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A dull ringing echoed in Everlyn’s ears as she stirred, her lashes fluttering like moth wings. The world was spinning, thick with smoke and silence. Her fingers twitched against the cold stone floor.

A deep ache pulsed behind her ribs. She blinked once. Twice. The blur cleared slowly—and then the scene hit her all at once like a crashing wave.
Bodies. Strewn across the floor like broken puppets. The smoke curling away into the shadows. And there, glinting in the thin light—the blade, untouched, waiting.

And with it, the memory. The attack. The gas. Ahmanis.

Her chest tightened. She remembered everything.

Footsteps echoed down the tunnel like distant thunder, fast and frantic. Then a voice broke through the ringing—
“Evie! Everlyn!”

Nick.

She turned her head as he and Jenny came running, their boots skidding over stone as they rounded the corner and came face to face with the carnage.
Nick froze for a moment, his eyes wide, breath catching as he took it all in—the bodies, the smoke, the silence. Then he spotted her. His panic snapped into action.

He dropped to his knees beside her, grabbing her face gently but urgently, his eyes scanning hers like she might vanish if he blinked. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you? Evie—talk to me!”
Everlyn shook her head weakly, her voice rough. “They took him.” She tried to push herself upright, a fire lighting in her chest. “We have to get him back.”

“No.” Nick caught her arm, gently but firmly. “No, we’re not. Evie, listen to me—that’s the curse talking, not you. You don’t know what that blade has done to your mind—he’s not the same. We leave. Alright?”

Jenny stepped forward, placing a hand on Everlyn’s shoulder with pleading eyes. “Please, Everlyn. You’ve been through too much. We almost lost you. Don’t let whatever this is… take you away now. You’re still you, okay? You’re not her.”

But Everlyn wasn’t listening. Her gaze had drifted—drawn, pulled—like gravity itself had shifted.

The blade.

It lay among the rubble, humming softly in her bones like it knew her. Her breath caught as her eyes locked on it.

She wasn’t her past self. Not in name. Not in life. Not in choice.
But the fury in her chest?

That—was exactly the same.
In one breathless motion, Everlyn lunged forward. Nick shouted. Jenny gasped. But Everlyn reached the blade, her fingers wrapping around its hilt with instinct born of lifetimes.

Her pulse thundered. The weapon felt like home.

Then—without hesitation—she turned the point toward herself.
And drove it into her side, right where her old scar had never truly healed.
The moment split.

A blinding flash of gold and crimson burst through the chamber, sending a shockwave of light and sound. Crows shrieked as if summoned from the beyond, bursting from nowhere and spiralling upward into shadow. Time warped—twisted—and visions cracked across her mind like shattered glass—
Flashes of a sunlit palace.

A garden drenched in gold.
Ahmanis’ smile.

His hand in hers.

Laughter. Fire. Blood.

Love.

Loss.

Him.

Everlyn fell to her knees, eyes wide as the visions flooded her—until they settled into one sharp truth.

She would not let him be taken again.

Nick caught her just as her body collapsed backward, his arms cradling her limp form, eyes wild with panic. “Evie!” he cried, but her eyes were glassy—distant. Without thinking, he gripped the hilt of the blade and yanked it free, the metal slick and strangely warm.

Blood.

Jenny dropped to her knees beside them, her voice trembling. “Everlyn? Everlyn, please!” She pressed a hand to her friend’s cheek, trying to rouse her, but Everlyn remained still—too still.

Their voices, frantic and fearful, barely reached her. They were distant echoes. Murmurs in a deep, slow current. Her world had tilted—visions crashing over her in waves. Flashes of golden sands. A silver sun. War cries. Ancient hands pulling her into memory.

Then—clarity.

She stood in a boundless void of light and shadow, and there, before her, cloaked in grace and power, stood her. Satiah. The woman she once was. Her past. Her soul.

“Open your eyes, Everlyn,” Satiah said softly, her voice like silk and thunder.
And so she did.

Everlyn’s lids fluttered open—but her gaze was no longer the same. Her pupils split, becoming vertical slits of gold, matching his. Ancient markings burned to life across her skin—sacred, spiraling, and precise, like the carvings of forgotten tombs. They pulsed with a silent rhythm, alive with power.
“Evie…?” Nick’s voice cracked as he looked into her eyes. This was not the girl he knew. Not entirely.

Everlyn rose slowly, each movement deliberate, regal. She didn’t look at them—didn’t need to. She stared at her hands, at the spot where the blade had pierced her. But the wound was gone. The blade, nothing but ash, crumbled from her skin and was swept away by an unseen breeze.

And then she spoke.

Her voice—still her own—carried a second tone beneath it. A low, ancient echo, as if the past spoke with her.

“Leave.”

One word. Commanding. Final.
She raised a hand, palm downward, and the ground at her feet stirred. The sand shifted. Swirled. And then—rose. Grain by grain, it gathered, collecting like a sculptor’s vision until it took form.

A body.

Val.

He lay there in the sand’s gentle cradle, chest rising. Alive.

“Take him,” she said, her voice still carrying that double timbre, “and go.”
Nick stared, stunned. “Everlyn, wait—this is insane. You don’t know what you’ve done. This… this isn’t you.”
At last, she turned to him. Her eyes gleamed like fire behind amber glass, fierce and unshakable.

“I won’t let them take him,” she said, each word laced with a strength that wasn’t just hers. “The sun is rising, Nick.”

And then—wind.

A low hum began to stir, then rose into a roar. Sand twisted around her feet, coiling upward in a spiral, faster and faster. A storm, a vortex of ancient desert winds, encircled her—lightning within the dust. And with a final glance, she vanished into it, swallowed by the storm.

Gone.

Nick and Jenny stood there, speechless, staring at the place where she had been—where the impossible had just happened.

Only the wind answered.

𓆣

As the storm of sand and ancient power dispersed, the world settled into an eerie stillness.

Then came the sound—soft at first, like a whisper across the dunes. Sand shifted with each of her steps, curling around her feet as if drawn by reverence. Everlyn walked forward with unshakable purpose, her once human presence now cloaked in something more—something divine. Her skin shimmered faintly under the moonlight, marked with golden runes pulsing with energy older than the stars.

Her voice rose into the night, calm and commanding, spoken in a tongue long buried beneath time.

“Arise and stand with me.”

The desert responded.

The sands around her churned and lifted, whirling in defiance of gravity. Figures began to take shape—shadows forged from sand, armour etched with forgotten sigils. They were warriors of Set, loyal only to her, their queen reborn. Their eyes glowed faintly with crimson light as they materialized beside her in rows, their movements fluid yet ghostlike.

Together, they marched.

Ahead lay the heavily guarded outpost where Ahmanis was being held—an underground fortress carved into the stone, lit with floodlights and crawling with soldiers. The moment Everlyn crossed into the perimeter, chaos ignited.

Gunfire rang out.

Bullets tore through the air, but none reached her. The sand bent around her like a shield, catching the metal and crumbling it to dust mid-flight. The Set warriors lunged forward, swift and unrelenting, cutting through soldiers with ancient blades of obsidian and flame.

Screams echoed.

Still, Everlyn did not flinch. Her eyes burned with golden fire, and her hand lifted slowly. With a flick of her wrist, the very earth beneath her enemies trembled. A wave of sand surged forward like a tidal force, swallowing men whole, breaking steel, and cracking concrete.

Nothing stopped her.

She moved through the carnage with terrifying grace, her expression unreadable, almost serene. When soldiers dared to stand in her path, she raised her hand again—and they crumpled, their bodies flung like leaves in a hurricane. Blood mixed with sand. Fire caught on the edges of tents. Alarms blared, futile against the storm of fury and magic.

Deep inside the facility, behind thick stone and steel, Ahmanis lay unconscious, chained and bound with cursed metals laced with mercury. His chest barely rose, his strength dimmed—but he stirred faintly as if sensing her.
She reached the chamber.

The guards raised their weapons, but Everlyn did not pause. Her power flared—runic lines on her arms glowing like molten sun. With a roar that echoed through time itself, she extended her hands and tore the metal doors apart, the hinges shrieking before they were flung against the far walls.

The men inside opened fire, but she was no longer flesh alone.

She walked through the storm of bullets as if through falling rain. A wave of her hand sent a shockwave through the room, and the guards were crushed against the walls. One lunged with a blade—she caught him by the throat, eyes glowing as her voice whispered with divine finality.

“You do not touch what belongs to the gods.”

She clenched her fist, and his body collapsed in on itself, turning to ash.
Only silence remained.

Everlyn stepped over the debris and dropped to her knees beside Ahmanis. His face was pale, his lips cracked, the chains around him humming with dark energy. But even as unconscious as he was, a faint smile curled at the edge of his mouth—he had felt her. Somehow, he knew she’d come.

Everlyn touched his cheek, her hand glowing softly.

𓆣

Warm sunlight poured through the carved arches of the palace, its golden rays dancing across stone walls etched with stories older than memory. The scent of myrrh and desert lilies floated gently in the air, carried on the breeze that slipped through silken drapes.
Ahmanis stirred.

His body ached with the memory of battle, of pain and chains—but the bed beneath him was soft, woven with the finest linen, and the air no longer tasted of smoke and mercury. He blinked, eyes adjusting to the sunlight streaming in, and slowly sat up.

Where was he?

He looked around. The room was vast, a chamber fit for kings—pillars of sandstone framed with gold, hieroglyphs telling tales of gods and lovers adorned the walls. His heart quickened. It was familiar... and yet impossibly new.
Then, a voice—soft as a lullaby, yet commanding as a desert storm—called out behind him.

“You’re awake.”

He turned.

There she stood—Everlyn, but not as he had last seen her.

She wore the regalia of a queen: a gown of deep sapphire and gold, adorned with lapis stones and sun-draped jewellery that shimmered with power.

Her hair flowed like black silk, braided and crowned with a circlet bearing the mark of Ra. The ancient markings still traced her skin, glowing faintly like sunlit carvings on temple walls. Her eyes—his heart stilled at the sight of them—now mirrored his own: split pupils, radiant with eternal flame.

She smiled, and in that smile was every lifetime they had ever lived.

Ahmanis stood slowly, barefoot on marble, and approached her like a man walking through a dream he had feared to lose. “Is this real?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Everlyn reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his. “It’s always been real. We just had to find our way back.”
He touched her cheek, reverently, like he was afraid she’d vanish with the wind.

“You saved me.”

“I became who I was always meant to be,” she whispered, eyes gleaming. “For you. For us.”

He laughed softly, overcome, and drew her into his arms. They held each other tightly—two souls that had been broken and buried, now whole again under the endless sky.

“Come,” she said gently, taking his hand again.

She led him through grand hallways lined with ancient columns and the whispers of time, until they reached a set of towering doors. Two servants bowed deeply, then pushed them open.
And there—beyond the balcony—was the world.

A great city stretched before them, golden in the light of dawn. Palm trees swayed in the breeze, and sandstone buildings caught the sun’s fire. A river sparkled in the distance, winding through the heart of the land. But more than that, thousands had gathered below in the palace courtyard—kneeling, hands over their hearts, heads bowed in reverence.

They were waiting.

Waiting for their rulers.

Everlyn stepped forward first, her gaze calm and filled with ancient grace. The crowd looked up at her with awe—as if watching a goddess rise from legend. They had no doubt who she was.

The Queen of the Desert Sun.

Ahmanis stood beside her, his arm slipping around her waist. He, too, looked out at the people—not with pride, but with deep, eternal love.

In that moment, they were not just Pharaoh and Queen.

They were two souls who had conquered time, death, and fate to find one another.

Together, they raised their hands.
And the people roared in joy and devotion, calling out their names, hailing the return of their rulers.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, bathing the world in light, Everlyn leaned into Ahmanis and whispered, “This time, we write our own story.”

And with the wind at their backs, and eternity before them, they ruled—not with fear, but with love that had endured the sands of time.

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THE END

By: SilverMist707
I hope you enjoyed the ending and the story. <3