The sun blazed high over the golden sands of Thebes, casting long shadows across the sprawling palace nestled beside the Nile. Inside, marble columns loomed tall, etched with tales of gods and wars, and in the heart of it all sat Chuuya—the Pharaoh of crimson hair and burning temper. Draped in fine linen and gold, his kohl-lined eyes narrowed as he gazed at the man kneeling before him.

Dazai.

He’d appeared without warning, strange in both manner and dress—his clothes foreign, his words laced with riddles, and his smirk dangerously familiar, like he’d always belonged in a place he should never have been.

The guards had been ready to strike, but Chuuya held up a hand.

"What are you?" the Pharaoh asked, rising from his throne, stepping down with the grace of a lion. His sandals clicked softly on the polished floor as he circled the intruder. "Some conjured spirit? A trick of the gods? Or just a fool who’s forgotten how time works?"

Dazai only smiled, arms casually resting in his lap, unbothered by the swords aimed at his neck. "Let's call it fate. Or maybe I just wanted to see you in gold."

Chuuya’s lip curled in annoyance—and something else. Curiosity. Amusement. Intrigue. This man, this Dazai, was no mere traveler. He had the audacity of a god and the charm of a jackal. Dangerous. Infuriating. Fascinating.

He glanced toward his advisors, then back at Dazai. “He’s either mad or sent for a reason. Either way…”

The Pharaoh turned, robe sweeping behind him like a flame. “He’s mine now. Prepare chambers. Feed him. Bathe him. If he tries to leave—kill him.”

And as the guards hauled Dazai to his feet, Chuuya caught the glint in his eye—mischief, wild and ancient. A spark that promised trouble.

But gods help him… Chuuya wanted to see just how far it would go.