The Dragon blood of Nile

There was a time, spoken only in forbidden whispers, when the royal bloodline carried the power of dragons.

They shifted between human and scaled wings, ruling Kemet with fire and sky.

But the age of dragons ended in ash.

The mages and scribes, fearing the might of the shifting royals, formed a secret alliance and hunted the dragon race to extinction. Not a single scaled heir survived—or so history claimed.

Now the kingdom belonged to the scribes: the last generation of scholars who guarded knowledge like treasure. Only the royals were allowed to read and write, and the grand libraries were locked to common hands. Without literacy or power, ordinary people depended on the scribes for everything—understanding, law, and even truth.

⸻

The morning began with a firm knock.

The head maid, Maria, entered with two young attendants behind her. She motioned silently, and the maids rushed to pull the tall curtains apart. A flood of golden sunlight washed into the chambers, spilling across the princess’s face.

Princess Isis groaned and buried her face in the pillows.

“Urrgh… so early. Couldn’t you wait a little longer, Maria?” She pushed herself up, her hair a dark, tangled mess.

Maria folded her arms, her stern expression already prepared.

“Princess Isis, you must stop sneaking out of the palace at night. One day you will bring trouble upon yourself—and on us.”

Isis slid her feet to the floor as two maids lifted a light, silky white gown over her shoulders.

“Sometimes you sound just like my late mother,” she muttered. Then, with a sigh, “What is the task for today?”

“Your tutor has been waiting a long while, my princess,” Maria replied. “History is the subject for the morning.”

“No, no, anything but those boring classes!” Isis groaned dramatically. “I’m sick of hearing dead men’s names and battles. I wish I could be a commoner sometimes. If only you had come with me yesterday—you would’ve seen real freedom. They were so happy at the festival last night.”

Maria pressed her lips together. “Yes, yes, I will hear it all after your lesson.” Then she turned to the maids. “Take the princess to the bath. It has already been prepared.”

Isis rolled her eyes but allowed herself to be guided away.

Steam rose from the stone tub beyond her chamber doors, and for a moment—just a moment—she wondered what life looked like outside these gilded walls…

A pair of silk garments were brought forth for her—

a small top that wrapped neatly around her chest, and a long flowing skirt that hugged her hips before cascading down to her ankles. The maid wrapped the skirt twice at her waist, securing it with a golden clasp.

Then came the jewelry: warm gold against her sun-kissed skin.

A collar necklace, thin bangles, and a chain around her waist that chimed softly with every step.

Another maid leaned in to apply kohl, drawing long, elegant streaks of black around Isis’s large round brown eyes. Her thick lashes fluttered as the makeup was perfected.

Her dark brown hair was braided into one long plait, decorated with tiny gold cuffs that glimmered like stars with every movement.

“Perfect, my princess,” the maid whispered.

Isis rose, now fully transformed into royalty, and headed to the large study chamber.

⸻

The room was vast—walls lined with towering shelves packed with scrolls, clay tablets, and leather-bound books. A long stone table occupied the center, where her tutor, an elderly scribe with a thin white beard, sat waiting.

The moment she entered, he stood and bowed deeply.

“My princess.”

Isis sighed and took her seat.

“Yes, yes. History, right? Shall we begin.”

She plucked a feather quill and dipped it into the ink. The tutor opened an aged book and began to read, his voice soft but steady. She copied his words onto parchment, though her handwriting wandered like a rebellious river.

But today’s lesson… felt different.

The tale he told—war, fire, creatures of the sky—pulled at her curiosity like a magnetic thread.

“So you are saying,” Isis interrupted, leaning forward, “there were dragons once? Real dragons?”

The old tutor nodded gently.

“My grandparents told me such stories, my princess. But they are folk tales now… merely myths found in old books.”

Isis giggled softly.

“That’s interesting. If once a mage existed, then perhaps dragons did too. Anything is possible.”

The tutor closed the book with a smile.

“That concludes today’s lesson. May I have your parchment?”

Isis didn’t move. She glanced at her maid with the expression of someone refusing to admit defeat. The maid stepped forward politely and handed the parchment to the tutor.

He chuckled the moment he looked at it.

“Princess… no matter how much you write, your handwriting grows worse.”

The maid covered her smile behind her hand. Isis shot her a deadly glare—then forced a polite smile at the tutor.

“It is because these hands,” Isis said proudly, lifting her fingers, “prefer to hold a bow and arrow rather than a feather.”

The chamber door opened with a heavy groan.

King Amon stepped inside—tall, stern, and aged by years of rule. His once-black hair had turned a dignified grey, falling in straight shoulder-length strands around a face carved with authority. His presence alone straightened every spine in the room.

“Your Majesty,” Horus said quickly, rising to his feet and bowing.

Isis stood as well, lowering her head respectfully.

“Father,” she murmured.

King Amon’s sharp eyes scanned the room before settling on the two of them.

“So, Horus,” he said, voice cold and steady, “how is your student’s performance?”

Horus offered a hopeful smile.

“Princess Isis is talented, my lord. Improving day by day.”

Amon’s face remained unmoved.

“It doesn’t seem like it.”

Isis raised her chin slightly.

“Father—my lord—I have been paying attention—”

“Is that so?” His tone sliced through her words.

“Then tomorrow, I will take your test myself. And you, Horus…” His gaze turned dangerously firm.

“If you are being lenient with her, I have many other tutors who can replace you.”

He didn’t wait for a response. With a swirl of royal robes, he turned and strode out of the chamber.

The moment the doors shut, Horus released a long breath.

“My princess… you must practice everything I have taught you up till now.”

Isis crossed her arms, trying to look unfazed.

“We’ll see tomorrow,” she said with a defiant smirk.

Isis leaned over the balcony rail, her eyes narrowing as distant shouts echoed across the palace grounds. Soldiers hurried below, forming lines, carrying spears, preparing horses.

“What is happening?” she whispered.

Maria stepped beside her, hands folded anxiously.

“The king has summoned his generals, my princess. There is commotion at the northern border.”

Isis’s face lit up.

“So that means Amon is here too?” She shot Maria a mischievous wink.

Maria rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful.

“My princess, please… you must behave like a young and respectful lady.”

Isis laughed softly and patted Maria’s shoulder.

“Stop being so bossy, Maria. Just let me meet him once—and don’t you dare interrupt us.”

She walked away, already planning her escape.

“Take care of the queen and my step-siblings,” she added over her shoulder. “Keep watch. Bye!”

She broke into a run, her gold cuffs jingling as she sprinted down the corridor.

“Princess! No, you must—” Maria called after her, but Isis was already gone.

Left alone, Maria sighed deeply, pressing a hand to her forehead.

“God help me… this girl will be the death of me.”

Isis slipped into the palace gardens, moving behind columns like a thief of her own freedom. She peeked from behind a stone pillar.

“Where is General Amon…? Ah—there he is.”

A few steps away, a young maid was watering plants. Isis snapped her fingers.

“Hey! You—come here!”

The maid hurried over, bowing.

“My princess, at your service.”

Isis pointed subtly toward a group of soldiers.

“You see that man there? Wearing the black turban? That is General Amon. Go and tell him the princess is awaiting.”

“Yes, my princess.” The maid hurried off.

Isis dusted off her dress, smoothed her hair, and exhaled deeply. Her heart pounded fast—too fast—just from the idea of seeing him again.

General Amon approached moments later, led by the maid.

Isis tried to keep her expression calm, controlled, regal…

But inside, she was fighting a war of smiles and nerves.

Amon’s green eyes met hers. They were sharp, bright, and impossibly steady. His sun-kissed skin was marked with thin scars—one cutting across his left eyebrow, another along his chin—proof he had lived through battles others only read about.

“My princess,” he greeted, bowing. “I hope everything is well.”

“Ah—yes, of course.” Isis cleared her throat, trying to sound composed. “I… wanted to show you something, General. If you have time.”

“I do, my lady,” he replied. “I leave tomorrow with my men to inspect the northern border. Until then, I am free.”

“Perfect. Then this way, please.”

She led him down a corridor until they reached the training grounds.

Amon frowned.

“My princess… this is not a place for a lady. This is—”

“I know, General,” Isis cut him off softly. “Still, I practice archery. I know women aren’t meant to do this, but… I want to learn. I want to defend myself.”

He hesitated.

“My princess, it is our duty to protect you and the royal family.”

“Please, General Amon…” Her voice dipped, pleading. “Just this one time.”

Amon exhaled slowly, then nodded.

“As you wish, my princess.”

With a gesture, he dismissed the guards watching them. They bowed and left at once.

Alone in the wide, sunlit training ground, Isis strode to the table and picked up a bow and arrow.

She took her stance—steady feet, straight spine, gaze locked on the target.

Then she released.

The arrow shot forward—straight into the center of the mark.

Amon’s eyebrows raised in pure shock.

Isis took another arrow, fired—another perfect hit.

Then another—just as precise.

She turned to him with a proud grin.

“I’ve practiced so much, ever since I first saw you training when I was a child. So… tell me. How is it?”

Amon allowed himself a small smile.

“Impressive, my princess. You have learned very well.”

A maid came running into the grounds, breathless.

“My princess! The head maid calls for you. It is urgent.”

Isis muttered a curse under her breath but masked it with a polite smile.

“I will be there in a minute.”

She turned back to Amon.

“When you return, you will teach me more. Agreed?”

Amon bowed deeply.

“Yes, my princess.”

With one last look at him—one that lingered a moment too long—Isis left with the maid.

At Dawn — The Northern Border

Amon left at dawn, the rising sun painting gold across the desert horizon. His men rode behind him—some on horseback, others on tall desert camels. Swords hung at their waists, bows slung across their backs, quivers knocking softly with each step.

They traveled fast.

By midday, the northern border came into view—and Amon slowed, his breath catching in his chest.

Most of the villages were burned. Huts collapsed. Smoke rose faintly from the blackened earth. Not a single living soul moved among the ruins.

The desert was silent. Too silent.

Amon scanned the horizon.

“Spread out. We stay here for the day,” he ordered.

The soldiers set up tents, forming a circle around the ruins. The day passed with eerie quiet. No enemy, no sound, no movement.

But when night fell…

Two soldiers lit a fire in the center of the camp, feeding dry wood into the flames.

Then—thud.

The sand shifted.

Another thud, closer.

Amon froze.

“Everyone—alert!” he commanded.

Swords slid free. Shields lifted. Bows aimed.

The ground cracked.

And something enormous burst through the sand—

a monstrous scorpion-like creature, its shell black and shiny like obsidian, pincers large enough to crush a man whole.

Soldiers screamed.

Amon’s throat tightened.

In all his years, he had never faced a desert beast of this size.

“What is that thing?” he whispered, horror tightening his chest.

The men panicked—some running, others swinging blindly.

The beast struck first.

It hurled sand in a violent spray, trapping a few soldiers as they sank screaming into the dunes. Then its massive claw clamped down—crushing two soldiers instantly.

Amon could only watch, helpless, fury burning in his chest.

Then—a blur of movement.

A man appeared as if summoned by the night wind.

Bare-chested, muscles carved like stone.

A simple loincloth tied at his hips.

Long brown hair falling down his back, caught with golden rings.

Both ears decorated with long, dangling earrings.

In one hand he held a massive twin-bladed sword, in the other, a long spear.

He moved like lightning.

With one swift leap, he landed atop the sand mound and sliced downward.

SHKK—

He cut one of the beast’s enormous claws clean off.

The monster shrieked, thrashing wildly.

The man dodged its swinging tail with a fluid, impossible motion—jumping high into the air. He landed on the creature’s back, running along its shell with unbelievable balance.

Before the beast could throw him off, he spun his spear and drove it straight into the beast’s eye.

A roar—deafening.

The desert trembled.

Amon stared, speechless, heart hammering as the mysterious warrior stood atop the writhing monster like a god carved from flame and iron.

Who was he?

And why did he appear in the moment between life and death?