Meeting Ash 009

The Pharaoh, a man of imposing presence, sat on a high throne adorned with lapis lazuli and gold. Beside him stood his vizier, a sharp-eyed man whose every movement exuded control and calculation.

The assembly began with routine matters—taxes, trade routes, and military updates. But soon, the conversation shifted to a proposal from the vizier.

"Our treasury is strained," the vizier declared, his voice smooth and deliberate. "To maintain our prosperity, we must increase levies on the outer provinces. The common people should gladly bear this burden, for it is in service of the gods and the greatness of our kingdom."

Aimi's fists clenched under the table. He could almost hear the protests of the laborers and farmers who would suffer under this decree.

"Is this really for the gods?" Isis murmured softly, her tone sharp. "Or for the coffers of those in power?"

---

As the debate continued, Isis leaned toward Aimi. "Watch closely. Corruption does not always wear the mask of greed. Sometimes, it appears as practicality or necessity. But it always thrives on the backs of the powerless."

Aimi scanned the room, his eyes falling on a young noble who hesitated before speaking.

"My Pharaoh," the noble said cautiously, "if we overburden the people, there may be unrest. Perhaps we could seek alternatives—redistribution of royal funds or trade expansions."

The vizier's gaze turned icy, and the room fell silent. "Are you suggesting the royal treasury is to be diminished for the sake of peasants?" he asked, his voice dripping with disdain.

"No, I—" the noble stammered, shrinking under the vizier's glare.

Aimi couldn't take it anymore. He shot to his feet. "Why not? Isn't the kingdom supposed to serve its people? What good is a full treasury if the people are starving?"

The room erupted in whispers and gasps. Isis's eyes widened, and she quickly grabbed Aimi's arm, pulling him down.

"What are you doing?" she hissed.

"I couldn't just sit there!" Aimi whispered back.

The vizier's sharp eyes locked onto Aimi. "And who is this stranger who dares to speak in the royal court?"

Isis rose gracefully, her expression calm but commanding. "He is a scribe under my protection, here to learn the ways of governance."

The Pharaoh's gaze softened as he regarded Isis. "If he is under your protection, Isis, we will overlook this… outburst. But let this be the last time."

Isis bowed her head in deference. "Thank you, my Pharaoh."

---

After the assembly, Isis led Aimi to a secluded courtyard. Her serene demeanor cracked as she turned to him.

"What were you thinking?" she demanded. "You could have jeopardized everything!"

"I know, I know!" Aimi said, throwing up his hands. "But how could they just sit there and talk about squeezing more out of people who already have nothing? It's disgusting!"

Isis sighed, her anger giving way to a tired understanding. "You are not wrong, Aimi. But change cannot come from reckless words. It requires strategy, patience, and an understanding of the system you wish to dismantle."

Aimi rubbed the back of his neck, guilt creeping in. "I'm sorry. I just… I couldn't stay quiet."

"I understand," Isis said softly. "But next time, let your actions speak louder than your words. If you truly want to help, you must learn to navigate this world without drawing unnecessary attention."

---

That night, Aimi couldn't sleep. He replayed the events of the day in his mind, the faces of the nobles, the vizier's cold gaze, and the Pharaoh's passive acceptance. He realized how little he truly understood about power and its complexities.

As he stared at the ceiling, his watch began to glow faintly. He sat up, watching the soft light pulse rhythmically. It was a reminder of why he was here—not just to observe but to learn.

The next morning, he found Isis in the temple gardens, tending to a small herb patch.

"I want to do more," he said firmly.

Isis looked up, her expression unreadable. "Do you understand what you're asking?"

"Not entirely," Aimi admitted. "But I know I can't just sit on the sidelines. If I'm going to learn anything from you, I want to be part of the fight."

Isis studied him for a moment before nodding. "Very well. But remember, Aimi, power is a double-edged sword. Wield it wisely, or it will destroy you."

---

Next day,

The midday sun burned relentlessly, casting long shadows over the sprawling city of ancient Egypt. Aimi found himself wandering through the bustling market streets, a strange mix of awe and discomfort settling over him. It had been days since he arrived, and while Isis had been a gracious guide, he still felt like a fish out of water.

The air was thick with the scent of spices and baked bread, and merchants shouted over one another, advertising their wares. Children darted between the stalls, laughing and playing, while laborers hauled sacks of grain under the watchful eyes of overseers. Aimi tugged at the linen tunic Isis had provided him, feeling like an imposter in the grand tapestry of life unfolding around him.

His stomach growled. He stopped at a small stall selling figs and bread, fumbling with the ancient currency Isis had given him. Just as he handed over a coin, someone bumped into him from behind, nearly knocking him into the cart.

"Hey, watch it!" Aimi turned, scowling, only to freeze when he saw the culprit.

The man was about his age, with unruly dark hair and sharp brown eyes that darted around nervously. His outfit, though styled like the locals', seemed slightly off—like he'd tried a bit too hard to blend in.

"Sorry, sorry," the man muttered, grabbing Aimi's arm to steady him. Then, his eyes widened in recognition. "Wait… are you—?"

Aimi frowned. "Am I what?"

"You're not from here, are you?" the man whispered, leaning in. His voice was urgent but low enough to avoid drawing attention.

Aimi's heart skipped a beat. "What makes you say that?"

The man smirked. "Because you look just as out of place as I did when I first got here. Name's Ash."