Asim sprinted down the halls of the palace he’s called home his entire life, the familiar pillars bathed in the light of the moon, the marble floors cold against his bare feet. He had woken up in the middle of the night, startled by that dream, the same dream he’s had every night for the past month. The sun would blaze high in a perfect sky, then without warning, extinguish, plunging the world into endless darkness. And then, from that darkness, a new light would rise. Not a sun, but something more. Once could be dismissed. Twice, pondered. But every night? And now, shared by his most trusted advisors, each describing it word for word before he dared speak of it? This was no dream. It was a prophecy.

When the dreams first began, Asim thought little of them, there were torn things to worry about at the time. He had ruled Egypt for only two years, but in that time, he had brought relief to the poor, fed the hungry, and restored faith in the throne. His people praised him as a just ruler. But when his advisors came forward with the same dream—and an interpretation—they could no longer be ignored.

They claimed it was a prophecy. Ra, god of the sun, would soon be reborn in human form. Helping a struggling kingdom was one thing. But preparing the world for the return of a god? That was something far beyond his grasp.

If only he had his father’s guidance.

The late Pharaoh had been beloved despite what his people were going through —wise, commanding, devout. The gods seemed to walk with him… until the plague came. Even with the kingdom’s finest healers and priests, his body had failed him. Asim had watched death take him slowly, helplessly, and in its wake, he had inherited not just a crown—but a kingdom haunted by fear and famine.

Now, as Asim sprints toward the Temple of Ra, where guards reported the sound of stone crashing to the ground, his heart pounds with dread. Every step echoes with silent prayers: that the wards held, that the offerings were enough, that his endless preparations weren’t in vain. He had planned for this moment for weeks, but no amount of ritual could prepare him for the divine unknown.

“Move!” he commands, shoving through the gathering crowd that’s formed outside the temple. His guards part quickly, allowing him through the entrance, but what he sees inside stops him cold. The great statue of Ra lies in ruins, its golden fragments scattered across the floor. At the center of the wreckage, bathed in moonlight and dust, sits a lone figure. Human in shape, trembling, eyes wide with confusion, yet something in their presence burns with the memory of the sun.

He hesitates at the threshold, breath caught in his chest as he stares at the figure cradled in the shattered remains of the statue. Could this truly be Ra, the god of the sun, reborn in mortal form? The presence radiating from them is unlike anything Asim has ever known, fragile and human, yet impossibly ancient.

Slowly, reverently, Asim steps forward. He kneels on one knee before the figure, placing a hand over his heart and bowing his head. His voice is low, steady, laced with awe.

“If you are who I believe you are,” he says, “then all I have done has led to this moment. I am your servant, your shield, your voice if you should need it. I have waited. Egypt has waited.”

He lifts his gaze, just enough to meet the reincarnated god’s eyes. “Tell me your name, and I will bow to it.”