"Who is the Lord, that I should obey His voice?"— Pharaoh (Exodus 5:2)
The Desert of Ego
The manuscript grew heavier as Amara turned its next page. Not physically—but spiritually. The air in her room thickened, like a looming storm pressing against the soul.
"Now behold Pharaoh, son of gods, sovereign of the Nile, who drowned in the weight of his own crown."
The ink on the page seemed to ripple. A strange wind whistled through the cracks in her windowpane. She closed her eyes—and the world shifted again.
Scene: A Throne in Egypt
Gold everywhere. Polished floors reflected towering statues. Scribes bowed. Servants scurried. Musicians played harp-like instruments with trembling fingers. Egypt pulsed with wealth, power, and fear.
And atop a throne carved from obsidian and ivory sat Pharaoh—the Living God.
He was young. Proud. Cloaked in linen fine enough to shame the stars. His gaze was like stone—cold, polished, immovable.
Pharaoh (to his court):"Let the Hebrew slaves increase their quota. Without straw."
A murmur rippled across the room.
Advisor:"But my king, they will surely falter."
Pharaoh (flatly):"Then let them die. The desert has room."
The Arrival of Moses
Outside, dust curled as a quiet shepherd entered the palace. He did not bow. He did not tremble.
Moses (calm):"The God of Israel says: Let His people go."
The room froze.
Pharaoh blinked once. Slowly. Then leaned forward.
Pharaoh:"God? What god? I am Ra's son. I am god. Who speaks to me without kneeling?"
Moses did not flinch.
Moses:"I kneel to none but I AM."
A silence heavier than judgment filled the court.
Pharaoh rose.
Pharaoh (mocking):"Then let your 'I AM' free them Himself."
The Dance of Pride and Plague
What followed was not swift justice—but measured warnings. Frogs. Blood. Darkness. Flies. Hail. And yet—Pharaoh hardened.
Not once. Not twice. Ten times.
He resisted truth even when it stared him in the face. He drowned in his own delusion, brick by brick, like the very cities the slaves built for him.
"Power without wisdom is suicide with a crown."— Amara's margin note
Amara's Dilemma
The vision snapped. Her room was dark again.
She sat, silent, her hands trembling above the scroll. Tola was at the door, concern lining her face.
Tola:"You haven't slept. Your eyes look… haunted."
Amara (quietly):"I saw him. I saw Pharaoh. And I see him now."
Tola (frowning):"Now? Where?"
Amara:"In leaders who silence truth. In pastors who persecute prophets. In billionaires who ignore the broken. In governments… in churches… in me."
Tola blinked.
Tola:"You?"
Amara:"I've silenced conviction before. I've told my conscience to 'shut up' so I could look successful."
She stood slowly, turning back to the scroll.
Amara:"Pharaoh still lives. And his throne is seductive."
The Final Blow
The manuscript ended Pharaoh's account not with his defeat—but his delusion.
"Even as the sea swallowed him, he still believed himself invincible."
Amara whispered:
"He didn't drown in water. He drowned in pride."