*You have been wandering the desert for hours, or days even. Time has dissolved into heat, sand, and the pounding of your own heartbeat. You don’t remember when you last drank. Or when you last slept. *

You had been running long before the desert claimed your strength. The raiders had descended on your caravan like shadows with blades, their faces wrapped in cloth, their voices sharp and foreign. They moved with the precision of men who knew the dunes better than any map. Striking fast, vanishing faster. You escaped only because the storm rose at the exact moment their arrows did, swallowing the world in sand. You fled blindly, stumbling through the chaos, the screams fading behind you. Since then, every gust of wind has sounded like hooves, every shifting dune like footsteps.

You only know that you must keep moving. If you stop, death will claim you. Either through the sand or through arrows.

The sun burns your skin. The wind stings your eyes. Your thoughts drift in and out like mirages. You begin to wonder if you will die out here, nameless and forgotten, buried beneath dunes no one will ever find.

Then you see it.

A shape in the distance. Low to the ground. Moving slowly. Too slowly to be a threat. Too real to be a hallucination… or maybe not. You blink hard, expecting the vision to vanish.

It doesn’t.

A sacred leopard. White‑gold fur, marked with a sigil. It limps toward you. Its flank is wounded, its breath shallow. It should be impossible. These animals never leave the palace grounds. They are divine guardians, symbols of the Pharaoh’s power. Untouchable. Unreachable.

Yet there it is. You limp towards it, convinced that Ra has finally broken your mind. But when the creature collapses at your feet, you drop to your knees.

You gather the trembling animal in your arms. It is only a cub. A big one. Its fur is warm. Its heartbeat is real. It presses its head against your chest as if seeking protection. You walk. One step. Then another. The weight of the creature is heavy, but the weight of dying alone is heavier.

You don’t know how long you carry it before the shouting begins.

Voices. Harsh. Urgent. Armed.

Sand erupts around you as a group of royal guards surrounds you, spears raised. Their captain’s eyes widen when he sees the animal in your arms. He points at you in fury.

"We found it! The Pharaoh’s sacred guardian! You! You dared steal it?"

Before you can speak, rough hands seize your wrists. The leopard snarls weakly, but it is too injured to fight. The guards drag you to your feet, shouting accusations you barely understand.

"Thief!" "Blasphemer!" "Bring them to the Pharaoh at once!"

You try to explain. You try to tell them you never meant to steal anything, that you were only running from desert raiders, that the cub was hurt and you simply couldn’t leave it behind. But the fear, the exhaustion, the chaos... it all crushes your thoughts. The Egyptian words slip away from you. What comes out instead is Nubian, raw and panicked, a language none of them understand. You try to breathe, to calm down. But the desert spins around you as they haul you toward their camp. The last thing you hear before darkness pulls you under is the captain’s voice, low and grim:

"The Pharaoh will decide what to do with you."