Lion Head Mesa Akhet of two lands

for @Rashepses

Samirseti stood atop a sunlit ridge, his golden eyes fixed on the horizon where the close heart of Akashingo lay beyond the edge of the hill he occupied. It had been weeks, perhaps longer, of wandering, biding his time with idle pursuits, but now the weight of his father’s will pressed against his chest like an anchor.

Seek Akashingo. Align with your uncle, Rashepses. Strength in numbers, my son. Ta-Senet must endure.

He shifted his stance, his golden-black form casting a long shadow across the rocky terrain. Akashingo awaited, and Samirseti would not arrive as a supplicant but as a prince carrying the weight of his homeland’s legacy.

The inky prince stepped forward, the sands shifting beneath his paws as he descended the ridge. Akashingo would mark the beginning of his ascent.

First, a sneer. Then a smile. Before long, the hull of Rashepses' chest shook with exuberance. His laughter played out across the flatlands which advanced a brilliant figure of shadow and sun.

“Boy,” the regal’s voice flung just as grandly, but the elegant man who stood before him was anything but.

Royal titles lifted into the air from the mouth of servants. The king raised his chin and regarded the newcomer coolly. His arms tensed in wait for the fierce embrace of his nephew. But first he would know of Samirseti's intent.

Samirseti stopped short of Rashepses, the light of the sun behind him casting his dark figure in stark relief against the golden horizon. His molten gaze flickered briefly over the older wolf before dipping his head, a gesture of respect laced with purpose.

“I came to honor the will of Rahotep,” his voice flighty, flitting between octaves of grandeur and that of a snake’s poison as he bowed his head before his Uncle.

Though it burned.

“to stand before you, Semer-wati of Akashingo, and offer the strength of Ta-Senet. To offer myself to your court, in whatever way you may see fit.”

He trailed off. A flash of something ambitious, frigid consumed his eyes.

“But I may yet have an offer of my own.”

Was it not the destiny of every second son to strike out on his own?

“Step forward,” the regal commanded with bannered tail high, a narrowing of gilded eyes. Semer-wati's lips curled into something approaching a smile– but it was one of amusement that settled broadly into place as he looked into the refined, mirrored gaze. He saw Rahotep’s mischievous there. A wide paw reached to cup the dark cheek.

“For too long I have seen this face only in night visions,” his gentle murmur erupted into pleasured laughter, heavy arms clasping firmly about the man’s back.

“Come! Regale your King with proposals, nephew, while I show you my palace,” the retinue parted for their royals’ passage. “Servants: have a meal and berry-wine prepared for your Prince Samirseti.”

The paw that cupped his cheek was met with one equal, the man reaching out to embrace the man with his own warmth.

"Uncle," his words came in a rumbling laugh, "the honor is mine. To stand before the King of Akashingo and hear his laughter again."

"I will gladly share my proposals," he said, moving to fall in smooth walk alongside the man of similar coat.

As the retinue parted to allow their passage, Samir cast a brief glance at the servants scurrying to prepare his welcome, his smirk softening into a faint smile. Berry-wine.

"Let me see the heart of Akashingo! And as we walk, I will tell you of my vision—of how our houses may rise together, greater than even the Gods might have foreseen."

His thin hips twisted to bump into the other man's, a dangerous glint warm upon golden eyes. "And perhaps," he growled out, "I shall convince you to drink to my cause before the evening is through."

Released he was, but not before an ardent kiss was pressed into the strong obsidian cheek.  The servants were sent to work– alone the King would show his nephew the great wonder of Akashingo.

A palace set deep into the earth’s red rock. Its high arched halls were decorous, walls stamped with generations of divine feet. The faded sounds of the serpent river trickled through the wellspring, source of the freshest waters, and upon its banks grew tall reeds and flowers. They came upon the sky-filled room where twin plinths formed the royal seats, woven with flora and furs and all manner of precious jewels placed at the feet. Paw-print markings in crimson, gold, and lapis painted the rock walls.

Ceremonies happened here. Councils, and meetings. Here, he rose to King, and Toula to Pharaoh. Here, their children were conceived. Here, mazoi guarded their keep, and fellahin performed, and courtiers laughed with their bright faces against the romantic air of evening.

There was history, there was laughter, there were stories told here.

It was to this place Semer-wati brought Samirseti, where he regarded the man with warm attentions undivided. “To claim what was mine, I had to leave Ta-senet. Pharaoh Rahotep would not have released his son for any meager pursuit. Tell me, Samir, how it is you intend to rise.”

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.”

Rashepses listened with the austerity that befit his royal line. “I would see you do well in my courts,” he countered at once, sunrise meeting the twin flame of his nephew.

Oh, but there was so much of Rahotep’s own determination in his face. It was a resolve to rule, the very fire which ran through all divinity conceived in the river kingdom. It was the purpose of a God to sit upon a throne.  Rashepses’ smile only widened.

“I would also have your satisfaction, dear nephew. There would be no greater pride than to see you named Pharaoh of a new land. You have my blessing, Samirseti, and the backing of my kingdom. But let us agree– your palace will be beholden to Akashingo. You will raise your arms against our enemies, as they will be also your enemies. Likewise, our army shall fight alongside you,” the King swept to the man elegantly, an arm reaching for his shoulder then.

“And your second son will be wed to one of my daughters. Together, they will begin a new vassal, bonded by blood.”

The terms were not unexpected; Akashingo's reach would extend through his kingdom, as would the bonds of blood and alliance. His gaze did not waver, his expression a mask of conniving consideration, though the fire within him burned hotter still.

When Rashepses stepped closer, laying a hand upon his shoulder, Samir’s head dipped in acknowledgment. A smile, regal and deliberate, spread across his lips, though a glint of calculation remained in his molten eyes. He too raised an arm to embrace his blood.

“It is as Ra wills it,” Samir spoke through crystal teeth. “You and I, two sons of Ta-senet, shall only strengthen the divine purpose of our bloodline. Your support is a gift I will not squander, my King.”

The mention of his second son stirred the faintest pause, not unpleasant, but only briefly. Samirseti knew the value of such unions, their ability to cement loyalty and further dominion. His smile widened slightly, though it was laced with a faint edge of amusement. “But of course. When time comes, my second son shall be joined with a daughter of yours.”

He grins knowingly. "May our enemies tremble, Rashepses."

His nephew gleamed. Rashepses had a fine way to further his own aims and see the aspirations of his blood fulfilled.

“A formal agreement will be made before my court. For now, a toast, to Prince Samirseti,” a motion for the fellahin who carried in berries upon clean pale furs. The king crushed a single sweetened fruit between his teeth and reached for another.

“You must have an idea of where to lay your claim,” he extends, paw tucking leisurely beneath the regal chin.

Samirseti’s smile lingered, patient and cutting, as the fellahin moved to present. The fruit burst sweetly against his tongue, the flavor as rich as the promise of what was to come. He savored it, dark gaze never straying far from Rashepses.

At the King’s question, Samirseti tilted his chin, brushing a paw along the sharp edge of his jaw. “An oasis, cradled by dunes, with water pure enough to sustain all those who serve our purpose. It is a gem, hidden in the lowlands."

He swipes another berry, popping it between silver teeth.

“I would host you there, Uncle. Ensure that you are received as only a God may be.”

Rashepses did not wish to see his nephew leave Akashingo so briskly. The idea that Samirseti would remain close pleased him greatly, moreso that he would raise a claim to the south.

“My sons and I will come to you,” he smiled. No doubt the princes would find the birth of a kingdom inspiring. He stretched those silken limbs and reached a hand over the identical darkness of the prince. “The kingdom of Akashingo will be witness to your ascension, sen.”

Pride and affection shared equal halves in the sunstone eyes.

Samirseti inclined his head, the faintest hint of reverence touching his otherwise imperious demeanor. Rashepses's words were more than approval—they were a sanctification. To have the presence of Akashingo’s King and his heirs at Vahanet’s birth would cement its legitimacy in the eyes of all who dared gaze upon it.

“You honor me beyond measure, Uncle,” Samirseti replied, his voice smooth as warmed honey. “A feast shall be held; the waters of Vahanet will swell with offerings to Ra and his divine sons.”

His tail swished behind him, a languid motion. His eyes, molten and keen, searched Rashepses’s expression before a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “And tell me,” he asked, his tone lightening to something almost conversational. “When shall I have the pleasure of meeting the young Princes? Surely they are as formidable as their King father." A tease upon the lips, a jest within his eyes.

He reaches to wrap a long foreleg about Rashepses' shoulders, giving the man of kin black and gold a familial, jovial squeeze.

“Ah, yes, I cannot wait to regale them with tales of their father, the God of the Red Sands! Once the brave Raemka of Ta-senet,” Samirseti’s grin widened, a teasing gleam lighting his eyes, “famed for his great escape from a monstrous reed snake!”

The king indulged himself again, quashing a third berry before signaling for a servant-girl, “escort the Amiir, @Khaemwaset, to the cave throneroom.”

Two sons, two Gods contending for the horus throne, loved equally by their father, yet one whose river-blood was so strong to imagine both seed and roe had sprung from the fabric of the Godhead from Ta-senet.

Semer-wati settled back in proud knowing for the cousins to see their powerful lineage.

he had sent more gifts to neith: cougar claws, a polished set. a dead bird of radiant feathers, preserved in the desert. the skull of a buzzard found upon the steppes.

he was numb to this already, his game. neith did not need gifts; he was he who needed to send them, to absolve through wealth what had happened beneath ramesses' eye.

"can you not see i am busy!" he rounded upon the quailing fellahin meant to fetch him. but secretly khaemwaset was relieved at the interruption, for once more had he entered his own mind only to return some unknown amount of time. and this day, upon recovering himself, the prince had looked down in horror to see that he had scratched into the packed red earth a map of his grandfather's tomb.

he walked before the servant, sensing where the semer-wati must be. "father. i am here." he entered with a low bow, but at once his proud attention fixed to the stranger in the room. there was a familiarity here; khaemwaset glanced between rashepses and this one twice before speaking. "is he one of us?"

Samirseti turned his head slightly at the sound of approaching footsteps, his golden eyes flickering toward the young prince entering the chamber. A glint of amusement sparked in his gaze as he watched Khaemwaset approach, taking in the boy's striking features and proud posture. There was no mistaking it—this was one of Rashepses’ sons. The resemblance was undeniable.

The very image of what the Gods crafted in those sons born of Ta-senet.

The question brought a soft chuckle from Samir, smooth, his amusement palpable. “Perceptive, you are, young Prince,” he remarked, his voice low and rich, words rolling from his tongue like silk over gold. “I am your cousin, Samirseti. Nephew to your great Father.”

He studied the prince for a moment longer, his smile growing slightly wider. “And you must be Khaemwaset.” The name was spoken with recognition, the syllables pronounced as though they carried weight beyond the boy’s years. "Your father need not speak highly of you for me to see your worth, boy," Samirseti began, his golden gaze sweeping over the prince with calculated ease. "You are the very spitting image of our blood's excellence." A faint smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth as he leaned in slightly, his voice lowering into a smooth purr. "A king in the making, hm?"

He offers Rashepses a knowing look. A glimmer of pride upon his smug snout. Samirseti had long awaited the chance to see Rashepses again, to witness firsthand the splendor his cousin had cultivated as the Pharaoh of Akashingo's consort—a King in his own right. Now, standing before him, the fruits of Rashepses’ legacy were undeniable, and Samirseti felt a swell of pride for his kin.

He looked once more upon Khaemwaset, settling a warm gaze onto the boy. He was eager to know the young Prince, to watch as he grew into his black-and-gold mantle and embraced the greatness of his lineage.