by Salistra
Ankhefensekhmet was never meant to be anything more than a farmer. In the fields beyond Memphis, his life was simple—harvest, family, survival beneath an unforgiving sun. His name was rarely spoken in full; to those who knew him, he was simply Sekh, a name easier carried in the rhythm of daily life. Then the heat came. Not the kind that fades with dusk, but something heavier—still, suffocating, as though the world itself had forgotten how to breathe. The wind died. The river did not answer. And slowly, almost quietly, the people of the fields began to fall. Sekh remembers the offerings in his hands—bundled emmer, bound for the gods. He remembers the prayers, the uneasy stillness that followed, and the creeping realization that something was wrong. And then… nothing. He awakens in the Duat, a place where the dead are tested and truth is carved from the soul. It is not a realm of rest, but of judgment—of trials that strip away everything false and leave only what remains. Yet something is wrong here as well, something that watches him far more closely than it should. And somewhere in the dark, a voice calls his name. His sister. The Duat is not meant to be escaped, and the paths within it are not meant to be broken. But whatever has took notice of Sekh… has taken a special interest in him.
