Prologue

There once was a time when there existed the most powerful man in the world. For three millennia, the Pharaohs of Egypt ruled the greatest empire of the world. Throughout this time, Egypt was a land equally feared and respected among neighbouring societies.

The Pharaoh was much to do with Egypt’s wealth and grandeur. He oversaw Egypt and every territory it possessed. He demanded authority for himself and obedience from others. Every Egyptian farmer, craftsmen, noble, and, after a few short years, the foreign slaves, too, thought he was the reincarnation of the God Horus.

But, if the God-King did not receive the respect he deserved, the immortals would not be pleased. They would be powerless to stop the forces of evil from dominating the earth, and humanity would plunge into depression. The Great River, that provided regulation, unity and strength for Egypt, would deviate from its path, creating either floods or drought alike. Crops would fail, famine would spread, and chaos would conquer the great civilization. Every Egyptian knew that this was entirely possible, and that if they stepped out of line, they would be held responsible for instigating chaos, and upsetting Ma’at, the balance of the universe. There have also been times, throughout history, of confusion concerning the royal line. Sometimes suspicions would arise that the current Pharaoh was not of the blood of the Pharaohs, or simply Egypt was left with no heir. This left Egypt vulnerable to attack by foreigners, who would claim Egypt for their own and unlawfully declare themselves Pharaoh. After several floods and droughts, civilians all seemed to get the idea that the Pharaoh was fundamental to Egypt’s prosperity, and that he should be respected and protected at all costs.

There have been times, however, where Egypt flourished under the reign of a Pharaoh, and then – quite unexpectedly – there would hit a flood or a drought that would turn Egypt into ruin. Often, the Pharaoh himself was blamed, either for not being the ‘true’ Pharaoh or misinterpreting the Gods’ will (though the latter job generally belonged to priests and priestesses). Eventually, the accused Pharaoh would see a change in fortune, or would die in low esteem, not remembered very highly by his subjects. Or, it was said that the deities ‘cleaned up’, referring to when there was a break in the line after the fraudulent Pharaoh died, and a new, more capable, and of course ‘true’ Pharaoh stepped up to claim the thrown.

So, as you can see, as wonderful and privileged as being Pharaoh might be, it is also not without its dangers. It takes a strong person to handle the pressure, the responsibility and the burdens of ruling the most powerful kingdom in the world. It also takes a strong influence to resist usurpers of the thrown.

Yes, holding the title of Pharaoh is like wearing a robe of bloody animal meat while surrounded by rabid canines. You’re just asking for danger. The simple title has always symbolized power, and those who lust for it will always be there, ready to relieve you of both (for they go hand in hand) when weakness shows.

Throughout my own reign as Pharaoh, I had come to discover something, lessons I have learned that will begin to enfold shortly:

Magic is a wonderful, yet strange thing. It is an energy that directs itself freely. It has complete control over itself, while mortals are but wasted by all of its curious effects. I have had some encounters with this free-flowing energy. Each time, I feel as though I were given a chance to be enlightened, but I waste it, not knowing what to do with the short amount of time I am in its presence. And, so, I remain semi-mortal, my empire’s mortal god. I decide everything. I decide the doings of my people, our everyday chores to the immortals, our survival habits, our punishments, our entire way of life. Yet somethings are not up to any mortal, even semi-mortal, as they are uncontrollable. All we can ever do is whatever is within our power to do. That is life.

My first encounter (that I can recall) with any sort of magic was many years ago, long before my father’s death. It is this magic that has led me on a path to enlightenment, which I must share with you. Ironically, it matters not to me whether you pick up the intended morals, but rather that that, in itself is the moral: that no matter what we do, what we believe, we cannot change the force of destiny.

Many will take this in different ways. But remember, there are so many different ways and none are right or wrong. Some will think that destiny is a form of chance, deciding at random the outcome of events in the universe, and that some things we cannot control as mortals. Some will think that we have the power to change destiny, and that we are not ruled by any self-governed force. And some will see it my way: in between.

The following tale strives to show a message, that which will not cause grave consequences if not understood by any, but rather will impress me if it is. The following takes the form of a series of events that have occurred in my life that have led me to my conclusions. (It is also for entertainment purposes.)