Rosewater Oasis Killed him, took his name, and I got new glasses.

pharaoh watches the boy with eyes heavy as the sands of the desert. his voice, when it comes, is soft, low, almost mournful—like the whisper of winds over ancient tombs.

i know, boy.

a breath escapes him, carrying with it the grief he does not show. his tail brushes lightly across nokht’s ears, a fleeting touch, an acknowledgment of shared sorrow.

they find eternity in the after, samir says. come. you need rest, boy. and tending to. tell me your story while we walk.

pharaoh moves with the grace of one who commands the earth beneath his paws, his shadow stretching long over the sands as he leads nokht toward the cool embrace of the oasis.