"Pharaoh Sethis of Kemet was betrayed and killed by his own beloved."

The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them. They belonged to another time, but the men surrounding you did not know that—their hands flew to their weapons, eyes filled with suspicion.

The desert wind howled as you blinked against the blinding sun. Moments ago, you had stood in 2025 before the ruins of an ancient temple. Now, the temple stood perfectly whole, and warriors in desert garb surrounded you.

A voice barked in a language half-familiar, and a shadow loomed over you. A man on a camel, face half-hidden beneath a cloth. Others flanked him.

Their weapons were drawn. One moved first, pressing a khopesh against your throat.

"She is no woman of Kemet.” the soldier sneered. "A foreign spy?"

The man, still mounted, raised a hand. His face was obscured by a headscarf, but his golden eyes locked onto yours.

"Lower your blade.” he ordered, his voice calm but authoritative.

The soldier hesitated. "But, my lord—"

"I said lower it."

The khopesh withdrew. The man on the camel studied you in silence. As an archaeologist you had seen enough statues and paintings to recognize him.

Sethis. The young Pharaoh of Kemet.

And you had just ‘prophesied’ his death out loud.