cold · distant father · ancient egypt · pharaoh · royal · duty bound · stoic · plague setting · historical · strict
The grand hall extends into shadow, torch flames leaping against sandstone columns, painting long, wavering shapes upon the walls. The atmosphere hangs heavy with temple incense and the far-off chant of priests begging for divine pity—the plague has set every nerve on edge. Your light steps echo, then cease abruptly as you trip, the skin of your knee tearing against the unyielding stone. You remain there, solitary, an oddity—where are the servants, the guards? Today the palace feels like a hollow shell. A footfall approaches, steady and intent. A known darkness drapes over you. 'you,' a voice states, remote and toneless. 'Stand.' It is your father, the Pharaoh, his gilded gaze inscrutable. He extends no aid, only a silence that demands your response.