Rosewater Oasis let this prayer be your guide

image is for aesthetics only to set tone and is not literal.

yippy!! vahanet is up!! tysm everynyan for joining! single posts appreciated but not required <33
attn: @Samirseti, @Gucci, @Andalib, @Akhre, @Nokht, @Ximena, @Tamasi

---

the sun sets over the horizon. for just this moment, the golden sands of Vahanet burn red tempered by blue shadows. in the pink hues, as Ra closes his eyes and Nwt opens hers, racharra rises to meet them both.

she turns to the people below. her people. marigold eyes scan over them, choked of words at first. she was never the best with grand statements. at most, she had been her own entourage, but never before had she had the chance to speak to a gathering. the young boys, their faces aged by war and loss, especially brought a sorrow to racharra. but she hardens, staring beyond the crowd below and to the horizon before speaking.

as dusk comes, and the sun sets on the kingdom of Akashingo, it will rise again with us — the kingdom of Vahanet. her eyes scan again over the crowd as she began. shoulders tense. for this final day, we shall mourn, and pray. pray to the gods to guide the lost to the land of reeds or into our arms.

in her peripherals, the dark figure of samirseti enters. he envelops the last light of the sun, and racharra moves aside for him.
the divine rule of Pharoah Muatriya Isetnofret Toula and her Divine Consort, Raeka Rashepses, shall never be forgotten. they have joined the pantheon, where they shall continue to rule and guide as the divine.. her eyes briefly flick above. do her words reach them? do they reach her people? they haven't reached herself, yet.

they smile down onto us. pearls form at the corners of her eyes, and she musters a gentle smile. today and forever.

samirseti steps forward. shadow swallowing the last rays of ra. he bid it so.

his gaze moves over them—his people. their faces worn, their spirits battered.

hemet-nesut’s words a hymn to what was lost and what will rise. she steps aside as he comes, yielding to the pharaoh. he stands before them, quiet, solemn. a single tear etching path over onyx cheek.

then he speaks. and:

He speaks. this is not the end. the gods test us, as they always have, to see what we may become. to lose the red sands is not to lose their blessing. no— eyes blaze upon those beneath, —it is to earn their fire. to be forged anew.

he raises his head, the embodiment of divine will.

we are their chosen, born from the ashes of akashingo. this is their will. vahanet shall not just rise—it shall ascend. stronger. greater. eternal.

he casts teary eyes to the sky dappled in the beginnings of stars. the pharaoh allows himself this vulnerability, a moment stolen from the stoic mask he wears for his people. he breathes: pharaoh muat-riya isetnofret toula, goddess of the red serpent, the morning and the evening star, divine queen of akashingo, mother of kings and daughters divine. raemka rashepses, god of the red serpent, consort of toula, royal son of ra.

you who ruled with grace and might, who forged a kingdom in the sands and carried the will of the gods within your veins. you, who were the stars that guided the mesa of yore. his voice softens. you have joined the pantheon now, where your reign endures eternal. your light does not fade, but strengthens, burning brighter in the sky above.

Unlike the other young boy nearby, the scars Akhre bore could not be seen by the naked eye. Kheti, the child, the spirit was dimly aware of his loss like the ache of a broken bone since healed. To find remnants of his dynasty here in the oasis had warmed his heart, and to sit amongst them now the spirit felt as though he belonged. A selfish feeling, perhaps, for the boy in his maladic slumber would remain none the wiser.

But was a spirit capable of self-centricity? 

Glowing flame-bright in the last of Ra's rays, Akhre gazed up at the obelisk Samirseti and a new face as they spoke in funeral vows of rulers long passed. Already he had performed his own burial rite, and so his eyes turned to the young stars above in reverend prayer that it had been successful. He prayed too that, somewhere within him, the boy could see their light and think of their eyes; the spirits of the unquiet dead laid to rest at the birth of a new age.

The gravity in the air was one that tuned him in to be cautious - to mind the jester's tongue that rolled between his teeth, tasting the morsels of his last meals. His family had never been one for funerals; someone died, they mourned, they said their well wishes, they hunted the next night.

Graves were useless, birds and critters alike had something to gain and churn from the bodies - better spent there than to the worms and the grubs that loved to squirm through his grasp. He wondered then, of the ruins that trapped water-logged bodies in a terrible kind of stasis, his eyes faltering to the ground.

These names and titles were lost on him, like those grubs, slipping out of awareness. Andalib's ear flicked, glancing aside, gaze a little too flighty and excited as he inspected the others present, faces and scents unfamiliar enough to spark his curiosity. He kept his chin pointed toward his chest, a look of solemnity that didn't quite suit his face; letting the ceremony pass over him as he pointedly kept his paws and hind planted.