"Her labor has begone!" Isamu shouted, urgency tightening his voice as he rushed through the temple gates, his wife cradled carefully in his arms.
The healers turned at once. A pair of attendants hurried forward with a low birthing couch, and one of the temple physicians stepped in with practiced speed, her face calm despite the chaos.
"Bring her here," she said. "We'll take it from here. You, wait beyond the chamber."
Isamu stiffened, holding his wife more tightly. "Why can't I remain with her? She is my wife."
The physician met his gaze without flinching. "Then trust us to keep her alive. The birthing room is no place for hesitation. Go. Wait outside."
For a moment, Isamu looked as though he might protest again. Then, with a reluctant nod, he lowered his arms and backed away, his expression dark with fear.
A short time later, voices rose from within the chamber.
"He was stubborn, but he's gone now," a man said, his tone edged with excitement. "This attempt will not end like the others."
A woman answered, doubt plain in her voice. "You truly believe this birth will bring forth another Ra?"
"It must," the man said. "Only this child has a chance of producing a different result."
The woman hesitated. "We are nearly out of Ra's blood. If we divide it further, we'll have enough for only three more trials."
"One trial is enough," the man replied at once. "If we give everything to this one, it may succeed."
Her expression darkened. "Are you mad? If we fail again, the Pharaoh will have our heads."
The man's voice softened, almost soothing. "We will not fail. Not this time. Prepare her for the incision."
The woman swallowed hard. "Y-yes."
"Carefully," he warned. "We cannot afford to waste even a drop. Our lives depend on this."
Then the chamber erupted into panic.
"No-no, this is wrong!" the man cried.
From the corridor, Isamu heard the terror in his voice before he understood what was happening.
Inside, the woman in labor began to rise from the birthing couch, her body lifting as if pulled by some unseen force. A fierce yellow-orange glow burned beneath her skin, bright as the heart of the sun. She screamed, her body twisting in unbearable pain.
Then came the blast.
Blood and fire tore through the chamber. The walls were splashed red. The healers vanished in the explosion, and the woman was gone with them, consumed by the force that had awakened within her. It was as though a newborn sun had torn itself free from a dying star.
Isamu rushed into the ruined chamber, his heart hammering so hard it nearly drowned out the ringing in his ears.
His eyes searched wildly through the smoke and wreckage.
Then he saw it.
A baby lay in the center of the bed, untouched amid the destruction.
"Nadia?!" Isamu cried, stumbling forward. "Nadia?! No-no, no, no… gods, please!"
His voice broke. Tears blurred his vision as he dropped to his knees and gathered the child into his arms. The baby was alive. Small. Warm. And heartbreakingly familiar, with features so like his own that it stole the breath from his chest.
He held the infant close, trembling, unable to understand how anything had survived the horror that had just claimed his wife.
Six years later, in the sun-baked lands of Egypt, where the poor scraped by on thin bread and harder hope, where homes were built from mudbrick and children ran barefoot through dust, Isamu returned at last to his house.
He was a hard-faced man now, with rough brown skin, tired eyes, and the look of someone whose life had been carved by labor. His clothes clung to him with sweat, and his muscles carried the strain of a man who worked until his body nearly gave out.
"Magnolia, I'm home!" he called as he stepped inside.
At the sound of his name, the boy sprang up from the floor and ran to the entrance. Magnolia looked much like his father, with long brown hair that flared at the ends and bright eyes full of energy. He threw his arms around Isamu's waist with a grin so eager it almost hurt to see.
"Father, I've been waiting forever! Did you bring it?" Magnolia asked.
Isamu's tired face softened. He reached into his pouch and pulled out a small piece of limestone, weathered and pale. "Of course. I wouldn't forget."
Magnolia's eyes lit up as he took it with both hands like it was a treasure from the gods. "Thank you! Thank you!"
Isamu gave a low chuckle. "Go put it with the rest of your collection."
The boy dashed off happily, and Isamu made his way deeper into the house to begin preparing the evening meal.
Inside the home, Isamu set about preparing the evening meal while the house slowly filled with the smell of smoke, bread, and cooked vegetables. The day's exhaustion still clung to him, but there was comfort in the familiar rhythm of work, and in the quiet presence of his son nearby.
Six years had passed since the night he lost Nadia, yet the memory of her still followed him like a shadow. At times it returned without warning, sharp enough to make his chest ache. He had learned to carry the pain in silence, but it never truly left him.
A soft tap touched his leg.
Isamu looked down. Magnolia stood beside him, his small face turned upward with concern.
"Father… why are you crying?"
Isamu blinked, only then realizing his cheeks were wet. He wiped them quickly and forced a faint smile. "It seems I miss her more than I realized."
Magnolia's expression softened. He had no true memory of his mother, only the story his father had told him and the grief that sometimes settled over the house like dusk. "It's okay, Father. The gods will protect her soul in the afterlife."
Isamu gave a slow nod, though his heart remained heavy. "I suppose you're right…"
Not wanting to deepen the sorrow, Magnolia turned away and returned to his room.
Later, when supper was ready, Isamu called out, "MAG! Supper is finished. Come and feast!"
Magnolia hurried in and sat across from him, though his thoughts were not entirely on the food. He could see the sadness still lingering in his father's eyes, and it made him want to understand the woman he had lost.
After a while, Magnolia finally spoke.
"Father?"
"Yes, Magnolia?"
"How did you and Mother meet? And… what was she like?"
Isamu paused, surprised by the question. Then he let out a long breath and set down his bowl.
"What makes you ask?"
"Well," Magnolia said quietly, "you never really talk about her. I want to know what she was like."
Isamu leaned back, his gaze drifting somewhere far beyond the walls of the house. "If you insist. Back when I was still a slave, your mother and I met when we were both seventeen. I had been working on a pyramid for months, and I pushed myself too hard. I didn't realize how badly I had worn myself down."
He looked down at his hands, remembering.
"I was sent to the healers. The swnw where your mother worked. She treated me, helped me recover, and after that, I kept finding reasons to return. Each time I did, we grew closer. And eventually… we married. That marriage freed me from slavery."
His voice grew quieter.
"And then your mother became pregnant. But before the child should have come, the accident happened."
Isamu closed his eyes for a moment, grief tightening his throat. "After that night, I returned to work on the pyramids…"
Magnolia listened in silence, feeling both comforted and saddened by the story. It was the first time his father had spoken so openly about the past, and it left him with a strange ache in his chest.
Then, suddenly, he seemed to remember something. Magnolia stood up so quickly that his chair scraped against the floor, and he hurried toward his room.
A moment later, he returned carrying his treasured rock collection.
The stones were the gifts his father had brought home from the pyramid, but now they gleamed with an unnatural brilliance, polished so cleanly that they almost looked like jewels. Magnolia held them carefully in both hands and offered them to Isamu with a bright smile.
"Father, can you carve these rocks for me?" Magnolia asked, hopeful.
"Sure, Mag," Isamu said with a tired smile, taking the rocks from his son. "Just let me finish eating. Then I'll get the tools to carve them. By the way, Mag, are you ever going to tell me how you did it?"
Magnolia simply smiled up at his father, his eyes full of secrets.