Lion Head Mesa Akhet of two lands

Samirseti moved through its carved halls, his golden gaze sweeping over the intricate designs, the history etched into every surface. It whispered to him, sang of triumphs and betrayals, of bloodlines forged and legacies immortalized. When they reached the royal chamber, his attention lingered on the twin plinths—symbols of power, dominance, and unity. The vibrant markings and the stories they told held him, a reminder of what could be achieved when ambition burned brightly enough.

The Semer-wati’s question brought him back to the present, the warmth in his uncle’s tone nothing more than grounding. Samir turned to him, his head tilting slightly, his own smile a faint echo of the King’s.

“Pharaoh Rahotep raised me to seek no less than the sun itself,” Samir replied, “I was sent here with the intent to serve you, to learn from you, and to aid Akashingo’s dominion. But,” he did not hesitate, rather searched for the correct words to articulate his vision, “I have come to realize that my path must lead to more. As yours did.”

His steps carried him to the edge of the chamber, his molten eyes sweeping once more over the room, as if he could see the future writ upon its walls.

He turned back to Semer-wati, his chin lifting slightly. “I intend to build a kingdom of my own—a reflection of Ta-senet's greatness, of our bloodline’s supremacy. A place where gods walk among mortals and the sands themselves bow to our will. I do not come to take, uncle; I come to expand, to grow the dominion of our blood.”

Samir paused, inhaling a breath that expanded his shoulders and chest wider with blossoming strength. “I ask for your blessing.”