As Khay scrambled up the rocks, his armor scraping against the stone, Amen backed into the shadows of the gorge, every step calculated. He could hear the curses below, the shouts of confused soldiers, the grinding of stone as trapped men tried to push their way free.
Khay's obsession had blinded him. The army was fractured, command lines broken.
Amen's loyalists—those few who still held the line—emerged from their hiding places around the Gate of Set.
Archers repositioned atop higher ledges, spearmen blocked the narrow passes, ready to pick off any of Khay's men who dared follow blindly.
Amen turned to one of his remaining officers, panting beside him. "Signal the archers," Amen ordered. "Only fire when Khay reaches the mouth of the gorge. We'll box him in."
"But…" the officer hesitated, glancing at Amen's bloodied form. "Prince… will you fight him alone?"
Amen's lips tightened. "I don't need to win against Khay." His eyes gleamed with determination. "I just need him angry enough to forget his army."
A blast of the horn echoed behind them. The signal.
Khay reached the last ledge, pulling himself over with a roar. His sword gleamed in the sun, his chest heaving with rage. "AMEN!" he bellowed, eyes wild.
Amen stepped forward into the light, sword drawn once more. His body ached. His knees trembled beneath him. But his voice remained steady. "You've come a long way to die, Khay."
"YOU FIRST!"
Khay lunged, but Amen darted backward, deliberately retreating deeper into the gorge, weaving between boulders and narrow paths. Khay gave chase, snarling, his blows missing by inches.
Above them, the archers took position, arrows nocked, watching for Amen's signal.
Khay's men tried to follow, but the path was too narrow. Spears and rocks from Amen's allies forced them back. The trap was sprung.
"Come closer," Amen murmured as he led Khay deeper into the bottleneck. "Come closer… take the bait…"
Khay swung wildly, cutting at stone and shadow. His strength was unmatched, but his focus had narrowed into a tunnel of rage.
"NOW!" Amen shouted, dropping flat against the ground.
Arrows rained from above, a deadly hail crashing around Khay. His armor deflected some, but others found their mark in his exposed arms and legs.
Khay staggered, bleeding, roaring in pain. "YOU COWARD! FACE ME!"
Amen rose slowly, wiping dust and blood from his lips. "I am facing you," he said, voice low but unwavering. "But unlike you… I'm not alone."
Behind Khay, more loyalists surged forward, blocking his retreat. Before him, Amen stood with his sword raised, flanked by archers ready for another volley.
Khay's gaze darted wildly. His confidence fractured. His army trapped or scattered. His fury no longer enough to shield him.
And in that moment, the hunter realized he had become the prey.
Amen stepped closer, sword gleaming in the morning sun. "Your game is over, Khay. Surrender… or die here, alone."
Khay's face twisted into a snarl, blood dripping from the cuts along his arms, staining the dust at his feet. He looked around—boxed in, outnumbered, bleeding—but his pride burned brighter than his pain.
"I'll never bow to you, Amen," he spat, his voice cracked but defiant. "I'd rather die than see a weak whelp like you sit on Horemheb's throne."
Amen's gaze remained calm, steady. "Then you'll die a fool," he said simply, lowering his sword slightly, as if disappointed. "But not today."
Khay roared, charging forward in a final, reckless surge, sword raised high above his head, the last embers of his strength poured into this one strike.
Amen didn't flinch. Didn't move. He waited.
And just as the blade came crashing down—
CLANG!
A curved khopesh intercepted Khay's sword, stopping it inches from Amen's neck. One of Amen's loyal guards had stepped between them, locking blades with Khay, forcing him back with practiced strength.
Khay stumbled, eyes wide with fury. He raised his sword again—only to find another guard had rushed in, knocking it from his hands.
In an instant, he was surrounded. Spears pressed to his throat. Archers nocked arrows from above. His chest heaved, his arms trembling, but there was nowhere left to strike.
Amen stepped forward now, close enough that Khay could see the sweat and dust clinging to his face, the faint smile curling his lips.
"I could have killed you ten times over," Amen murmured, his voice like iron beneath silk. "But where's the fun in that?"
Khay glared at him, panting. "Finish it, you coward."
Amen's smile widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Oh, no. Not yet." He leaned in, his voice dropping low, almost a whisper. "You'll live, Khay. You'll watch as your name is stripped from every scroll, every temple, every monument. You'll kneel in chains before the very throne you tried to steal. And every breath you take will be a reminder that you failed."
He straightened, turning to his soldiers. "Bind him," he commanded coldly. "And don't be gentle."
The guards descended, tying Khay's hands behind his back, forcing him to his knees. Khay struggled, but the fight had drained from him; his body sagged under the weight of defeat.
Amen gazed down at him, chest rising and falling. The fear, the doubt, the humiliation he'd carried when he first entered the battlefield—they were gone now, replaced by a quiet, resolute fire.
"You betrayed my father," Amen said softly. "But you underestimated his son."
He turned away, raising his sword to the sky. Behind him, the soldiers let out a thunderous cheer.
The sun had risen fully over the Gate of Set, casting light across the battlefield, illuminating the fallen and the victorious alike.
From atop the gorge, Pharaoh Horemheb appeared, flanked by his royal guard, his silhouette framed by the rising sun. His golden armor gleamed, a lion-headed pectoral glinting like fire. He looked down at the battlefield, at the wreckage—and at Khay, bound and kneeling, battered and humiliated.
The Pharaoh's lips curled into a sneer. His voice rang out, cold and sharp as a blade,
"Khay."
Khay's head snapped up, bloodied lips curling into a defiant grin despite his pain.
The Pharaoh stepped closer to the edge of the cliff, peering down with a predator's gaze.
"How does it feel," the Pharaoh continued, his voice dripping contempt, "to be tricked? To be outwitted? To be betrayed… by the very game you thought you mastered?"
Khay coughed, spitting blood into the dirt. His laugh was hollow, bitter.
"Betrayal?" he rasped. "No… I was the one betrayed long before this battle, Horemheb." His eyes burned with hatred. "By you. By Egypt. By a world that cast aside men like me."
The Pharaoh's expression hardened. He raised his chin.
"No, Khay. You betrayed yourself the moment you let ambition rot your soul."
Khay's lips trembled, his voice rising with ragged desperation. "I was loyal to you! I fought at your side! I bled for you!"
The Pharaoh's gaze turned cold, pitiless.
"You fought for your own glory," he said quietly. "You bled only for power." He pointed down at Amen, still standing resolute amid the ruins of battle. "And now you kneel before the son of the man you sought to destroy."
Khay snarled, struggling against his bonds. "He's not your son! He's a foreign bastard!"
The Pharaoh's eyes gleamed with an unreadable light. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, with quiet finality, "He is my son. And more of a man than you could ever hope to be."
Khay sagged, his fury turning to exhaustion, to bitter resignation. He lowered his head, shadows falling over his face.
The Pharaoh turned to his guards. "Take him to the palace. Let all of Egypt see what happens to traitors."
As the guards hauled Khay to his feet, dragging him away, the Pharaoh cast one last glance at Amen, a faint, proud smile touching his lips.
As the guards grabbed Khay, gripping his arms to drag him away, he stumbled. Then, in a flash, his hand shot out.
Steel gleamed.
Before anyone could react, Khay had unsheathed a guard's sword from its scabbard with surprising speed, his grip tight despite his wounds.
Gasps rippled through the soldiers.
Amen's eyes widened. "No—!" he shouted.
But it was too late.
With a defiant, broken laugh, Khay raised the blade high.
"I die by my own hand!" he roared, voice raw and trembling. "I will not be paraded like a trophy!"
And with a swift, brutal motion, he plunged the sword into his chest, driving it deep.
The blade pierced his heart. Blood bloomed across his tunic in a dark, spreading flower.
Khay staggered, gasping, the strength draining from his body. His eyes locked onto the Pharaoh's one last time—burning with hatred, defiance, and a haunting trace of regret.
"You win… Horemheb," he rasped, a bitter smile curling his lips.
Then his knees buckled.
He collapsed onto the blood-soaked sand, the sword still embedded in his chest, his lifeless gaze fixed on the sky.
For a long moment, there was only silence.
The Pharaoh's face was stone, unreadable. Slowly, he turned away, his voice heavy with quiet finality, "He chose his own end."
He glanced at Amen, his gaze lingering. "Let no man say Khay lacked courage… but let every man remember the price of treachery."
The sun crested over the gorge, its light falling upon Khay's fallen form, as though sealing his fate beneath the unblinking eye of the gods.
Amen stood still, chest heaving, staring at the man who had nearly ended his life, and yet, whose death left an unexpected ache deep in his heart.
He whispered under his breath, "…It didn't have to end like this."
And the wind carried his words away, lost to the sands of Egypt.
As the soldiers silently carried Khay's body away, heads bowed in somber respect despite his betrayal, Amen remained standing beside his father, eyes fixed on the departing procession.
The air felt heavy, filled with unspoken words.
Finally, the Pharaoh broke the silence, his voice low, thoughtful.
"They mourn him," he said. "Not the traitor… but the man he once was."
Amen swallowed, still watching. "They fought beside him. Trusted him. I… I almost understand why."
The Pharaoh turned to him, his gaze sharp but weary. "Khay was once a brother to us all. A son of Egypt. He had the makings of a great general."
Amen frowned, his chest tightening. "Then why, father? Why throw it away? Why betray everything he fought for?"
The Pharaoh looked to the horizon, his face lined with the weight of many years.
"Because, Amen… every man believes he is the hero of his own story. But some…" He sighed. "…some forget that loyalty is not owed to their own ambition."
Amen clenched his fists. "He didn't have to die. I didn't want him dead."
The Pharaoh's eyes softened slightly. "Mercy is a noble instinct, my son. But not every soul can be saved."
Amen glanced down at the blood-stained ground, feeling an ache he hadn't expected. "They all respected him. Even now. I can see it in their eyes."
The Pharaoh nodded solemnly. "Respect, yes. Grief, even. But loyalty?" He turned his piercing gaze on Amen. "That must be earned anew. Not inherited."
Amen looked at him, uncertain. "Do you think they'll ever trust me? After today?"
The Pharaoh placed a hand on his shoulder, firm and steady.
"Trust is forged in fire, Amen. Today was but the first spark. Let your deeds kindle the rest."
Amen took a deep breath, nodding slowly, the weight of his father's words settling over him like a mantle.
"…I won't fail you," he vowed quietly.
The Pharaoh's lips curved into a small, knowing smile.
"No, my son. Today, you've already begun."
And together, they stood beneath the rising sun, watching as the army gathered, their future uncertain, but their path forward, undeniable.