"Tadal"
His deep voice boomed off the high ceilings. The Pharaoh raised a smooth, commanding hand, and the chamber fell silent; even the echo obeyed. "I value your loyalty more than you know… but I do not need a champion."
Tadal bowed immediately, head lowering in submission. He knew better than to push the Pharaoh. His power was vast, his wisdom remarkable for one so young. To Tadal, he was more than a ruler; Atem was like a son to him, and he couldn't consider himself a loyal servant if he didn't try to protect him in any way he could. Especially since his father was no longer here to guide him.
But duty outweighed fear.
"Pharaoh, please." His voice trembled despite his effort to steady it. "With power such as yours, it is only a matter of time before someone seeks to challenge you. You are unmatched in Shadow Monsters—of that, I have no doubt—but not all who would face you fight with honour."
He hesitated, throat tight. "We've already lost Mahad. If more threats come… and you stand alone…"
The light fabric of his headdress brushed his cheek as he bowed lower; it was a comfort against his cheek, a reassurance that he was doing the right thing. When the silence stretched too long, he dared lift his gaze.
Atem stared down at him with the cold poise of a king. His expression remained unreadable, but the tight press of his lips and the faint flare of his nostrils said enough.
Tadal's stomach dropped. He had crossed a line.
The Pharaoh's lavender eyes narrowed—annoyed, weary, grieving. Mahad's loss was still a fresh wound. While the kingdom remained loyal to its Pharaoh, his inner circle had been whittled down with every battle. And there was more at stake than just the Pharaoh, something that was more precious to Tadal than life itself. He was not willing to take a chance. Atem's father was his best friend, and he was his most trusted advisor. He promised he would care for the boy as if he were his own. And protect his own, he will.
This was his last chance to sway him.
"Forgive my boldness," Tadal said, straightening, willing confidence into his posture. "But Atem… you are my Pharaoh, and your father was my greatest friend. I swore an oath to serve you until my final breath after he died. I want only what is best for you."
His voice softened.
"If danger finds you, who will stand for the people? The guardians alone are not enough. Not even the royal guard is enough. You need someone beside you. Always."
Atem turned away, cape sweeping behind him as he walked down the torch-lit corridor. Flames flickered against gold, dancing over statues of gods and sacred beasts that lined the walls in eternal vigilance.
Tadal watched the young Pharaoh's silhouette grow and stretch with each passing torch. His tri-coloured, spiked hair carved a sharp crown against the firelight—beautiful, and burdened.
Shame pulled Tadal's head down. He had failed to convince him. Failed him as an advisor… and as a father.
But then Atem's voice reached him, firm and resonant.
"Very well, Tadal. I accept your reasoning. Begin preparations for this tournament."
Tadal's head snapped up. A slow, relieved smile broke across his worn features. "Thank you, my Pharaoh. You will not regret this."
He did not hear Atem's low mutter as he walked away.
"I had better not."