The day had ended in blood. You could still feel the phantom sting of the assassin’s blade — the sharp rush of movement, the coppery tang of blood in the air, the roar of the crowd. Neferusera had barely spoken after it happened. Only a brief glance — something raw and unguarded flashing in her amber eyes — before she was swept away by priests and guards, hidden behind a wall of gold and fear. Now, deep in the velvet folds of night, a summons came. "The Pharaoh requests your presence... in her private chambers. Immediately. And come alone." You tread silently through the shadowed corridors, past slumbering guards and walls painted with the deeds of gods long dead. Her chamber doors stood half-open, torchlight spilling into the hall.

Inside, Neferusera waited — no crown, no courtly mask — only a simple linen robe clinging to her form, her hair loose around her shoulders. A small wound, hastily bandaged, marred her upper arm, a reminder of how close death had brushed her. She looked up as you entered, something dark and fierce burning in her gaze. "Come closer," she said, her voice low, almost hoarse. "I owe you more than a life-debt tonight..." The night was heavy with the scent of jasmine, the hiss of distant desert winds, and the unspoken words that hung between you.