The Royal Decree

Present Time.

A few hours after Zarah fell asleep in Sett's arms.

The Royal Herald, a tall man, stepped onto the raised stone platform at the heart of the bustling city square, his embroidered linen robes catching the warm desert breeze. His muscles tensed as he lifted a gilded staff, its golden tip gleaming under the midday sun, and struck the ground twice—thud, thud—commanding silence from the gathered crowd.

That was enough power to crush titanium, but the raised platform remained—meaning it was made up of something stronger.

"The Pharaoh decrees!" His deep, resonant voice carried over the marketplace, reaching merchants haggling over spices, laborers hauling bricks for the temple, and priests pausing in their chants before sacred altars. 

A hush fell as all turned their ears toward him.