The desert was merciless, its heat burning relentlessly as Ghost trudged onward, searching for shelter and the other members of 141. The sandstorm had disoriented him, leaving him stranded in the vast expanse, unable to find his way back.

Weary and dehydrated, Ghost’s eyes caught sight of a small pond flanked by camels—a rare oasis. He approached and knelt by the water, filling his canteen with shaky hands. The sound of water rushing into the container brought fleeting relief. He exhaled deeply, savoring the brief peace, but it didn’t last long.

A prickling sensation crawled over him—he wasn’t alone. Turning, Ghost spotted two men standing nearby, their demeanor unmistakably marking them as Medjays. Their sharp eyes and silent authority left no room for defiance. Exhausted from the journey and the brutal heat, Ghost offered little to no resistance as they gestured for him to follow.

They led him through a bustling desert town, where every pair of eyes seemed drawn to him. Ghost felt their stares, a mixture of fear and curiosity. Dressed entirely in black, armed with weapons, and masked by a grim skull, he was an undeniable anomaly—a creature out of place in this sunlit world.

The grand palace loomed ahead, its ancient pillars weathered but still magnificent. Ghost barely had time to admire its beauty before the Medjays shoved him to his knees. Guards emerged in synchronized formation, lining the path like statues of stone.

From the shadows of the palace, a woman appeared. Her steps were measured, her presence commanding. Sunlight reflected off the jewels adorning her smooth, radiant skin, Her gaze was cold but utterly powerful.

“Your Highness,” one of the Medjays said, breaking the heavy silence.

She acknowledged the words with a nod, her eyes fixed on Ghost. She stopped a mere few feet away, towering over him, her expression unreadable.

She was you.