⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

𝔸ℍ𝕄𝔸ℕ𝕀𝕊 and Everlyn walked side by side, their hands entwined—not just in affection, but necessity. The ground trembled beneath their feet, the air thick with dust and old magic, and it was only his hand in hers that kept Everlyn upright, the only tether between her and the mounting chaos around them.

The tunnel stretched before them, long and narrow, with thin, quivering wires nailed to the walls, each bearing a small, flickering light. The bulbs swayed gently at first, but as the pair advanced, their presence became undeniable—the lights began to swing wildly, casting long, warped shadows against the cracked stone walls.

Ahead, four men in black tactical gear stood with weapons raised, forming a living barricade.

Ahmanis's voice, low and reverent, broke the thick silence.

"Arise, my warriors... and serve me."

The words slipped from his lips in ancient Egyptian. The moment the final syllable left his mouth, the lights exploded in a cascade of shattered glass and sparks, plunging the tunnel into a trembling darkness.

Everlyn startled, a gasp escaping her lips, but Ahmanis only tightened his grip on her hand—firm, but still impossibly gentle, grounding her.

Beyond the steel door where the four soldiers stood, the workers inside heard it—the ominous grind of stone on stone. All heads turned as ancient coffins, their surfaces etched with faded hieroglyphs, began to tremble, and slide open, releasing a musty, bone-chilling air into the room.

Panic erupted.

Screams pierced the heavy gloom as the dead awoke with a vengeance, skeletal hands and hollowed faces clawing their way into the world of the living. In the flickering emergency lights, it was impossible to tell where the dead ended, and the living began.

The four soldiers faltered, eyes darting to the steel door, the chaos just behind them. Fear gripped them—but duty kept their guns trained forward.

Then Ahmanis stepped closer.

The soldiers barked orders, their fingers tightening on triggers, and a storm of gunfire erupted down the tunnel.

Without hesitation, Ahmanis moved, sweeping Everlyn behind him, his broad back shielding her completely. The bullets struck him—but ricocheted harmlessly off his skin, as if the very laws of nature refused to touch him.

Unstoppable.

He advanced without breaking stride, the soldiers' faces shifting from confusion to terror.

In a blur faster than human sight, Ahmanis reached the first man, grabbing him by the throat. There was a sickening crunch as his hand closed like a vice, crushing windpipe and bone. The man's body crumpled before it even hit the ground.

The second man tried to run, but Ahmanis caught him effortlessly, slamming him into the tunnel wall with such force the stone cracked behind his skull. His weapon clattered uselessly to the floor.

The third fired wildly—only for Ahmanis to close the distance and twist the man's arm until it snapped, bone protruding grotesquely through flesh. He cast the screaming man aside like broken pottery.

The fourth barely had time to scream before Ahmanis lifted him effortlessly into the air and hurled him across the tunnel. The man's spine bent unnaturally on impact, and he lay still.

Everlyn, her heart hammering against her ribs, squeezed her eyes shut, trembling. She felt the violence around her, heard the thud of bodies falling—but she did not see it.

Because Ahmanis, even in his fury, shielded her mind as he shielded her body.

In the quiet aftermath, a warm hand touched her cheek. Gentle. Reverent.

Everlyn opened her eyes.

Ahmanis stood before her, his expression softened, no trace of the godlike wrath that had just torn through the men moments before. His thumb brushed across her skin, and his lips parted in a soft whisper she could barely hear over the rushing of blood in her ears.

His hand found hers once more, intertwining their fingers, and he turned toward the steel door.

They stood there together, surrounded by the fallen bodies of the men who had dared to stand in their way.

The heavy door groaned open with a hiss.

Inside, the scene was no less horrific—the workers lay sprawled or scrambling as the risen dead towered over them. Yet, when Ahmanis stepped forward with Everlyn by his side, the chaos stilled.

One by one, the resurrected soldiers—corpse and spirit alike—turned their hollow gazes toward them.

And then, as if bound by an unspoken oath, they knelt.

Hundreds of dead men and women knelt in reverence before Ahmanis and Everlyn, heads bowed low in solemn worship. In that moment, the air itself seemed to tremble with ancient power, old as the pyramids themselves. Ahmanis sighed, the sound one of profound relief—as if, at last, he was whole.

Releasing Everlyn's hand reluctantly, he stepped forward alone, drawn toward a shattered display case that lay on the floor. His movements were almost sacred, every step measured and purposeful.

He knelt, brushed away the broken glass, and lifted the lid of the case.

Inside, nestled against velvet black cloth, was the red stone.

The missing heart of the dagger.

Ahmanis smiled—a rare, genuine smile—and reached for it, cradling the stone as if it were the most precious thing in all existence. With reverence, he brought it to the ancient dagger, pressing the stone into the hollow at the base of the blade.

It fit perfectly, as though time itself had only ever been waiting for this moment.

Ahmanis exhaled, a low, shuddering breath of pure delight, and held the completed blade to his chest, closing his eyes.

And beside him, in the flickering half-light, Everlyn watched with her heart pounding, knowing that whatever happened next... the world would never be the same.

Ahmanis turned to Everlyn, his movements slow and deliberate, but she instinctively stepped back, fear flickering across her face like a fragile flame. Her heart pounded in her chest, and though she trusted him more than she dared admit, the chaos and power that clung to him still stirred an ancient instinct within her—run.

Seeing her distress, Ahmanis paused, letting the distance between them speak of his patience. A gentle smile curved his lips, softening the sharpness of his features, and he took a slow, careful step forward, his voice low and tender like a whisper carried by the desert winds.

"I won't hurt you, my desert sun," he said, the endearment falling from his lips with such devotion that it made Everlyn's breath catch. "I'll make sure of that. I swear it."

Through the silent bond between them, Ahmanis glimpsed her memories—flashes of a battlefield, the sharp agony of a blade piercing her side, the terror, the helplessness. His heart ached for her in a way that transcended this life and every life before it.

Closing the distance with infinite care, he reached up and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering for a moment against her skin as if reassuring her that he was real, and gentle, and hers. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, an unspoken promise woven into the delicate touch.

Taking her hand between his, he held it over his heart and looked deep into her eyes—the same eyes he had loved across centuries, across lifetimes.

"I know we haven't had much time together in this life," Ahmanis said, his voice almost trembling with the depth of emotion that bled through every word, "but whether it is in this life or the next, I will never stop falling in love with you. You are the breath in my lungs... the spark that makes me feel alive."

His hand tightened slightly around hers, as if anchoring himself to her.

"So, I ask you this, Everlyn..." His words slowed, reverent and heavy with meaning. "Will you stand by my side? Will you rule Egypt with me for eternity?"

For a moment, the world stood still.

Everlyn searched his eyes, looking for any sign of deceit, any shadow of cruelty. But she found none. Only love—pure, ancient, and unwavering. The kind of love that could shake kingdoms and raise empires.

A slow, genuine smile broke across her lips, and she gave a small, sure nod.

Ahmanis's face lit up with radiant joy, more brilliant than the rising sun over the endless sands. Without hesitation, he cupped her face between his hands and kissed her—softly at first, then deeper, pouring centuries of longing and love into that single, searing touch.

And in that kiss, Everlyn knew.

She was no longer lost.
She had been found—across lifetimes, across death itself.
And she was home.

Ahmanis stood still, the blade cradled gently in his hands as if it were made of glass, not ancient metal forged with divine wrath. His fingers trembled—he trembled—his lips parting slightly in a breath that felt too heavy, too sacred.

The red stone shimmered at the hilt like a captured star, but to Ahmanis, it might as well have been the edge of fate. This ritual... this moment... it was his last hope to keep her. To bind her soul to his not through death, but life. But a whisper of fear gnawed at the edges of his mind—what if it didn't work? What if he lost her again?

He had wandered centuries in grief, his heart a desert no oasis could touch. He could not bear it again. Losing her... would be like the sun setting forever, the world swallowed in eternal dusk.

Then—her touch.

Everlyn's hand slipped over his, grounding him. Steadying him.

"It's okay," she said softly, like the murmur of wind through palm leaves, like the kind of lullaby only the stars remember.

Ahmanis turned to her, and for a fleeting moment, the storm inside him calmed. He smiled—quietly, gratefully.

But peace never lingers in a war.

A soft clink echoed through the chamber—small silver canisters rolled in across the stone floor, barely noticeable, until it was too late.

The explosion was sudden, soundless at first. Then came the violent hiss as clouds of silver-white gas erupted from the canisters. Ahmanis didn't hesitate. With a cry like a desert wind breaking through a canyon, he lunged for Everlyn, throwing his body over hers, shielding her as the gas engulfed them.

Everlyn coughed violently, her lungs burning as her vision blurred. Her body trembled beneath his—dizzy, disoriented.

Ahmanis rose to his knees, eyes wild, trying to summon his powers to push the gas away, but—nothing.

He gasped. Staggered.

His powers, divine and furious, flickered uselessly in his veins.

Mercury. They had used mercury. He could taste it now, bitter, and sharp, threading into his very blood, weakening him by the second.

Shadows moved through the fog—men, masked and armed, stepping with deadly precision. They raised their rifles and opened fire, bullets shredding through the reanimated guardians who surged to protect their king. Dust and bone splintered through the air.

Ahmanis tried to rise, tried to help Everlyn, but his limbs grew heavier. The smoke clung to her like poison lace, and she slumped into his arms, her body limp, her breath shallow.

"No," he whispered hoarsely, clutching her closer. "No, not again..."

The men closed in, and before he could strike, before he could breathe a curse, they fired.

Darts embedded into his chest and shoulder, filled with liquid mercury. Agony raced through him—his blood scorched, his muscles locked. He fell to his knees, still holding her, unwilling to let go.

But they tore her from his arms.

He roared—a sound ancient and raw, born of lifetimes of sorrow—as they forced him to the ground. His hand, the one that had held the dagger, fell limp. The sacred blade clattered against the floor and slid into the dust, its red stone pulsing like a heart broken.

Everlyn lay still nearby, eyes fluttering closed.

The soldiers didn't know.

They thought they had won.
They thought the sun had finally set.

But the desert always remembers.
And when the sun rises again, it scorches.

They had stolen the light from Ahmanis's arms.

But they would soon meet the desert sun—
and she would burn.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

By: SilverMist707

I know it's not like the movie, but I hope you enjoyed it. Also one more chapter than it was be completed <3