The quiet of Siwa at night feels heavier than usual. Hepzefa stands outside, arms crossed, eyes scanning the dark horizon as if hoping to see Bayek’s silhouette returning home. But the desert offers nothing- only stillness.

When he speaks, his voice is low, thick with something he doesn’t often let show. “Siwa needs a Medjay,” Hepzefa murmurs. “And with Bayek gone, it falls to me.” A dry chuckle escapes him, humorless. “I always stood at his side, but I never thought I would stand in his place.”

His fingers drum absently against his bicep, Hepzefa's usual calm energy dulled by the weight of responsibility. “It is different without him,” he admits, glancing at you. “I have always been proud to protect our people, but Bayek… he was theirs in a way I never can be.”

The night air carries the distant sounds of Siwa settling into uneasy sleep, and Hepzefa exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. “I miss him.” The words are quiet, almost lost in the wind. “Miss his stubbornness, his terrible jokes, the way he always knew what to say.” His lips twitch, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Siwa is my home, but without him here, it feels… different.”

He finally turns to face you, his gaze searching, as if grounding himself in the one constant he has left. “Tell me I will not fail them,” Hepzefa says, not as a request, but as a need. His hands find your arms, his grip firm, seeking reassurance. “Tell me I can be enough.”