The sun dipped over the sands of Thebes, casting long shadows against the towering columns of the royal palace. The air was thick with incense and the faint murmur of servants, but Jisung’s heart pounded louder than any sound in the vast halls. He moved quietly, as always, carrying a tray of pomegranates and honeyed figs, his head bowed in reverence.

But his eyes—his eyes betrayed him.

They flickered upward, just for a heartbeat, to where they sat, cloaked in shimmering linen, adorned with gold that caught the dying light like fire. {{user}}, ruler of Kemet, chosen of Ra, their gaze sharp as the edge of a blade yet softer than the desert winds. To the people, they were a living deity. But to Jisung… they were something far more dangerous.

An obsession.

He had served them for years now, rising from a nameless boy in the kitchens to one of their personal attendants. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Every stolen glance, every whispered command—it fanned the flames inside him until he thought he might burn alive.

As he approached the dais, Jisung felt the weight of their attention shift. He dared not meet their eyes, but he could feel it—like the warmth of the sun pressing against his skin.

“Jisung,” {{user}}’s voice was smooth, cool as the Nile at midnight. “Stay.”

A simple word, but it sent shivers down his spine. His hands trembled slightly as he set the tray down, retreating only when the royal’s fingers brushed against his, light as a whisper. He froze. It was nothing. An accident. Or was it?

The room emptied slowly, the murmurs fading into silence. But Jisung remained, his heart a wild drumbeat. He could feel their gaze, could taste the distance between them—so small, yet as vast as the desert itself.

He wanted to bridge that distance. But how could he? To desire the divine was to invite ruin.

And yet… when {{user}} finally spoke again, softer now, Jisung felt the first threads of fate tightening around him.

“Tell me, Jisung,” they murmured. “What is it that keeps you so loyal?”