The Pharaoh woke, warm and snug.
For a moment, he didn't move. He simply blinked in the darkness, registering the unfamiliar comfort before memory rushed back in all at once. Sand. Wind. Blood. Fire.
His awareness sharpened when he felt slender arms wrapped around him, holding him with an unconscious tenderness that made his chest ache. The storm above them had fallen silent. No howling wind. No grinding sand.
Just stillness, foreign to his ears after the chaos it caused.
He was amazed they had slept at all.
Then again, exhaustion weighed heavily in his bones. They had fought for their lives not long before — and won, by margins so thin they still trembled in his hands.
In the quiet that followed, his mind began to work. They would dig their way out. Find the sun. Head west. Back toward the palace.
Soft, sleepy sounds stirred against his chest. His lips, still resting against her forehead, curved faintly despite everything. One hand lifted, long fingers brushing gently along her arm.
He was relaxed, strangely so considering everything that had happened.
Zahra began to stir, and her body suddenly tensed.
"It's alright," he murmured. "The storm has passed. Let's get out of this sand."
She nodded silently against his chest.
He swallowed the disappointment. He didn't really want to move. Not yet.
On three, they pushed upward together, lifting his cape inch by inch. The sand was heavy, stubborn, sliding back in steep cascades as they fought it. More than once, it threatened to swallow them again.
Then — air.
He drew in a breath and laughed weakly, shaking sand from his robes.
"Well," he said, bundling the cape beneath his arm, "either we survived… or the afterlife is incredibly dusty."
The morning sun was rising. Heat pressed down already, merciless and immediate. He rose to his feet — and the words died in his throat.
"Everything is different," he said, shock laced his voice.
The Rocky Badlands were gone.
In their place stretched a sea of endless sand, rolling in every direction, smooth and unforgiving, without landmark or mercy.
A sound reached him then — small, broken, unmistakable.
When he turned to face it, his heart clenched.
Zahra sat with her back to him, arms wrapped around her knees, shoulders shaking as she sobbed into the sand. She cried quietly, as if even that felt like too much to ask of the world.
He crossed the distance in seconds and knelt beside her, slipping an arm around her shoulders.
"Zahra," he said gently. "What's wrong? We've survived, let's head back to the palace. I promise everything will be okay."
"No," she whispered. "Everything is not going to be okay."
The breath was torn from his lungs.
Her body was marked with scratches and cuts from the storm, like his own, but her face was brutally marred. Deep, glass-like slashes scored the skin around her eyes, cruel and angry, trailing down her temples.
There were so many.
Gods — she must have been in agony.
"I can't see you," she said softly.
She reached out, fingers wavering through empty space, searching blindly.
"I can't see anything."
He seized her hand and pulled her into his chest, arms closing around her as though the world itself might try to take her away. He held her like she was the only person in the world.
For all this time, she had been his shield. His teacher. His blade.
She had made him a better Pharaoh.
A better man.
She'd saved him so many times.
Now, it was time for him to save her.
"You're going to be okay, Zahra," he said fiercely. "We'll get through this — together."
"Th-thank you," she managed through soft sobs, nuzzling into his shoulder, sending quivers down his body.
Not the time, he reminded himself.
"And… for the record… that joke you made earlier? About the afterlife?"
He huffed a laugh despite himself.
"…I thought it was really funny."
They laughed together, quietly, grief and relief tangling until neither could tell where one ended and the other began.
The desert was crueller on foot.
Zahra was starting to miss the flat rocky ground. Sand gave way beneath her feet, swallowing each step; it was harder and harder to pick them back out. Each step grew harsher in the scorching heat.
She wished for her salve. For shade. For anything.
As if sensing it, a familiar weight settled over her head — his cape — shielding her from the worst of the sun as he guided her along.
He's protecting her. That was terrifying.
She never needed protection before.
Her feet began to drag.
Her thirst grew vicious. Savage.
She saw nothing but darkness, felt only dryness, and unbearable heat. The only comfort in her life right now was his scent.
His breathing grew laboured as well. She could hear it now, strained with every step. The sand grew too hot to bear. Still, they kept going.
Her legs felt like lead.
One foot in front of the other.
Keep walking, she willed herself.
One… two.
One… two—
Pain exploded up her leg.
Her knees buckled, the world tilting violently as she collapsed into the sand.
"Zahra!" His voice was sharp with panic as he caught her, lifting her with a strained grunt. "Great Gods — speak to me!"
The poison… She wasn't completely healed.
So weak… what use am I to him now?
Her growing weakness made it resurface. Somehow, being blind made the pain all the more vivid; she could almost feel it start to flow back through her veins.
Follow the bird.
The voice slipped into her mind without warning. Not his. Not hers. It had a sentimental feel, like a child begging to be finally heard.
Soft. Insistent. Almost pleading.
"Follow the bird," she whispered aloud, confused and exhausted, unsure if her words were even audible.
She felt him speak, felt the vibration of his voice — but heard nothing. Just the soft sounds of a breeze blowing through her hair.
Her head lolled weakly. Catching brought her somewhat back to reality.
"By the Gods," he breathed. "You're right — there is a bird."
He gathered her closer, shielding them both as they moved.
Her body stumbled to catch up with his quickened pace. He kept talking, but it faded to a distant drone. It felt like he was saying words to encourage her.
All she knew was that fire spread in her body.
Each step was more excruciating as poison travelled down her legs almost to her toes.
The heat of the sand.
It was the only thing making her pick her feet up.
She wanted to push him away. Tell him to leave her alone. To go on without her.
Then —
A scent.
Cool. Clean. Impossible.
"Water," she breathed. "It's water."
"You're right," he said, disbelief threading his voice. "An oasis. I thought the heat was getting to me at first, but that's an oasis up ahead."
With a sudden second wind, the pair raced, hand in hand, toward salvation.
The relief of water was indescribable.
He helped her wade in, careful, attentive, until she could sit and let the cool wash over her aching limbs.
"Has anything ever felt better?" she sighed.
There was no sound, but she could swear she felt him smile
Then came a shallow splash of a dive.
She heard the water ripple and the sound of a mouth inhaling.
"It's safe to drink," he said.
Too late… she was already dunking her face beneath the surface.
Once quenched, she counted the sounds — water to her left, his breathing close, the hush of leaves overhead.
He moved again. Away this time.
Still, she singled out sounds and put names or actions to them. It was a lot, and her mind ached.
Her thoughts began to spiral. Her father wanted her to be Champion, but how could she do that without her eyes?
What am I now?
Later, the Pharaoh came and sat down beside her; the water sloshed around their waists. He took her hand and dropped something into her palm.
"Dates," he said. "From a tree across the water. Near a temple."
"A temple," she scoffed weakly. "Just because I'm blind doesn't mean you can lie to me."
She popped a few dates into her mouth. "Everyone knows there aren't any temples in the Badlands, " she said around a mouthful, too hungry to care about basic table manners, "unless they're dedicated to Bandit King Bakura, which really wouldn't surprise me after everything."
His laugh was music to her ears.
"I truly have no idea where we are," he admitted. "After the storm… It's like we stepped into another world."
She swallowed the last of the dates, trying to sort her memories.
The tournament. Assassination. Her father's death. That beeping, which she knew came from a machine, but she wasn't entirely sure how she knew.
Basically, everything was a car crash.
Car…?
"Stranger things have happened," she declared, rubbing a phantom pain in her thigh.
A subtle shift signalled a movement, and she felt a hand drift over hers.
"Yes," he echoed softly. "They have."
His fingers found the gaps between hers, and she felt all the muscles in her stomach clench at the contact.
After everything, all the turmoil and pandemonium, there was always one constant she could rely on.
Him.
The weight of an entire Kingdom rested on his young shoulders. Shoulders she had hoped she would help to strengthen.
Yet here he was. Still.
There was shifting in the sand, and for the first time, she was glad she couldn't see his face. What if he was looking at her with pity?
Now and then, she could hear the faint rustle of cotton and decided that was the sound of him moving. After some time, she got used to the ebbs and flows of sounds, and it got easier to figure out what was close, when he moved and how far.
Soon, even the sound of the lake she tipped her toes in became as easy to read as a book.
Wherever they were, it was tranquil.
It gave her a newfound confidence. That, and being blind, so she couldn't see his reaction.
She turned toward him.
"I don't know what will happen to us," she said quietly. "If we're trapped here, or somewhere else entirely."
"Don't you dare give up on me now," he said gently.
His voice was closer than before.
She smiled faintly. "No. I just… wanted you to know. In case we don't make it out of this."
She heard movement.
Was that fingertips she almost felt on her cheek?
Her breath caught.
Hesitation, she could sense it.
"That I think I– "
Pain tore through her leg like fire.
Her muscles seized violently. Her breath shattered into sharp, helpless gasps. This was wrong. Poisonous. Familiar in the worst way.
He was frantic around her, lifting her, calling her name.
"What?" She tried to shake her head. To focus her senses again.
Pain gripped her like a vice.
Frenziedly, she held on, pushing against the sand as if she could crawl away from the agony. Trying to remember everything she knew about dealing with agony, trying to remember to breathe.
The soft feel of a duvet slipped over her legs. Fabric stirring where there shouldn't even be a breeze.
She pulled on her thigh; it felt like an arrow was there.
"I want– I wanted to let you know…"
Suddenly, the sound of her father's scream ripped through her mind.
She gasped. Short, sharp ones that made her feel dizzy.
Walls around her, white, surgical walls.
"No! Not yet."
Hands were on her, shaking her.
"Need to tell you–"
Beeps sounded all around her, erratic beats that matched the pounding in her mind.
Then came the sound of screeching tyres.
Her head snapped toward it.
Lights. Bright.
Close. Too close.
Pain seared up her arm.
Her elbows gave out.
The world tilted — and then vanished.