Chapter 659

Nefert, seventeen years of age and accustomed to the Cairo sun baking the sand-colored buildings to a gentle warmth, noticed a tremor in the news reports. It began as whispers, anomalies in distant countries – strange disturbances, gatherings of crowds in places long forgotten.

Initially, it was dismissed as sensationalism, another fleeting digital phantom. Yet, the whispers grew louder, coalescing into a disquieting chorus that resonated even in the bustling markets and crowded streets of her city.

It started with images from Europe, grainy videos on social media showing figures in archaic garb addressing crowds. Kings, emperors, rulers from history books, brought back to life.

At first, everyone assumed it was elaborate performance art, a coordinated prank of global scale. But the pronouncements were too cohesive, the rhetoric too specific, the air too thick with an unspoken dread that even the most cynical couldn't entirely dismiss.

"Did you see the news?" her older brother, Samir, asked one evening, his brow furrowed as he scrolled through his cellular device. "They're saying… they're saying Queen Victoria is speaking in London again."

Nefert scoffed, turning from her textbooks. "Victoria? The old queen? Come on, Samir, seriously?"

"I know, I know, it sounds insane. But there's footage. Real footage. And it's not just her. There are stories from Rome, from China, from all over." He showed her a clip. A stern woman in black, with a distinctive white cap, standing on what looked like the steps of St. Paul's Cathedral, addressing a massive assembly. The sound was distorted, but the captions read, "We have returned to guide our people once more."

The images were unsettling. The woman, whoever she was, exuded an authority that felt ancient, absolute. It wasn't theatrics; it was something deeper, something colder. A seed of unease was planted in Nefert's mind.

The following days brought a deluge of confirmations. It wasn't a prank. It wasn't a mass hallucination. Historical figures, leaders from centuries past, were indeed alive again. They emerged from tombs, from forgotten battlefields, from places where history had buried them.

And they all seemed to have one thing in common: a desire to reclaim what they believed was rightfully theirs – power.

In Egypt, the first to reappear was Akhenaten. He was found in the Valley of the Kings, not as a withered mummy, but as a man in his prime, radiating an unsettling luminescence.

He spoke of reclaiming his throne, of restoring the one true worship, his words echoing the dogma of a forgotten age. The Egyptian government, initially paralyzed by disbelief, scrambled to respond.

Nefert watched it all unfold from her small apartment overlooking the Nile. The usual vibrancy of Cairo began to feel muted, replaced by a nervous energy.

The radio broadcasts were filled with expert opinions, historical analyses, and panicked debates about international law and sovereignty. Nobody seemed to know what to do.

How do you negotiate with history? How do you reason with figures who viewed the present as an aberration, a deviation from their ordained order?

"It's madness," Samir muttered, flipping through channels. "They're talking about divine right, about destiny. Like the last few centuries never happened."

Nefert felt a chill despite the warm Egyptian air. It wasn't just the absurdity of it all; it was the way people were reacting. There was fear, yes, but also a strange kind of fascination, even reverence. Some people seemed ready to accept these resurrected rulers, yearning for a return to a perceived golden age, oblivious to the brutal realities of those eras.

Akhenaten, having gathered a considerable following in Luxor, started his advance towards Cairo. His proclamations, broadcast across the nation, were filled with archaic pronouncements and promises of divine favor for those who supported him.

The current Egyptian president, a modern, democratically elected leader, seemed increasingly helpless, his statements sounding weak against the booming pronouncements of a pharaoh from millennia ago.

Nefert's parents, like many others, were glued to the news, their conversations filled with anxious speculations. Her father, a retired history teacher, was both horrified and strangely captivated. "It's like a nightmare from a textbook come to life," he said, his voice low. "Imagine, Nefert, Akhenaten actually trying to rule again. After all this time."

Nefert tried to focus on her studies, but the textbooks felt meaningless now. What was the point of learning about the past when the past had decided to violently reassert itself?

The world she knew, the world of smartphones and democracies and relative peace, was crumbling around her, replaced by something ancient and terrifying.

The tension in Cairo became almost unbearable. Checkpoints appeared on the streets, manned by bewildered soldiers unsure of whom they were supposed to be fighting. Akhenaten's forces, a strange mix of fervent believers and opportunistic elements, were reportedly moving closer, their numbers swelling.

One afternoon, Nefert and Samir were caught in a massive traffic jam downtown. Panic was in the atmosphere. Rumors circulated that Akhenaten's followers were already within the city limits. People were abandoning their cars, attempting to flee on foot. The air grew thick with dust and the sounds of panicked shouts.

"We need to get out of here," Samir yelled over the increasing clamor, pulling Nefert out of their stalled taxi. They joined the throng of people moving towards the older parts of the city, away from the government buildings which seemed to be the likely targets.

As they moved, they heard chanting in the distance, a rhythmic, unsettling sound that grew louder. It was Akhenaten's followers, marching through the streets.

Nefert caught sight of them – men and women in white robes, carrying banners adorned with strange symbols, their faces alight with zealous fervor.

Leading them, on a makeshift palanquin carried by his followers, was Akhenaten himself. He looked impossibly regal, his eyes burning with an unnatural light.

"He's here," someone whispered nearby, their voice filled with awe and terror.

The crowd around Nefert parted, creating a wide berth for the procession. Akhenaten passed by, his gaze sweeping over the people, not with kindness, but with something akin to assessment, as if judging their worthiness. Nefert felt a cold dread wash over her. This wasn't just a political crisis; it was a return to a mindset, a way of being that she thought had been banished to history books.

The government's response was fractured and ineffective. Modern armies were designed to fight modern wars, not armies led by pharaohs and emperors wielding divine authority.

There were reports of soldiers defecting, swayed by the charisma and perceived legitimacy of these resurrected rulers.

The world watched in horrified fascination as governments toppled, replaced by figures from the past, their ancient ideologies clashing violently with the realities of the 21st century.

In Cairo, the fighting began within days. Akhenaten's forces clashed with the remnants of the Egyptian army in the streets.

The city, once a vibrant metropolis, became a battleground. The sounds of gunfire and explosions echoed through the night, replacing the usual city sounds. Nefert and her family huddled in their apartment, the walls shaking with the nearby explosions.

One evening, there was a knock at their door. It wasn't the rhythmic knock of a neighbor, but something more forceful, more demanding. Samir cautiously opened the door a crack. Two men in white robes stood there, their faces stern.

"In the name of the Pharaoh Akhenaten," one of them announced, his voice devoid of warmth, "we require your compliance."

Fear gripped Nefert's heart. Compliance for what? She stepped forward, her voice trembling slightly but holding a hint of defiance. "What do you want?"

"The Pharaoh requires able-bodied individuals for service to the state. Your brother will come with us."

"No," Nefert said immediately, stepping in front of Samir. "He's just a student. He hasn't done anything."

The men remained unmoved. "Resistance is futile. It is the Pharaoh's will." They grabbed Samir's arm, pulling him forward. He didn't resist, his eyes wide with fear.

"Where are you taking him?" Nefert pleaded, her voice rising.

"For re-education," one of the men said, a chilling smile playing on his lips. "To learn the true ways of Egypt."

They dragged Samir away, leaving Nefert and her parents standing in stunned silence in the doorway. Her mother began to weep silently, while her father stood ashen-faced, his hand clenched into a fist.

Nefert felt a burning rage mixed with despair. Re-education. It sounded like something from a dystopian novel, not reality. But this was reality now. The world had been turned upside down, and the old horrors were back, cloaked in new justifications.

Days turned into weeks. Cairo was now firmly under Akhenaten's control. The city had changed. Ancient symbols replaced modern advertisements, the air thick with religious pronouncements and the ever-present fear of the Pharaoh's enforcers.

Nefert and her parents lived in a state of constant dread, waiting for news of Samir, any news.

One evening, a messenger arrived. Not in robes this time, but a young boy, looking nervous and uncertain. He handed Nefert's father a scroll, sealed with the Pharaoh's insignia.

With trembling hands, her father unfurled it. It was an invitation, of sorts. To witness Samir's "transformation." To see how the Pharaoh was molding the new generation of Egyptians.

They were taken to a large plaza, once a public park, now transformed into a stark ceremonial ground.

A massive crowd was gathered, a mixture of fervent followers and those coerced to attend. In the center, on a raised platform, stood Akhenaten, radiating an almost blinding aura in the setting sun.

And there, on his knees before the Pharaoh, was Samir. He looked thin, pale, his eyes devoid of their usual spark. He wore a white robe, identical to those of Akhenaten's followers.

"Behold!" Akhenaten's voice boomed across the plaza, amplified by some unseen means. "Witness the redemptive power of faith! This young man, once lost in the ways of the modern world, has been reborn! He has embraced the true path, the path of the Aten!"

Samir remained kneeling, his head bowed. Akhenaten placed a hand on his head, and Samir slowly raised his face. His eyes met Nefert's in the crowd. There was no recognition there, no flicker of brotherly affection. Just a blank, distant stare.

"Say it, my son," Akhenaten commanded gently. "Tell them of your new devotion."

Samir spoke, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "I am a servant of the Aten. I renounce the false idols of the past. I pledge my loyalty to Pharaoh Akhenaten, the living embodiment of truth."

Nefert felt a coldness spread through her, deeper than any fear. It was a profound, gut-wrenching sadness.

Samir was there, physically present, but the brother she knew, the boy who argued with her about movies and shared her laughter, was gone. Replaced by a hollow shell, reciting words he didn't understand, his spirit extinguished.

The crowd cheered, their voices filled with religious fervor. Akhenaten smiled, a triumphant, chilling smile.

Nefert stood frozen, tears streaming down her face, not of fear, but of utter, inconsolable loss. She had lost her brother not to death, but to something far worse – to a resurrection of the past that devoured the present, leaving only empty husks in its wake.

The world had changed, and in doing so, had stolen everything that mattered to her, leaving her alone in a world ruled by ghosts, a world where the dead had returned to claim the souls of the living.

The ceremony concluded, and the crowd began to disperse. Nefert and her parents were left standing there, watching Samir being led away, still in that blank, trance-like state.

There was no hope left, no fight left. Just a vast, empty ache in her heart, a gaping wound where her brother used to be. The eerie reign of the resurrected kings had begun, and for Nefert, it had already claimed its first, most devastating victory.

Her world was not just changed; it was gone, replaced by a nightmare from which there was no waking.

The sun set over Cairo, casting long, ominous shadows, and Nefert knew, with chilling certainty, that this was just the beginning of a new, terrifying era, an era where history had not just repeated itself, but had come back to haunt the living.