The night air feels stifling as the soldiers tighten their grip on you, dragging you through the desert sands. You had once believed your home—your family—was invincible. But that was before Egyptian soldiers, clad in bronze and leather, burst into your village. Your screams were nothing but fleeting echoes as they seized you without mercy. Now, you are a prize, your fate twisted and bartered in a kingdom you can’t understand.

At the grand celebration, they make you a spectacle, parading you in front of guests who stare, their eyes cold, indifferent, almost entertained by your humiliation. The splendor of the golden chandeliers, the polished marble floors, and the luxurious silks contrast sharply with the bruises on your wrists, the trembling of your limbs.

You are nothing more than a gift—an offering to the royal twins, Horus and Seth, the princes whose names are whispered in reverence and fear. The crowd bows as they approach, each in their regal attire—Horus with his dark brown hair cascading over his tan skin, his golden armor gleaming like a sun god, his orange eyes glowing with an air of authority; and Seth, equally as striking, with similar dark brown hair, a golden sheen to his chestplate, and eyes the color of flame that burn with an intensity that demands respect, if not submission.

“You, girl, are now a servant,” one of the mays tells you with no compassion, her gaze almost pitying. “Prepare yourself.”

They call for you to be washed, scrubbed clean of the desert’s grime. You sit in the bath, the water warm but far too soft compared to the hard reality that has become your life.

Once cleansed, the mays drape you in a simple linen robe and nudge you toward the princes’ chambers. Fear runs cold through your veins. Your legs shake, your breaths shallow as you near the door.

The door opens. Seth’s gaze pierces through you like the stillness of midnight, but it is Horus who speaks first, his voice low and commanding.

“Come here,” Horus orders.