet firmly to the wall. With a grunt, she pushed herself off and landed on shaky legs, then burst into a sprint once more. She looped around to the entrance and did nothing short of kicking the door in so violently that a hinge cracked.

Stealth be damned.

Rayna marched into the thick of danger completely blind, the lights within eerily absent. "Enough of your insolent fleeing! Face me!" she shouted. Her voice boomed all around and yet, she stiffened with suspicion. That echo didn't last as long it should've for a building of this size. It wasn't hollow, not in the slightest.

Then she felt it.

The princess had stomped in the skulls of many, so it was impossible for her to confuse the sensation of boot to flesh for anything else. It was but a momentary nudge, but she noticed.

A body.

And like a delayed reaction of the senses, an overpowering stench invaded her nostrils. Death. Everywhere. All around her. Blinding light flickered to life from above and illuminated the slaughterfest before her. Bodies bent unnaturally at the spine and draped across machinery like towels dampened with gallons upon gallons of blood, crimson splatters decorating the interior and dripping from rusted rails, deep gashes and carcasses bled dry. Rayna stepped over the gore to take in another disturbing sight set up in the center of the lobby.

Severed limbs, arms and hands and legs alike, were arranged into a giant copy of the symbol on Kazue's back. Two ovals overlapping to form a cross.

"I've done you a favor."

Rayna's gaze snapped up at the familiar voice. Amon was perched on the rail of an upper level, his rusty blade hanging limply in his grasp. Even from so far away, Rayna could see a flicker of something new in his haunted eyes. Desperation.

No. Fear, but it wasn't because of her.

"Two favors... actually."

"How shall I ever repay you," she growled, grip tightening around her Khopeshes. And yet, her sarcastic bite went ignored and Amon switched positions, allowing his legs to dangle off the edge.

"The thieves here could... not be trusted to keep quiet... of my presence. Less... headache for you, I'm sure. And the boy..." Rayna could've sworn his voice quivered. "He is but a... vessel of despair and death. The Link had... to die."

Images of Kazue's terrified face flashed to the front of Rayna's mind. Bloodied lips parting to whimper, to tell her how much it hurt; small pale fingers clenching fistfuls of her gown and holding on for dear life; cradling him close as he gurgled and choked on his own blood...

Her rage was born anew. He couldn't die. She wouldn't allow it. "He's not going to die." In a flourish of gold, she raised her weapons. Her hiss trembled with the wrath of Ra.

"But you are."