Chapter ~ Outright Refusal

The boy's words settled like dust in the air, unseen but suffocating.

Nofri-it's fingers tightened instinctively around the fabric of the boy's robe, but he did not pull, did not demand further explanation—not yet.

Not here.

The torches lining the hall burned bright, but shadows stretched between the pillars, shifting with every flicker of flame. The guards were still at their posts, unbothered, uninterested—Azech-I's will ensured no one dared interfere.

But that did not mean they were deaf.

Nofri-it's pulse beat steadily beneath his skin, a calm rhythm against the storm rising inside him. He had learned patience in Cairo's dungeons. He had learned restraint.

He released the boy's robe.

"Follow me."

The boy hesitated, glancing toward the looming figures at the corridor's end. His face was smooth, but Nofri-it did not miss the way his throat bobbed, the way his fingers curled into his own sleeves.

"Now," Nofri-it murmured, low but firm.

A breath. Then, the boy nodded.

They walked without hurry, without secrecy—Azech-I's palace did not allow for whispers in the dark. It swallowed them whole and spat them back out beneath his ever-watching eyes.

Nofri-it did not lead them far, only toward the temple chambers at the palace's eastern wing. A place of worship, untouched by war, a place where silence had a different meaning.

The priests did not sleep here—this was a chamber for offerings, not resting. But the walls were thick, and the stone bore the weight of prayers spoken for gods who had long since turned away.

The moment they were inside, Nofri-it turned.

The boy stood near the brazier, the glow of the embers making his face seem older than his years.

"Speak," Nofri-it ordered.

The boy did not flinch. He had been afraid in the hall, but not of Nofri-it. That much was clear now.

His lips parted, voice hushed but steady.

"Pharaoh Cairo knows," he said.

The air stilled.

Nofri-it did not need to ask what he meant.

Of course, Cairo knew.

He had always known.

Azech-I's wrath was no secret, his war no rumor. The conquest of Memphis had begun the moment Azech-I dragged Nofri-it back into the light, back into the chains of a gilded cage.

But something in the boy's tone—something in the way he stood—

There was more.

Nofri-it took a step forward, slow.

"Knows what?"

The boy hesitated.

Then—

"He knows what you did."

Nofri-it's breath did not hitch. His face did not betray him.

But something inside him curled, dark and waiting.

The past did not die. It did not rot in the dungeons where it belonged. It lived, breathed, watched—waited.

Cairo had known.

And now, Cairo was moving.

The boy's voice dropped even lower, barely more than a whisper.

"He says… the war is not for you." His fingers curled at his sides. "It is for him."

Nofri-it's heart did not quicken, but the weight in his chest shifted.

Not for you.

For him.

Azech-I.

The Pharaoh blessed by Anubis.

The man who had once been his salvation.

The man who had become his captor.

A shadow passed over the boy's face. "He says you must choose, Nofri-it."

The breath that left Nofri-it's lips was soundless, like wind through the temples of gods long abandoned.

"Choose?"

The boy's gaze did not waver.

"To stay in your cage," he said, "or to burn it down."

The embers in the brazier flickered.

And something inside Nofri-it burned.

The silence stretched between them, heavy like the sands before a storm.

The boy had not moved, nor had Nofri-it. But the words—those cursed, undeniable words—had already begun shifting the air around them.

To stay in your cage, or to burn it down.

Cairo had always been cruel, but he had never been reckless. He did not play a game unless he had already ensured the pieces would fall in his favor.

If he was speaking of choice—then he believed he had already won.

Nofri-it let his fingers press into the cold stone of the temple wall, grounding himself.

The boy was waiting. Watching.

"You risk much, bringing this message to me," Nofri-it said at last. His voice was calm, steady, but beneath it ran an undercurrent of something darker.

The boy exhaled slowly, gaze dipping to the floor. "I had no choice."

A bitter smile pulled at the corner of Nofri-it's lips. "No one ever does."

The brazier burned low, casting elongated shadows against the temple pillars. A sanctuary built for gods, now a meeting place for ghosts of the past.

"What does he want?" Nofri-it finally asked.

He already knew the answer. But he needed to hear it.

The boy lifted his chin, his face solemn under the dim torchlight. "He wants you to finish what you started."

The words settled like sandstorms in the depths of Nofri-it's chest.

It had been years—years since he had first stepped into Thebes under Cairo's decree, blade hidden beneath layers of silk, heart hardened with purpose.

Years since he had failed.

Years since he had learned the cost of his failure.

And now, Cairo wanted him to complete the mission he had abandoned—no, the mission he had willingly thrown away.

To kill Azech-I.

The thought sent an almost laughable pang through him.

He had once believed it possible.

But now—now he knew better.

Azech-I was not a man one simply killed. He was not a ruler one simply dethroned. He was not a god who would simply allow death to touch him.

Azech-I was a force that consumed. A will that refused to be broken.

And if Cairo thought he could still command Nofri-it to strike him down…

Nofri-it's fingers curled at his sides.

He had spent five years in the darkness of Cairo's dungeons. He had been beaten, stripped of his strength, forced into the pits of suffering until even his own name felt foreign on his tongue.

And yet, Cairo still thought he belonged to him.

Still thought he was a weapon to be wielded at his will.

Something ugly stirred within Nofri-it's chest. A slow, crawling heat, different from the fire of the brazier, different from the rage that had kept him alive in the dark.

This was something deeper. Something raw.

Something that Azech-I had taught him.

His lips parted, and his voice was quieter than before, but it held the weight of something unshakable.

"Tell him," Nofri-it murmured, stepping closer to the boy, "that I do not take orders from the dead."

The boy's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat.

Because those words—those words were not a refusal.

They were a declaration.

A war had already begun.

And this time, it would not be Cairo's war.

It would be Azech-I's.

And Nofri-it would no longer be its victim.

The boy's breath hitched, his thin frame trembling in the flickering torchlight. He had not expected those words. A refusal, maybe. Hesitation, perhaps. But not this.

Not the unyielding certainty in Nofri-it's voice.

He took a step back as if fearing the weight of those words alone, his sand-worn sandals scraping against the temple's stone floor. "You… you don't understand," he stammered. "You don't know what he—"

"I know," Nofri-it cut him off, voice as steady as the pillars that had stood for centuries around them. "I know exactly what Cairo is capable of."

The boy's jaw clenched. "Then you know he will not let this go. He will not let you go."

A flicker of something dark passed through Nofri-it's gaze. He had spent five years bound in Cairo's dungeons, shackled by chains that stripped him of everything—his strength, his freedom, his very identity.

But there was one thing Cairo had never been able to take.

His will.

And Azech-I…

Azech-I had set it ablaze.

A bitter smirk curled on his lips. "Then let him come for me."

The boy flinched as if struck.

Nofri-it exhaled, his muscles coiled tight beneath his robes. This conversation was over.

If Cairo thought he could still control him, he was a fool. If he thought Nofri-it would bend after all these years, he had learned nothing.

And if he thought Azech-I—the dark Pharaoh himself—would allow it…

A low chuckle rumbled from deep in Nofri-it's chest.

Cairo had no idea the storm he had unleashed.

The boy hesitated, shifting on his feet. His lips parted like he wanted to say more, but no words came. In the end, he only gave a short nod, his gaze flickering to the temple's grand entrance.

Then, without another word, he turned and vanished into the shadows.

The silence that followed was thick, oppressive.

Nofri-it did not move. Did not breathe.

Because he knew.

He knew he was being watched.

A slow chill crept down his spine, ancient and suffocating.

A presence lurked beyond the temple's stone columns, unseen yet unmistakable. It was neither hostile nor passive—it was merely there. Waiting.

His fingers twitched at his sides. "How long will you stand in the dark?"

The stillness of the temple shifted.

Then—

A shadow moved.

Silence thickened as a figure stepped into the dim torchlight.

Azech-I.

The sight of him was staggering, no matter how many times Nofri-it had faced it before.

The towering silhouette, the flowing black robes embroidered with gold, the dark-lined eyes that burned with something unreadable. He was like a god carved from onyx, his presence suffocating, consuming.

Nofri-it held his ground, though he felt the weight of those piercing eyes rake over him.

Azech-I did not speak at first.

Instead, he simply stared.

And then, at last—

"You have always been reckless." His voice was deep, steady, like the slow, measured roll of a coming sandstorm.

Nofri-it tilted his chin defiantly. "And you have always been watching."

Something flickered across Azech-I's expression. A ghost of something almost unreadable.

Then—

He moved.

In a breath, he was upon him.

Nofri-it did not flinch when Azech-I reached out, fingers trailing over the fabric at his shoulder before gripping it tight.

He did not flinch when Azech-I leaned in, their faces close enough that he could feel the warmth of his breath against his skin.

"You speak of Cairo as if he is your enemy." Azech-I's voice was quiet, deadly. "And yet, five years ago, you were ready to die for him."

The words sank into Nofri-it's skin, sharper than any blade.

A test.

A challenge.

A reminder.

Nofri-it's throat tightened. He had known this confrontation would come. He had known Azech-I would not allow him to walk freely through his kingdom without a reckoning.

But this was not Thebes five years ago.

And he was no longer the assassin who had come to kill a god.

His lips parted, and in the smallest of whispers, he spoke the only truth he had left.

"I was a fool."

The words were soft, but they carried the weight of everything.

The torchlight flickered.

Azech-I did not release him.

If anything, his grip tightened.

And in the dark, something shifted between them.