Cold. Frozen. Still.

Zoser's eyes flung open, but no other muscle of his body moved. Not even his chest moved, bringing air in or out. He was completely frozen, stiff, and still. Deathly even.

A cold sweat trickled down his spine, one of the only sensations he felt beyond the tingling numbness of his lips and fingertips, still immobile.

A gasp.

A surge of air into his lungs, sharp and biting with the suddenness of it all. The heaving of his chest seeming to bring life to his other limbs, thought dead in their stillness. The breath turned to soft gasps, images flashing behind his eyes as she blinked once, twice, and a third time.

A second shuddering breath entering his lungs offered control of his neck as he turned his head to the left.

Nia.

She slept tucked into the crook of his arm, sleeping soundly, unbothered by the dream that had been delivered. Instead of comfort, if anything, the sight of the beautiful creature in his arms filled him with deep dread and fear. With his third breath in so short a time, he felt the sting of tears in his eyes, having seen that same, lovely face....dead before his eyes, crumpled at the base of the throne.


A fourth breath brought a recollection of the images in his mind, and Zoser clung to them, desperately remembering the details through the chaos and adrenaline of a waking nightmare. A single drip of sweat found its way to his eyes, leading him to rediscover the ability to move his free arm, though it felt like slogging through water before bringing it to his brow. He turned his head again, assuring he had not woken the sleeping beauty at his side.

The words...the rhythm...it stuck in his mind like a foot in tar, unable to break free. It lingered, like the scent of burnt flesh, but instead like an odor in his mind.

Blood that ties...

The threat lingered there in the form he would never have imagined: Osorsen.

There were few he truly trusted in this life, even fewer who knew the deepest secrets he bore. Osorsen, his nephew, was one. But, this dream? It shook him to the core. Bones deep.

Death...

Zoser well knew the promise he swore at his nephew's side, to dethrone the usurper, Iahotep...but would removing one disease cause another? As long as Zoser had known Osorsen, there was a bloodlust that seemed to emanate from every pore, embodying the man with a soul of victory at any cost.

Any cost...

Nia...?

Zoser took another deep breath, the sweat on his skin now giving way to the chill of the night air through the window. He swallowed, once, then twice, before slowly and ever so gently slipping his arm from its place beneath his lover's shoulder.

Victory at any cost...but...for the Hei's of Egypt...for Hatshepsut...for Nia...would Osorsen go to any cost?

That...was an answer that Zoser did not know.

It could just be a dream, you fool...

In the thought, there was a slight salve of relief, but deep within his gut, he worried. Never had a dream been so vivid, nor so ornate. Yes, all men had dreams of bedding gorgeous women, or even nightmares of embarrassment before them. Never had Zoser had a dream like this, so real...so...striking...

See me...

Never had Zoser seen Thoth, beyond the walls of tombs...

Sitting up in the bed, elbows folding towards the knees as he buried his head in his hands a moment, trying to see, think, and remember clearly. A thought crossed his mind...

“Slowly, slowly, Thoth returned to your soul, holding a place of honor once more...."

That Judean witch said such things to him...and Thoth appeared in his dream, looming over Osorsen and an all-but-empty throne.

'For this is not her throne...'

'For this is not his throne...'

'For no one has the throne...'

The words echoed in his mind, muddled and mixed with the prophecy of a circus seer.

Zoser threw the cover from across his legs, flinging them across the side of the bed and crossing the room in a few, long strides. The full moon poured through the window, as if Thoth himself was mocking him...

'Remember me...Mark me....'

Zoser did not bother to light candle or lamp, nor did he bother to sit as his bleary eyes and hands found their way to ink and parchment, fumbling with each in the pale moonlight. He did not even bother to sit at the desk in his room, standing bare and looming over the parchment and scrawling out all he could remember, slashing at the page as he rearranged the words and phrases with all he could recollect...

Damn the fickleness of dreams....

It was chaotic, it was erratic. It was the work of a mad man, as he lifted the smeared and marred page to the window, reviewing what his errant mind wrote. No one writes down their dreams...

But, the sight of all of Egypt dead at the hands of his own flesh and blood...it stung. It hurt...

His eyes flicked back to Nia, sleeping deeply. A soft sigh escaped her as she shifted, and Zoser stood stock still in the night, so as not to wake her.

Confusion set in. What man goes mad over a dream? One who, perhaps, had too much superstition sown into him while living in Greece, where gods meddled among mortals. Zoser closed his eyes, doing his best to wring whatever image he had from the dream onto parchment until he was dry...and there was nothing left but the silence of the room, punctuated by the chimes of insects outside of the window.

Zoser could not sleep. All hope of that had been lost. Instead, he finally took to the seat at the desk, poring over the words, the rhyme, that he had written in a frenzy...

Perhaps, he was a madman...though, the dream felt too real...

As the sun slowly painted the sky at the horizon, he had no answers....though he did have some idea who might.