The crimson sun bled across Egypt's horizon, painting the ancient land in deceptive tranquility. Yet beneath this peaceful facade, shadows stirred with malicious intent.
"My lord," a cloaked figure materialized from the darkness, dropping to one knee before the man seated in the abandoned village hut. "The target has departed for Heliopolis. But she travels with... company."
Bako's lips curved into a predatory smile, his scarred fingers drumming against the crude wooden table. The flickering candlelight cast dancing demons across his weathered face. "Company, you say?" His voice carried the dangerous edge of a blade being unsheathed. "Describe this companion."
"The same man who met with Lord Zababa that fateful night, my lord."
The air itself seemed to freeze. Bako's eyes widened—not with surprise, but with the manic gleam of a hunter who'd found the scent of his prey. A low, chilling laugh escaped his throat.
"Fascinating." He rose slowly, like a serpent preparing to strike. "So the threads of fate weave themselves tighter. Create an opportunity to draw her out—I must meet this enchantress who cost me my dearest friend."
The soldier vanished as silently as he'd appeared, leaving Bako alone with his twisted thoughts. He licked his lips, a gesture both anticipatory and threatening. "For Zababa to betray everything... to kill for a mere woman..." His voice dropped to a whisper that could chill bone. "She had better be worth dying for."
Two nights later, Heliopolis blazed with artificial stars.
The ancient city had transformed into a living painting of celebration. Oil lamps swayed like captured fireflies, casting golden halos that danced with the shadows. Children weaved through the crowds like spirits of joy, their laughter mixing with the hypnotic rhythm of drums and the melodic chanting of priests.
At the heart of it all stood the towering statue of Ra, the Sun God, its golden surface reflecting the flames of a thousand offerings.
Yetao stood transfixed at the carriage's edge, his eyes reflecting the festival's magic. In this moment, he looked less like a man fleeing destiny and more like a soul discovering wonder for the first time.
"The Festival of Ra's Blessing," Peanut observed, though his gaze never left Yetao's enchanted expression. "It happens once every seven years. They say the veil between worlds grows thin tonight."
Something flickered in Peanut's eyes—recognition? Longing? The emotion vanished before it could be named.
"Why don't we rest here?" Peanut's voice carried an odd undertone, as if the words fought against his better judgment. "We could... explore. Just for tonight."
When Yetao turned to him with that radiant smile—brighter than every lamp in the festival combined—Peanut felt something crack inside his chest. The carefully constructed walls around his heart trembled.
Focus, he commanded himself, but his feet were already moving toward a merchant's stall draped in silk and mystery.
"I thought wandering in casual clothes might be more comfortable," Peanut said, returning with a bundle wrapped in midnight-blue cloth. His hands trembled almost imperceptibly as he offered it.
Yetao's surprise melted into gratitude, and for a heartbeat, time stood suspended between them. "I'll be right back," Yetao said with a playful wink that sent unexpected warmth coursing through Peanut's veins.
Control yourself, Peanut thought desperately, running fingers through his hair. This is not him. This is not—
His thoughts shattered like glass.
Yetao emerged from the temporary lodging transformed. The flowing garment—deep blue as midnight waters—clung to his form with an elegance that seemed almost otherworldly. But it wasn't the clothes that stole Peanut's breath.
It was the memory.
The same smile. The same tilt of the head. The same way the fabric caught the light. For one devastating moment, the present collapsed into the past, and Peanut saw him—his beloved, his lost one, his eternal regret—standing in that exact pose, wearing that exact expression of pure, trusting joy.
Tears betrayed him, gathering in his eyes like pearls of ancient sorrow.
"Are you cold?" Yetao's voice cut through the illusion, concerned and gentle.
Peanut blinked away the ghosts and forced his professional mask back into place. "No. I'm fine."
But he wasn't fine. He was drowning in the space between memory and reality, between duty and desire.
"Then what are you waiting for? Let's go", Yetao said as he already started walking, excitement in his face evident to attend the festival.
The festival enveloped them like a living dream.
They moved from stall to stall, Yetao's infectious enthusiasm breathing life into Peanut's carefully guarded heart. Every laugh, every wonder-struck expression, every moment of pure joy chipped away at the ice that had encased Peanut's soul for so long.
"Aww, newlyweds!" chuckled a wrinkled vendor as Peanut caught Yetao from stumbling over a displayed rug.
They laughed, but something electric passed between them in that moment of contact.
"He probably doesn't know I'm a man," Yetao whispered conspiratorially, leaning close enough that Peanut could feel his breath against his ear.
The words hit Peanut like lightning. He turned, their faces suddenly mere inches apart, and something dark and desperate flickered in his eyes.
"So what if you are?"
The question hung in the air like a blade suspended over both their fates. Yetao's breath caught, heat flooding his cheeks as his heart began to race with a rhythm that felt dangerously like recognition, like remembering.
"Ha... haha... you're very funny," Yetao stammered, stepping back from the intensity burning in Peanut's gaze.
But neither of them was laughing inside.
"Miss, that's beer!" the alarmed vendor's cry came too late.
Yetao had already drained the cup, and the effects were immediate. His cheeks flushed crimson, his steps began to weave, and his usually sharp mind dissolved into delightful confusion.
"Peanutsss," he slurred, squinting as if trying to focus on a multiplying target. "There's one... two... three of you! Hehe..."
Despite everything—his mission, his secrets, his carefully laid plans—Peanut found himself genuinely laughing. Not the controlled chuckle he used as a weapon, but real, helpless laughter that seemed to surprise him as much as anyone.
Yetao's eyes widened at the sound, and suddenly his hand was touching Peanut's face with drunk boldness.
"You're handsome," he declared with the devastating honesty only alcohol could provide.
Before Peanut could process the words—or the way they made his heart slam against his ribs—Yetao had wriggled free and was dancing away into the crowd, laughing like music given form.
What followed was chaos. Beautiful, terrible chaos.
Yetao danced with strangers as if they were lifelong friends, played games with children as if he were one himself, and gambled with merchants as if money meant nothing. And through it all, Peanut chased after him, caught between exasperation and enchantment.
For the first time in years—perhaps decades—Peanut forgot who he was supposed to be. Forgot his mission. Forgot everything except the intoxicating joy of living in the moment with someone who made the world feel infinite.
The festival wound down like a music box slowly losing its spring.
Yetao, exhausted and still slightly drunk, had curled up on a stone bench with his head pillowed on Peanut's shoulder. His face, peaceful in sleep, wore the innocent expression of someone who trusted completely.
Peanut's fingers moved through Yetao's dark hair with unconscious tenderness, watching the way his lips formed a small pout in sleep. For this moment—just this one stolen moment—he allowed himself to feel what he'd been fighting all night.
Love.
The word struck him like a physical blow.
"Master."
The shadow-wreathed figure materialized so suddenly that Peanut's blood turned to ice. His hand stilled in Yetao's hair.
"I have located the sistrum," the assassin reported in a voice like grinding stone. "It lies sealed within Hathor's temple. Shall I secure it?"
The world tilted.
Peanut's lips parted soundlessly as the weight of his true purpose crashed back down upon him. The sistrum—the mystical artifact that bound Yetao's soul to his body. The key to everything he'd been ordered to accomplish.
His gaze fell to Yetao's sleeping face, so trusting, so beautiful, so utterly unaware that the man whose shoulder he rested upon was his death sentence given human form.
If I destroy the sistrum, his soul will be freed from his body, Peanut thought, his heart hammering against his ribs like a caged bird. And without his soul...
"This man will die the moment I extract what I need," he whispered to himself, the words tasting like poison. "But then... why am I hesitating?"
The assassin shifted impatiently. "Master? Should I retreat?"
For a heartbeat that lasted an eternity, Peanut stared into Yetao's peaceful face. Every instinct screamed at him to call off the mission, to protect this gentle soul who had somehow crawled past every defense he'd built around his heart.
But duty was a chain forged in blood and shadow, and some bonds could not be broken by mere affection.
His hand clenched into a fist.
"No." The word came out steady, final, and filled with self-loathing. "Proceed with the mission."
The assassin melted back into darkness, leaving Peanut alone with his sleeping target and the weight of his betrayal.
He continued stroking Yetao's hair, each gentle touch now feeling like another knife in his own heart.
I should stop confusing this face with his', he told himself desperately. This is not him. This is just....
But even as he thought the words, he knew they were lies.
As the last lamps of the festival guttered out and dawn crept across the horizon, Peanut sat holding the man he was going to kill, wondering if this was what damnation felt like.
To be continued...