Ancient Thebes, Egypt – Night of the Moon Rebirth
The brazier smoke curled in soft spirals, veiling the sanctum in incense and heat.
Nafre-Aset stood barefoot on the cold stone, wrapped in a ceremonial robe of pure linen, soaked with lotus oil. Her thick braids had been unbound, cascading around her shoulders like a river of obsidian, adorned with delicate gold cuffs. The temple was silent except for the crackle of the fire and the steady beat of her heart.
She should have prayed.
She should have purified herself after what happened last night.
But instead, she burned.
Her mouth still tingled with the taste of him.
Her body still ached with an emptiness she hadn't known existed until his hands were on her.
She had told herself it was temptation. A test. A trick of the senses.
But now, alone in the sanctuary, she could not lie to the flame in her belly. She had felt something beyond sin.
Fate.
There was only one way to understand what had happened to invoke the ancient rite of Netjer's Memory, a forbidden ritual not practiced in centuries. It was said to awaken memories from lives past. A sacred act. A dangerous one. But Nafre-Aset was no ordinary priestess.
She stood at the center of the sacred symbol painted on the floor in crushed lapis and gold an open eye above a rising sun. The Eye of Ra. The mirror of truth.
She cut her palm gently with the ritual blade, letting her blood drip into the basin of rosewater and honey. A soft chant left her lips, barely above a whisper. Words older than any scroll. Words that stirred something ancient.
And then he came.
Kessef.
Not as a thief this time.
He stepped out from the shadows, shirtless, barefoot, his body dusted with sweat from the climb. The torchlight caught the deep lines of his muscles and the golden hue of his skin. His eyes burned not with greed, but with reverence.
He hadn't planned to return.
But her voice had pulled him in a dream. Her scent haunted his fingers. Her lips lived on his tongue. He didn't understand it but he was powerless to fight it.
"You summoned me," he said, breathless.
Her eyes widened. "I didn't"
"You did," he interrupted softly. "You whispered in a language I shouldn't know. And I heard you."
She stared at him, heart pounding. "You… remember?"
He nodded slowly. "Not in words. But in need. In knowing. I knew the path. I knew where you'd be. My hands remember your skin. My mouth"
He stopped, watching her shiver.
"You shouldn't be here," she whispered.
"Then tell me to leave."
She opened her mouth, but no words came.
Instead, she stepped forward. Her robe brushed the floor, the thin fabric whispering over her skin. He reached out, touching her cheek, then running his thumb down her jaw, her throat, her collarbone. Her breath hitched.
"I'm not clean," she said. "Not for ritual."
He smiled faintly. "Neither am I. But we belong to each other in ways older than this temple."
She didn't correct him.
Because it was true.
The moment they touched again, the same jolt returned this time stronger. The air crackled around them, heavy with divine tension. Her skin flushed with heat.
"What is happening to us?" she asked.
"I don't know," he replied. "But I'll die before I leave without knowing more."
Her lips parted. Her eyes closed.
She let the robe fall.
It slipped to the floor like mist, pooling at her feet. She stood naked before him, illuminated by firelight and moonbeams, unashamed. Sacred.
Kessef's breath caught.
Not just because of her beauty but because he had seen her like this before. In dreams. In glimpses. In a life he could not name.
He dropped to his knees.
And kissed her thighs.
Nafre-Aset trembled as his lips worshipped her skin, trailing kisses upward, reverent and slow. Her fingers tangled in his curls as he pressed his face between her legs. His tongue moved with instinct, tasting her slowly like he was trying to recall something lost in his bones.
She moaned, soft and desperate, hips bucking.
"Yes Kessef" Her voice broke on his name.
He rose slowly, lifting her into his arms and placing her on the altar. It was blasphemy. This was the place of offerings, of holy light.
But tonight she was the offering.
And he would worship her with every breath.
His body pressed against hers, hard and aching. She arched her back as he entered her slowly each inch stretching her, claiming her, completing her.
Her cry echoed through the temple halls.
He moved inside her with deliberate reverence, slow and deep, like the rhythm of a prayer. She clung to him, nails digging into his back, eyes locked on his.
Visions surged between them.
A battlefield. A palace. A shipwreck. A desert storm.
Different lives. Different deaths.
The same eyes. The same touch.
Her tears spilled over.
"Why do I know you?" she whispered.
"Because we've done this before," he breathed. "Because we've never stopped."
Their rhythm quickened.
The altar shook beneath them.
The gold symbols around the room flickered.
The air shimmered with energy divine, dangerous, overwhelming. As they came together in a climax that shattered time, the curse awakened.
A bolt of pain shot through her chest.
She screamed not in pleasure, but in fear.
His body collapsed against hers.
The torches blew out.
When she woke, he was gone.
And so was the warmth in her body.
She reached for her breast. A mark had appeared there an ancient symbol of eternal return. A twisted ouroboros: a snake eating its own tail.
And beside it, on the altar, was a scrap of parchment in his handwriting. Only two words:
"Find me."