The massive bronze doors of the Royal Archive creaked open, hidden beneath the Temple of Ra.Layla stepped inside, her sandals clicking against polished limestone. The air smelled of lotus, ink, and crumbling old pages.Shelves carved from ancient wood stretched into the shadows, holding scrolls that glowed faintly with protection spells.
It was not merely a place of books—it was a tomb of secrets.
Master Sutekh, the High Scriptweaver, greeted her with a sharp glance. His robes were deep crimson, his eyes clouded by age, but still cunning.
"You're late, Layla."
She bowed slightly. "Forgive me, Master Sutekh. I was summoned by the Queen."
"Hmph. The Queen has never set foot in here. Neither should her distractions." He gestured toward the far corridor. "Your work begins in Chamber Nine. Copy the records of the Solar Lineage. With precision."
Layla nodded, but her heart was still racing—not from fear of Sutekh, but from what she had overheard in the royal garden.
A son of Seth.
A curse in the bloodline.
The heir must never sit the throne.
She found the Solar Lineage scroll sealed with wax bearing the Pharaoh's crest. As she broke it carefully, a gust of wind brushed her neck. But there were no windows.
She paused. Then she heard it.
A whisper. Faint. Distant. Calling her name.
"Layla…"
She dropped the scroll.
The whisper was real.
She turned. The chamber was empty, but something in the shadows pulsed. Behind a row of scrolls on the bottom shelf, the limestone wall shimmered—ever so slightly—as if cloaked in illusion.
Her fingers, almost by instinct, reached toward it.
Then—
"Lady Layla," a deep voice echoed behind her.
She froze.
Prince Thutmose.
He stepped into the room with the smooth confidence of a lion. His linen tunic was dusted with sand from the training grounds, and his black hair was tied back, revealing a Sharp wide jawline and dark eyes that had the depth of storm clouds.
"You handle secrets like you handle scrolls," he said. "Clumsily."
Layla straightened, her cheeks flushed. "I was… startled. I didn't expect—"
He moved closer. "You were about to touch the Veil. You know what happens to those who disturb what lies beneath."
She held her ground. "And yet you seem very familiar with it, my prince."
A hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth. "Perhaps I am. Or perhaps I watch those who try to pierce it."
She stepped back, studying him. "Why are you here?"
Thutmose looked past her toward the scroll she had nearly dropped. "There are whispers in the court. You know that already. But what you don't know is that someone has been altering the records in this archive."
Her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
"The official lineage claims every Pharaoh is born of Ra. But there are names that were removed. Bloodlines buried. And now…" he leaned closer, his voice a whisper, "...someone is trying to bury more than names. They're trying to bury the truth. About me."
Layla's breath caught.
He studied her reaction carefully. "I need someone who knows these scrolls. Who understands the magic behind them. Someone who won't betray me."
"You think that's me?"
"I think you're curious," he said softly. "And curiosity, Layla, is far more dangerous than loyalty."
The whisper returned. Stronger. Louder.
This time, she wasn't the only one who heard it.
Both of them turned toward the Veil in the wall.
The shimmer deepened… then twisted.
A sigil appeared—marked in blood-red ink that had not been there before.
Thutmose swore under his breath.
"What is it?" Layla whispered.
He hesitated. Then: "A warning. Or an invitation."
She looked at him. "Will you open it?"
He stepped forward, placing his palm on the sigil.
"No," he said. "We will."