Rosewater Oasis this is a joke

their eyes meet, her murmured words hanging between them like the last thread of mourning. samirseti turns, his golden gaze softening as it finds her, though the fire that burns within him does not dim. instead, it flickers and roars, as if the gods themselves stoke its flames. he looks into racharra, past her grief and exhaustion, and sees something deeper—something familiar. she is like him, a child of the sands, sculpted by the same gods who have shaped his destiny. her presence, her survival, is no accident.

she is his mirror, his match.

you are no ordinary woman of the court, racharra, he murmurs. the gods have delivered you to me, from the ruins of akashingo.

he leans forward, the heat of his breath brushing against her as his lips press gently to her crown. it is a claim, a promise, a vow whispered into the very fibers of her being. you are meant for more than this court. you are meant to stand beside me, to bind our blood, to bring forth a legacy that will eclipse even the glories of akashingo.

if my blood is all that remains, then it must be made pure. glorious. divine. you and i, racharra... we are chosen. the gods demand it.