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referencing bwp! it is horrendously hot in the skyspear with a threat of death. the royal call is for a temporary retreat to dawn's cuesta! but as always that is up to u ofc <3 staying vague on who & timeline; Merneith Ankhefenmut Sutekhmes Saif Phoenix Rising Asra Nameless

Re! shouted royal falcon unto the sun; Re! why have You turned Your face against us?
khaemwaset was burning; he stood outside beneath the violent eye of heat and felt its shimmer rake every piece of moisture from his body. tongue lolled; head swam. he did not know why he had come out of the obelisk, only that as he swayed in the fiery air, he sought for some meaning.
burned paws carried him back in unflinching limp, and the call was thus:
the gods wish to purify satriya.
the gods would slay them if they remained, ashes piled where their budding kingdom had begun.
he took nothing; he sought only his sister, addled, footpads peeled.
we must go, khaemwaset grit to her ears.
lotswife glance-back to the pinnacle rearing against the sky. he was ill twice in retreat, mouth washed by tears of rage and a trembling insistence that he accept all the will of the gods.
they would return. they would return to shape the earth as they had been ordained to do. it was the destiny of pharaoh and queen.

Re hears you, my pharaoh, ankhefenmut spoke— not to quiet khaemwaset's pain, but to anchor it. his voice rang through the antechambers of satriya, through pillars yet uncarved, through temples not yet risen. he had seen omens in the fire, had smelled the ash before it was born. and still, it ached. still, it burned.
he turned from his sovereign, his steps quick and sure despite the dry cracking of earth beneath them. his limbs bore the dust of dedication. his chest bore the weight of duty.
gather! his voice boomed like thunder cast in bronze. gather, all who walk in the light of Re!
maidens with henna-stained wrists turned their heads. warriors— his mazoi, sons of sword and silence— straightened, sharp as spearpoints. ankhefenmut moved among them, a shadow wrapped in sun.
we move not in fear, but in faith, he said, eyes catching the blaze of the departing light. the gods cleanse with fire— but they do not forget what they anoint. satriya is not lost. it is becoming.
he found their faces in the smoke, in the shimmer of haze. he touched their shoulders. he called them not as soldiers but as chosen.
the pharaoh has seen. the queen has known. now we follow.

skill: seer

The young Pharoah calls, beckoning those gathered. Those who followed him, aligned themselves to him. Pheonix had held interest in tbe young wolf, if even mostly out of curiosity of the blooming vision he had for the land and those who reside within.

Another man is booming then, gathering, commanding. The priestess passes him, oasis eyes of scorching sands and blue desert waters, dance over him as she makes her way into Khaemwaset direction.

It is as I had said, unstable magic has leaked out into this world. The land will purge itself of us before it allows corruption to befall it again. Her eyes dancing then between those gathered. We must hunt. We must seek the runes. Would they listen to her plea?

the darkest corners of the pyramid were sought, though they offered only a slight balm to the heat bearing down upon them like the cast of a supernova sun. still, the nameless sought them all the same. but it is not enough. his tongue feels dry, like it might crack apart no matter how much water he consumed. his fur felt like it was a hairsbreadth from catching fire ... to the point he had begun to rip it out on his legs ... though it only made the bald spots hot and itchy.
there is a slight burn of embarrassment as he joins the others, knowing that there was little use in trying to hide the small bald spots of missing fur from his front legs. they all had elegant speeches, words and praises of and to the gods. words of magic and runes.
the nameless offers none of his own; simply staring with his single eye, the scarred and empty socket cast away from the sun... lest it too, start to bother him. ready to seek out a temporary oasis of sanctuary until it was safe for them to return.

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— artwork: bramblesnbones · speech

One last glance in this hallowed place; emptied of life. Neith tries to imagine the decor, the pale smoke of resins, colorful murals, the scents of wild goose, berrywine and lotus-flower gusting up from store-rooms. How irrelevant it all seems now. Re’s great sight had opened up a fissure of molten fire above their pinnacle; Satriya, the very palace which a month earlier had leapt out with promises of instant affinity. Now it is difficult to imagine it ever raining again. Their waters recede, their earth cracks, the seeds in the orchard so preciously cultivated by Pharaoh himself begin to dry.

“Re wishes to purify our temple,” out into the opened air she rushes to take in his glance, to nurture from his cheeks the restrained rage. The heat and light they’d grown up with and known every month of their lives is suddenly turning on them. She feels it as a blade to the belly, nodding her chin swiftly while blinking back tears. But Neith’s restless heels are eager to test the hot limestone paths which lead from Satriya, every stride at the will of Khaemwaset’s direction—

For stark images of Den and Satakhetem present themselves so clearly whenever she closes her eyes.

Outside, they gather. Satriya’s numbers had grown and dissipated in as many days, four among them now bearing their heads beneath Re’s sear. The serpentine priestess approaches Pharaoh, her ice-fire eyes summarily urgent. She speaks with wisdom gathered beyond their years and nome.

“What is the nature of these runes, hemet?” Neith asks from her bother’s side, paws steeling over the earth’s unbearable scald. Her gaze inevitably turns for the boy— silent and glinting along the fringes of the group. Rays of sun distort his figure but even she can see the marr of bald flesh that will certainly burn after a moment’s exposure.

“Hrd,” ( Child) she summons him, voice sharp but eyes gentle. “You will walk beside me.”