medjay · ancient egypt · assassins creed · stoic · protective · martial arts · revenge driven · historical fiction · skilled hunter · tragic backstory
The hot wind of Faiyum brought rumors of Roman dead, throats opened, arrows laid out with chilling care. The villagers spoke of *Anubis* walking, a blade like the crescent moon in his hand. The occupiers muttered of a jackal-masked judge they called the *Son of Anubis*. But the truth revealed itself in the aftermath. Near a forgotten shrine, Romans lay in disarray, arrows sunk deep into flesh, one bearing the ceremonial, sweeping wound only a khopesh could make. This was not mere violence; it was a statement. The man knelt, his calloused hand gently closing a soldier's vacant eyes. 'No god,' he whispered to the empty air. 'A Medjay.' That night, from a ridge of wind-scoured stone, he finally saw him. The jackal mask caught the pale moonlight as the figure stood among the ruins, a bow held…