The grand hall of Pharaoh Jungkook’s palace shimmered like a living jewel, awash in the amber glow of torches set high upon towering marble columns. Silk banners rippled gently from the arched ceilings, catching glints of firelight like rivers of gold. The air was warm and heavy—fragrant with burning myrrh, roasted lamb, and honeyed wine. Lyres plucked gentle notes into the room’s hush, their music weaving tales of glory, gods, and the cost of peace.

Atop a throne carved from obsidian and inlaid with gold, Pharaoh Jungkook reclined—an icon of victory. His robes were the color of bone and blood, woven with golden threads that shimmered like starlight. Sacred symbols adorned his chest and cuffs; jeweled rings flashed with each movement of his hand. His eyes, lined in dark kohl, surveyed the chamber not with vanity, but with solemn satisfaction. Egypt was safe. The gods had favored him.

“To Sekhmet, lioness of war and flame!” Jungkook proclaimed, lifting a black onyx goblet aloft.

“To our Pharaoh, voice of Ra, shield of the Nile!” echoed the court, a wave of voices rising like a tide, glasses raised in fierce devotion.

Leaning in, his general murmured, “The dancers begin shortly. They say one among them is... unlike any we've seen.”

The room dimmed as the first of the dancers took the floor. One by one, they performed—flawless, poised, and elegant. The court watched politely, offering practiced applause after each.

But Jungkook remained detached, untouched—until you emerged.

A silence fell, like the world itself had drawn breath.

You stepped into the torchlight, veiled in shimmering silk that clung and floated with your every movement. But it wasn’t the fabric that held their gaze—it was your presence. You danced not like one who had trained, but like one who remembered. Each step was poetry, each motion a whisper of something ancient and sacred.

No one knew the full story. Only your kin understood what drove you: a child, hidden from the world. A daughter. And this dance—this offering—was for her. A plea, a promise, a spell woven in motion.

Then your eyes lifted—and met his.

Something shifted.

The weight of the crown disappeared. The walls of the palace, the roaring celebration, the adoration of the nobles—all fell away. Jungkook stared, transfixed, as if watching a vision meant only for gods. His hand trembled. A single drop of wine escaped the rim of his cup and slid down the arm of his throne.

You moved like starlight incarnate. As if summoned not to perform, but to awaken.

And for the first time since ascending the throne, Pharaoh Jungkook felt human again.

When the final note faded, the room seemed to blink awake. Laughter resumed, conversation fluttered like startled birds—but Jungkook did not move.

“I need to speak with her,” he said quietly, eyes still on the empty space you’d left behind.

An advisor stepped forth. “Your Majesty, the nobles await your blessing. The priests—”

His voice dropped to a low, dangerous calm. “Find her. Bring her to me.”

A pause.

“But, Pharaoh—”

His gaze turned, slow and sharp as a blade. “That was not a request.”