When the distance was enough, she spun and moved as fast as she dared. Finally she relaxed and dragged the air in deeply, cursing herself as she let it out.
I shouldn't be this attracted to him. This isn't right. I'm not meant for him.
This is wrong.
On this side of the temple, light spilled over the edge, dappling through vines that had woven themselves into the stone and striking a reflective surface not far ahead.
A subtle glint caught her eye.
A mirror, she realised.
The image staring back at her was like nothing she had ever seen.
For as long as she could remember, every time she had looked at her reflection, she had seen weakness.
A girl with no use.
A girl who didn't even know where she was born.
A girl who hurt, beat, and humiliated just to feel worthy.
She could dress it up as noble justice — sexist laws, protecting the weak, defending the royals.
But every time she looked at herself, that was all she saw.
A tyrant.
But this reflection…
A young woman with golden eyes and hair like sunshine stared back at her. Light beige fabric wrapped her body like a robe, skimming the curves of an unmistakably feminine frame. Toned, freckled shoulders flowed into strong arms.
Instinctively her shoulders rolled back.
She almost smiled.
Her trembling hand lifted to her face.
This woman looked beautiful. Strong. Certain.
Before, only her adoptive mother had ever carried that kind of confidence and grace.
Could this reflection truly be her own?
"I don't know who I am," she whispered.
The lips in the mirror moved with hers.
A fragrant, sandy breeze seemed to cradle her chin and gently turn her head towards the wall.
"Oh… my goodness…"
That was all she could manage.
His mouth was dry.
He had spent so long simply staring, agog at the temple. Its design was unlike anything he had seen — ancient, yet somehow futuristic by the standards of his modern world.
Water flowed over the roof and down through a carved duct into the central pool, forming a steady, man-made waterfall. The air was fresh, perfumed by the flora clinging to the walls, familiar and comforting.
He took a deep breath, savouring it.
The water rippled constantly, lapping against the pool's edge in a slow rhythm, like gentle breaths.
The place felt alive.
Something dark lay bunched near the waterline.
Kneeling, the warm stone soothed his aching body.
His breath hitched.
It was Zahra's fighting suit.
When his fingers broke the surface, memory crashed over him.
The ache of kiss-swollen lips. The heat of her body. Her silken hair tangled in his fist.
This was where his most secret, desperate desires had come true.
Ghosts of her nails scraping across his back burned.
Her hands – the way they slipped over his skin…
Stay focused.
He forced himself to look away, scanning the temple, searching for anything to ground him.
There was nothing to dull the memory of the sounds she made when he slid inside her, again and again.
Pinching his arm, the sharp pain dragged him back. He couldn't drown in longing — not when he didn't know how she felt.
Water streamed from the leather as he lifted the suit, remembering how it hugged her curves, how it looked even better floating away from her bare body.
Damn. She was back in his thoughts again.
For a fleeting moment, he considered leaving it behind.
No.
This is her most cherished possession.
He spotted her further inside the temple, staring at the wall.
His stomach tightened.
He wrung the suit out harder than necessary, pouring every ounce of frustration into it, then walked towards her.
I must return it.
She didn't sense his approach.
Normally, she was unnervingly aware of everything.
But not now.
Her gaze was fixed on the hieroglyphs and paintings on the wall, and her delicate hand wandered softly over them, as if they were the most precious things on Earth.
A stray breeze tugged at her hair. She shushed it away, too absorbed to care.
She looked… soft.
Calm. Wonderstruck.
He could swear she was smiling as her mouthed in translation. She rarely looked like this at the palace.
The thought hurt more than he expected.
His thoughts reeled as he reached out to touch her.
"Atem!"
She jumped.
"By the Gods, will you make some noise next time? You scared the life out of me."
Her voice trailed to a whisper as she turned her head back to the wall.
He couldn't help smiling. He loved the sound of his name on her lips.
And the shock on her face.
Normally, it was he who was on the end of her silent steps. He masked it well, or so he thought. He never reacted quite like she just did.
With time, he realised that when she was close, a fresh breeze, mint, and menthol always alerted him to her presence.
He'd never forget it.
"What are you reading, Zahra?" he asked, secretly hoping to hear her say his name again.
"It's the story of the Oasis," she said, wonder softening her voice as she pointed to the painted figures and etched hieroglyphs. "Look — it says the Oasis is a haven for all the Gods, yet home to only one. Many journeyed here seeking wisdom and healing. It was tended by a Goddess. She was not counted among the most powerful, yet she could mend any wound with the herbs and fruits that grew only beneath her watchful eye."
Atem studied the wall. Something about the symbols felt wrong.
His brow furrowed. Most of them slipped past him, unfamiliar, almost foreign.
"Wait… you can read these hieroglyphs?"
"You can't?" Disbelief flickered across her face.
He shook his head, pointing to the few he recognised. "Water. Love. Death…"
She followed his hand — and the colour drained from her cheeks.
"Zahra?"
"Th-that symbol… it doesn't mean death. Not a natural one," she murmured. "It means killing. It means slaughter."
"What are you trying to say?"
"The Goddess…" her voice hitched. "She was murdered."
His eyes widened. "Tell me what it says."
Zahra nodded and drew a long, steadying breath before continuing.
"For aeons the Goddess guarded the Oasis — a living manifestation of the first breath of creation itself. Wherever her feet touched, life stirred. Where there was dust, green things grew. Where there was thirst, water rose.
"She shaped the Eastern and Western breezes and called them her companions. They carried her pollen, scattered her seeds, and cooled her brow beneath the sun. The gods themselves came to bask in her bounty and rest in her shade.
"One day, one such god came seeking aid — a protector, bearing the form of a great lion. He was grievously wounded, poison from a divine beast blackening his blood. Long did she labour to cleanse him. Yet with her remedies and the lion's strength, he rose again, whole.
"And in gratitude, he swore himself to her. To the Goddess.
"To the Oasis."
Atem could have sworn he heard pride in her voice.
She moved along the wall, fingers trailing reverently over the stone.
"In time, her miracles became legend. Mortals began to search for her, though none knew the Oasis's true resting place. They wandered the desert for cures, for food, for children, for shelter from the sun's cruelty.
"The Oasis would appear like a mirage — glimpsed, then gone — drawing only the most faithful deeper into the sands. Few endured the journey. Fewer still were granted passage.
"But those who reached her received wonders."
Her voice softened.
"One man dragged his son across the desert, praying for the boy's paralysis to be healed. At last, the Oasis opened to them. He fell at her feet and begged."
Her tone faltered.
"But the child had already died upon the road. She could not heal what no longer lived."
Her fingers trembled against the carvings.
"So the man threatened her.
"'Death is a lie,'" she read from the wall, voice barely above a whisper. "'There is only life. Every grain of sand breathes as we do.'"
Tears gathered in her eyes.
"Mad with grief and guilt, he drew a blade. She was not like the other gods — not untouchable, not eternal. She could bleed. She could die. She begged him to understand. Told him the boy had never needed curing — that he had always been whole, always worthy of love.
"But grief deafened him.
"He struck."
Atem felt the words like a blow.
"Her lion protector sensed the danger and tore the murderer down in heartbeats… but it was too late. The blade had already found her heart."
She turned to him, eyes wide with horror.
A tear slipped free.
Without thinking, he cupped her cheek and brushed it away with his thumb. Warmth bloomed in his chest when she leaned into his touch.
How could he not want this woman?
All that strength. All that compassion.
The way she fought like a storm and cared like sunlight.
This was not the quiet love he felt for family and friends.
This was something deeper. Wilder. Terrifying.
He remembered her arms around him. Her victorious grin over a chessboard. The night he lay awake beside her, afraid even to breathe. The way she slept — softer than starlight. That night in his chambers, scared to move. He wanted to protect her from himself.
"With her final breath," she whispered, "the Goddess confessed her love to the Lion God. They had stood side by side for centuries… yet neither had spoken their hearts aloud.
"He cursed himself for his silence.
"It is said their tears fell together as she died in his arms… and where they touched the earth, water rose."
Her fingers traced the last line.
"The Living Waters. Born from her healing grace… and the strength of his body and spirit. A union that even death could not sever."
Atem went very still.
Regret. Unspoken love.
Lost time.
He needed to know how she felt first before he bared his soul to her.
How long was he going to wait?
He let out a shaky breath, meeting her golden, tear-bright eyes, and wished with everything he had that he could carry her pain for her
Zahra's hands were shaking.
The cold sting of holding back tears burned behind her eyes.
His hand returned to her cheek, warm, gentle. It almost hurt.
She knew — somehow, deep in her chest — that the Goddess in these carvings was her mother.
No proof.
Just certainty.
She had just found out that her mother was murdered. And yet that wasn't what terrified her most.
These two beings had loved each other for centuries… and never said it.
Only at the end. When it was too late.
Their grief had filled an entire pool.
Regret made liquid.
The only way they could finally be together.
The immortal God and mortal Goddess.
Her gaze dragged across Atem's face, memorising every line as if he might vanish.
Life was that fragile.
Here.
Then gone.
His thumb brushed beneath her eye.
Heat bloomed down her neck and chest. She could feel her breasts harden at his touch.
He was real. Solid.
While she felt like smoke.
Then he stepped back.
The cold that hit when his hand moved away stung more than it should.
"Here, I found this," he said.
He held up a black mass of material, shining and dripping from water.
Her suit.
Her pride. Her armour. Her identity.
She took it automatically.
Water trickled over her fingers and down her wrists — and with it came everything else. It seeped into her skin and her mind was flooded.
Anger.
Pain.
Loneliness.
The constant, gnawing need to prove she deserved to exist.
The suit...
Yes, it made her powerful, almost unstoppable.
But it also made her cruel.
It brought out Fury. Desperation.
It whispered that fear was the only way to be respected.
It felt heavy in her hands.
Too heavy. Like chains.
You must now make a choice, my child.
Her breath stuttered.
Put it back on — become the weapon.
Or let it fall — and become the woman she had seen in the mirror.
Become whole.
Soft and strong all at once.
Always do what is right, what you have always done.
She looked back at the wall to the story of the woman, her mother, and God together as she embraced death.
Loved. Maybe?
But who would accept me like that?
How could she live in the silence when all the fighting had stopped?
He was still here. Looking at her like she was the only thing in the world.
"Why are you so devoted to your pain?" Atem asked quietly.
Not accusing.
Just… hurting for her.
Her gaze lifted. Following the torso of a man until she reached his face. There was no fear there.
No doubt.
Eyes just for her.
Only her.
"I'm so tired of fighting," she said, her voice rough and fragile, like she had never used it before.
Her fingers opened.
The suit slipped from her grasp and hit the stone with a dull, final slap.
She didn't look down.
"I'm tired of fighting this."
The words felt like stepping off a cliff.
For a heartbeat, the world held its breath.
Then she crossed the distance between them. Stepping over her suit slumped on the floor.
No hesitation. No second thoughts.
If she stopped to think, she'd run.
So she didn't think.
She chose.
Her hands pressed flat against his chest. His heart hammered wildly beneath her palms, just as frantic as hers.
Not calm. Not controlled.
His body was betraying him. Veins bulged in his neck and arms.
She knew he was trying to hold back. Waiting.
He wasn't holding back because he didn't want her.
He was holding back because he was terrified to break her.
That realisation stole the air from her lungs.
"Atem…" His name left her like a prayer.
Something in him snapped.
His restraint shattered.
His hands slid to her waist like he'd been starving for the right.
She fisted his robes, and surged on her feet.
The kiss wasn't careful. It wasn't polite.
It was desperate and certain and months of swallowed doubt breaking all at once.
His breath hitched against her lips, a low sound that went straight through her. He pulled her flush to him, like he was afraid she might disappear.
Like letting go wasn't an option anymore.
Good.
Because she wasn't going anywhere.
Not now. Not ever.
He bent her back slightly, sliding his tongue across her teeth, trying to deepen their kiss.
She felt the challenge. And the heat grew hotter than a blazing fire.
Her fingers tangled in his hair. His hand cradled the back of her neck. The world — the temple, the gods, the past — fell away until there was only heat and breath and him.
She gave in to impulse and allowed herself what she wanted.
What she had always wanted.
Him. This. Here.
No regrets. No running.
Just them.
Mine.
Not possession. Not control.
Choice.
My Pharaoh.
And for the first time in her life, Zahra didn't feel like she was bracing for loss.
She felt like she had finally come home.