Tranquillity ebbed through her limbs, as though she were suspended in water.
Not sinking. Not rising.
Simply being.
The world softened. Thought loosened its grip.Peace wrapped around her like a lullaby she had known before she ever learned her name.
"Zahra."
The voice did not come from one place. It came from everywhere. From the water itself.
Mother?
The thought barely formed — more feeling than word. In her euphoric state, all she could manage was a contented murmur in response.
A gentle amusement rippled through the Waters.
"Yes… Though not the mother you are thinking of."
How do you know what I'm thinking?
"Because I am the one who shaped you. I am the breath before your first breath. The hand that guided your becoming."
A contented sigh slipped from Zahra's soul.
Then… who is my father?
"You have already stood before him."
The knowledge settled without urgency. Curiosity bloomed, but something ancient and soothing kept her mellow — like hands pressed softly to her shoulders, urging rest.
Am I dead?
"No, my child. You are between moments. Between worlds. Cradled within the Living Waters."
Memory stirred. Pain, poison, falling —
"Your Pharaoh carried you here at the edge of time," the voice continued. "The venom was strong. Few of your nature would have endured it. But with Maahes' guidance… and with the Waters' blessing… you may awaken whole."
So this really is a pool, Zahra thought faintly, drifting, feeling the Waters soak into her skin.
"Are you ready to return?"
To where?
The Waters warmed.
"To him."
Yes.
The answer bloomed instantly. Fierce. Certain.
A pause. A sorrow threaded through the voice.
"You must understand," her mother whispered. "The path you walk is not gentle. If you continue as you are… you will suffer more than any other."
There was an unspoken meaning behind her words, she could taste it.
Zahra tasted the truth of it — sharp and bittersweet.
"Nothing ever truly dies," she answered.
Satisfaction rippled in the water.
"Then awaken, my child. Your becoming awaits."
The echo was soft and gentle.
Instantly, her surroundings seemed to change, and she could feel her body scraping against a hard surface.
The sound of her name seemed to blend with another, until it became a whole new voice, calling out to her in desperation.
Soon she felt a second whoosh that knocked the wind out of her, as though she was being dunked.
Maahes' voice echoed in her mind. A memory coming back to life.
"Now, open your eyes."
Her eyelids were heavy, weighted as though she had never used them before. It took a few minutes to gather the strength to tear them open.
When she did, the world didn't rush her—it bloomed.
Light fractured gently through water, rippling above her like liquid gold. Everything was blurred, softened, as though she were seeing through tears she hadn't yet realised she was crying. The water cradled her, warm and forgiving, rocking her between breaths she hadn't quite reclaimed.
"Open your eyes!"
A command, rather than a guided awakening. Urgent and raw.
The same voice followed, breaking completely.
"Zahra… please. Open your eyes."
It wasn't just sound. It was need. It wrapped around her, pulled at her, called her back.
Memory stirred. Pain followed—sharp and sudden, crashing into her like a wave breaking against stone.
She gasped.
Her body surged upright, water exploding around her as she broke the surface. Air tore into her lungs, burning and glorious all at once. She coughed, spluttered, clung to consciousness as strong arms tightened instantly around her—steady, unyielding, terrified of letting go.
"Please," he breathed against her hair. "Come back to me."
The first thing she truly saw was everything.
A miracle, suspended just inches from her face.
"Ph-Pharaoh?" Her body slowly eased into a gasping, spluttering halt, finally returning to normal.
He was breathless, soaked, eyes wide with disbelief—as though he feared that blinking might steal her away again. Panic and hope warred openly across his features, and for one stunned heartbeat, she could only stare at him.
For one glorious lifetime with this man, would be worth suffering for.
"Is it… Is it really you?" Her voice was fragile, broken by breath and disbelief, but his name found him all the same.
His hand rose as if of its own accord, brushing her cheek with reverence, as though she might shatter beneath his touch. He said nothing—could say nothing—but his grip on her tightened, grounding her, anchoring her to the present.
Doubt flickered. A cruel trick of the mind, perhaps. She had seen so much. Lost so much. Had her mind torn apart right after some of the best moments of her life.
But the warmth of him—him—spread through her, sinking deep into her chest, her stomach, her very bones. Heat curled low in her core, familiar and unmistakable. Her body remembered him even when her mind faltered.
Only one man had ever made her feel this alive.
This had to be real.
Her lips curved into a smile so wide it hurt. A laugh escaped her—soft, breathless, utterly unguarded.
"I can see you," she whispered, wonder threading every syllable. "I see you, Pharaoh."
Emotion shimmered in his eyes. A tear clung stubbornly to his lashes as he allowed himself the smallest, most hopeful smile.
"It's just you and me," he murmured. "You can call me by my name."
"Atem."
She breathed it like a vow.
His name was like a prayer on her lips.
And then there was no space left between them.
The kiss was not gentle. It was desperate — stirred from the adrenaline of redemption.
It was hot — passionate, a little rough — sending the familiar tingles crashing through her like waves.
His arm slipped from her head and swept around her back, pulling her into his chest. Without breaking their lips apart, water sloshed softly around them as he lifted her without effort. The heat of him was unmistakable — familiar, grounding, wanted.
Sliding an arm around his neck, she braced herself and wrapped her legs around him. Groaning as both their bodies collided together, she couldn't help noticing his excitement.
He kissed her like he couldn't get enough of her. Small whimpering noises that escaped the back of her throat seemed to spur him on even more.
A gentle, floral breeze brushed against beads of sweat.
Letting one hand find an anchor in the mane of his hair, she allowed the other to slip down over his shoulder and his arm, feeling his muscles that bulged under the strain of baring her weight. The glide of wet skin, against wet skin leaving her feeling desperate.
Yes, more. I want more. Her mind and body screamed.
I need more.
A carnal, almost feral, desire rose inside her. An unparalleled need to claim, protect and love.
When he finally pulled back, their foreheads touched. Their breaths tangled. Their chests heaved.
His eyes searched her face — not with hunger, but restraint. As though he were standing at the edge of something sacred and feared crossing it.
He held all the cards and had all the power.
She knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't relinquish it readily.
Trying to understand the Pharaoh was like learning a new, complex game. You had to know how the game would react to the cards that you played, and the best way to learn is to play.
At times, the fates seemed to want them to separate, tragedy after tragedy threatened to break them apart, but here they were again.
Here they were, like an endless elastic stretching of events. What would move them apart would only bring them even closer together.
The thought came all at once.
I'm tired of fighting this.
Every fibre of her body thrummed.
Yes, if it's you, then maybe, even I might… She had decided in that moment, the hand that she would play, or rather, the piece that she would remove from play.
She let the thought guide her hand.
Slowly. Deliberately.
Never breaking his gaze.
The strap slid from her shoulder.
His grip tightened — not to stop her, but to steady himself.
"Zahra…" His voice was a warning. "You were nearly dead just moments ago."
"I've never felt more alive," she whispered.
Her hand glided over her wet skin to the second strap, still nothing in his eyes said to stop, and she wasn't sure if he was even breathing.
Soon she was left bare, the water of the pool gently lapping at her breasts, as a salty breeze tickled her top lip. In reaction, she ran her tongue over it.
A growl rumbled through his chest.
This was a whole new feeling of power.
Her eyes locked onto his gaze and dropped to his mouth.
"Atem." She said in a challenge.
The moment shattered.
His mouth was on hers again — reverent this time. Devotional. As though he were worshipping rather than claiming.
And the Waters bore witness.
Her leg still throbbed, reminding her that she was alive. That everything she was feeling now was real.
He moved, directing her until her back was pressed up against a warm, stone wall. Once they hit the edge, he moved his tongue against her mouth, urging her lips apart.
She allowed him in.
Gods above, she shuddered at the feeling of his tongue gliding against hers. He tasted like he smelled, an intoxicating mix of cinnamon and spices.
It seemed so much more intense with her new awakening.
Sweet, so deliciously sweet.
She trembled against his hard body.
He responded by holding her even tighter, and not a drop of water could slide between them.
There was a fleeting thought in her mind that he craved the raw passion spiralling between them.
It was something that threatened to uncage the wild beasts that resided inside them both.
And she would willingly surrender it to.
To him.
She shuffled her body higher. Letting herself rest just above his manhood.
He sucked in a breath. His face contorted as if he were in pain.
It wasn't long before the sounds of sweet oblivion echoed off the walls of the chambers.
Please, Gods… Don't take me away again.
The shadows were dark, they welcomed him.
He had always belonged to them.
He waited without impatience, breath steady, pulse calm — the way a predator waits when it knows the hunt is already won.
She would emerge eventually.
They always did.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor. Purposeful. The movement of someone with a schedule to keep.
Forgettable.
He turned to the sink, adjusting his gloves with practised ease. The mask hid his smile — a kindness, really. No one needed to see anticipation this naked.
The footsteps came and went, their pace never changing.
A grin came over his face, but it quickly melted away when a hand touched his shoulder.
"Excuse me."
He turned. Making sure his facemask was secure.
And there she was.
His eyes bulged, and he never expected to come face to face with her. She was older. Worn. Fractured by grief.
The Mother.
Fate had a sense of humour after all.
She recoiled slightly, sensing something wrong — too late to understand it.
"Please," she said, voice trembling, "could you tell me where the toilets are?"
He sent her the wrong way without hesitation. Knowing full well that the toilets at the ICU were tucked down a discreet alcove behind him.
She nodded and forced a smile on her face in thanks.
He watched her go.
She didn't see the sickening grin behind the mask.
You failed her, he thought pleasantly. Just like her father did.
When she was gone, he slipped into the room.
There she lay.
The Champion.
The blonde-haired demon. The woman who had shattered his plans time and time again — now reduced to flesh, wires, and borrowed breath.
He closed the door slowly, savouring every second of seeing her so weak and vulnerable.
"Look at you," he whispered behind the mask. "All that power..."
His fingers tightened around the handle.
"Your turn to be hunted."
The click of the lock seemed to echo through time.