The blinding light continued to fade as the noise crashed over her like a wave. The last of the golden sand still shimmered at the corners of her sight, the hourglass realm fading from her fingers like a dream she wasn't ready to let go of.
Zahra fell to a knee, the breath knocked out of her. A tremor ran through her as the echo of the shift between worlds throbbed behind her eyes.
She flinched.
The speaker still boomed over her. Deep, powerful, and far too loud for the emptiness she'd been in seconds ago.
The weight of the cloak, which felt more and more familiar with each second, draped over her shoulders, shielding her. Picking up a handful of harsh, grainy sand, she rubbed it in her hands as she carefully moved to her feet, desperately trying to control her body that was still reacting.
Her bare feet sank into warm grains — real this time. Real enough to make her spine straighten.
Her outfit was different as well. She felt the tug of leather across her torso, the creak of wrapped hands, the press of a fitted fighting suit along her legs.
A slow, fierce breath expanded her chest. She knew this place.
Her swimming vision slowly sharpened, pulling into focus the true intensity of where they stood.
This was so much more than the textbooks she flicked through.
A vast stone chamber, lit by walls of blazing torches. Carved murals stretched from floor to ceiling. The ceiling itself vanished into darkness that mimicked the endless sky of the realm she'd just left. The great duelling chamber of the pyramid opened around her like a waking giant — stone walls towering into darkness, torches beating light into the golden etchings on every surface. This place thrummed with history, power, and expectation.
A battlefield.
Her battlefield.
And despite the confusion still buzzing through her skull… she felt calm. Energised. Alive. A coil of exhilaration curled in her chest, fierce and wild.
This— This was that feeling she'd been searching for — and here it lay before her like a sunlit horizon. School, work, the weight of modern expectations… all gone. Here, she was meant to run, to fight, to burn.
Even knowing what it would cost her
The weight of this life slowly returned, bringing back memories of what was happening in this moment.
If she won this tournament, she would be bound to the Pharaoh.
Bound to service.
Bound to duty.
Bound in a cage, even if it was a golden one.
But right now, in this moment, in the pit of this place.
For these last few breaths. For these last few fights.
She could be exactly what she wanted to be –
Unleashed.
And she would not fail her father.
Win, win, she thought.
Her jaw set with a quiet resolve as The Speaker's voice thundered across the stone.
"People of our great nation… I present to you the beginning of the Champion's Tournament!"
Cheers erupted, ricocheting off stone.
Twelve massive men stood in the pit. Giants. Monsters. Predators itching for blood.
"The strongest men from throughout the land have gathered here today to compete together in the games. The victor will be named, the Pharaoh's Champion!"
Before she even turned, she felt him. A presence — heavy, quiet, assessing. She followed the path of the crowd's attention and saw them.
The throne
The figure seated upon it like a carving of a god.
And the man standing to his right — tall, robed, proud. Her father. In this life at least.
Heat flared behind her ribs, something old and instinctive.
And yet… the throne drew her gaze again.
The Pharaoh sat half-shadowed, his face unreadable, posture relaxed yet unmistakably dominant. His cape spilt over the throne like a blade ready to be drawn. Gold wrapped his arms and legs, glinting beneath the flowing navy cape.
He was power incarnate. And the very embodiment of captivity. Even from this distance, she felt the weight of his gaze pass over the competitors — and pause, briefly.
On her.
For a heartbeat, Zahra's breath snagged at the distant curve of his mouth that suggested boredom… or intrigue.
As though on cue, a faint ripple went through some of the more wealthy in the crowd, too minor to be noticed by the rest of the contenders but unmistakable to someone raised among whispering.
One muttered beneath his breath, "Tadal sponsors this one? Why risk the embarrassment?"
Another shifted uncomfortably. "If he loses early, it reflects on the Pharaoh's council…"
Then another added. "That's fine by me. I have money on the giant in the middle."
No one dared voice it loudly. But Zahra felt the tension.
And above her, on the platform, Tadal stood tall — but Zahra noticed it now.
The tightness in his jaw. The fingers he kept curling behind his back so no one would see. The way he inhaled just a little too sharply when the others shifted in her direction.
He trusted her, but he hated watching her fight.
He always had.
She couldn't help but wonder why he protested so strongly for her to join this tournament.
His love was a tether she had never resented — and yet even now, she felt the pull of an old enemy she couldn't name. One that made her defy.
She smiled at him from beneath her hood, trying to reassure him that everything would be okay. She always found a way.
Her father smiled back.
Then the Pharaoh noticed Tadal's faint smile at the cloaked fighter.
Zahra folded her arms beneath the cloak, smirking slightly.
Oh yes.
This was going to be fun.
The Speaker's voice rose again to introduce the rules, the competitors, the stakes.
"… The twelve men that are stood before you are some of the strongest in our great nation. There are no rules. Any form of fighting is permitted. The only goal is… Victory!"
The crowd squealed in delight. The Speaker had a way of commanding this mob, growing hungrier for violence.
And Zahra, standing cloaked among giants, felt the sweet burn of anticipation coil within her.
In this moment, she didn't care that winning would bind her to the Pharaoh.
She didn't care that her freedom would be traded for chains to a throne she did not trust.
All she wanted — all she had ever wanted — was the chance to fight without restraint.
And in this chamber, before gods and kings, she was finally allowed to be everything the world had told her not to be.
Untamed.
Unbound.
Unbreakable.
The Speaker gestured dramatically.
"Let the Champion's Tournament… BEGIN!"
And Zahra, hidden under the cloak, smiled like a wildfire waiting for a spark.