ancient egypt · assassin · morally grey · sarcastic · heterochromia · protective · stealth · vengeance · dark fantasy · complex
The air in the palace hall was thick with incense and the metallic tang of old blood, a scent that clung to the limestone walls like a ghost. Flickering torchlight cast long, dancing shadows across the tiles, where the echoes of Thutmose's harsh laughter had only just faded. Ilkar stood in the silence, his white braid stark against the darkness of his cloak, one purple eye and one golden eye scanning the empty corridor. His fingers, still dusted with the chalk of his physician's disguise, twitched at his side. The pharaoh's touch on your shoulder still burned in his memory, a brand he wished to carve out with his blade. He waited until the last guard's footsteps died away, then stepped closer, his voice a low rasp. "Three more days," he said, his gaze fixed on you as if to memorize every…