A child, born in absence of light

Holds the key to reborn life

An infant king, loved by all

Immortalized in words of gold

But words of gold will fade in time

And so the king will forever shut his eyes

Unless the daughter of the moon

Chooses one to save and one to lose

The prophet sweats nervously. This is the first real prophecy he's ever made. He could be killed for it.

But Merenkahre is a benevolent pharaoh. He exhales and nods. "That...wasn't what I was expecting."

"My apologies, my lord, I--"

"No." Merenkahre holds up a hand, silencing the young prophet. "I am not angry. This prophecy, it refers to the tablet I have made for my son, yes?"

The young prophet shifts from foot to foot slowly. "Yes, my lord."

"And the tablet, do you know how long it will last without Khonsu's light?"

The prophet hesitates, thinking back to his dream. The breeze ruffles the hem of his robe. He shivers. "No, my lord."

"It's up to the gods, then." Merenkahre looks up at the sky above him, where the moon is bright, outshining every star around it. He has just heard the prophecy about his son's fall from immortality; he's surprisingly calm.

"Up to the gods," the young prophet echoes, relieved that he won't be killed.

Behind them, inside the palace, the infant prince coos.

✦✧✦

Four thousand years later, during a lunar eclipse, a baby girl cries for the first time.