A chance encounter
Azmaveth Vincenzo Discord-D'Angelo. Eldeset of Nyx and Alex. He was a charming boy, took after his father's appearance and personality, but with his mother's phenotypes and ruthlessness. Like his mother, he joined the Tzelic Navy and in 1997, was deployed to Egypt. It was another day in Cairo, the sun shining, soldiers walking the streets, and people walking around enjoying the day. One of the soldiers was Azmaveth, 7 feet tall and pale-skinned. Instead of black camouflage, he wore blue camouflage with black gear.
“It’s hot,” Azmaveth commented, taking off his helmet and sunglasses. He shook his head a bit, shaking the sweat. His hair was the same shade of midnight blue as Nyx’s. His eyes are the same dark purple, but his jawline is angular. Upon taking off his sunglasses, he noticed a beautiful young woman with long black hair. Azmaveth couldn’t help but marvel at her beauty, his dark purple eyes widening in awe. He noticed her stop at a street vendor to buy something. His inner Italian and those chivalry classes he took in high school weren’t about to let her pay herself. He sprinted over before she could hand over the money.
“Allow me, miss,” He said, fluent Arabic in a charming tone, handing the vendor cash, probably more than what it was worth.
“El-ragel el-mohtaram haida’a koll haga,” he added. The girl was taken aback, utterly surprised by the kind gesture.
“Oh… Shukran…” She hesitantly thanked, grabbing a flour sack and clutching it to her chest.
“Afwan. Anything for a pretty young lady like you,” He charmed, a satisfied grin on his face. The young woman blushed, clearly flattered by his words. From the way she blushed and averted her eyes, Azmaveth could tell she thought he was handsome, but was too shy.
“Ismak ey?” he asked. The girl looked surprised but quickly composed himself and answered.
“Nefertari,” she responded. Azmaveth nodded, familiar with the name, one of many Egyptian pharaohs, the name meaning most beautiful. Befitting of her.
“Nefertari, a beautiful name for a beautiful girl. Ismee Azmaveth,” he fancied.
“Nefertari!” A voice called out. She jumped, recognizing her father’s voice.
“I–I have to go,” she stuttered out, then hurried to her father. Azmaveth instantly recognized him, Hanif Al-Dahab. He was a diplomat Nyx talked to before the Tzelic Soldiers were deployed in Egypt. Hanif had tried talking to her husband, Alex, first, only for Alex to stare at him blankly. Alex couldn't speak Arabic, let alone geopolitical talk like Nyx could.
“That asshole is her dad? He never mentioned that Nefertari was his daughter; she wasn’t even at the meeting!” Azmaveth pondered, anger slowly riling up inside him.
“I don’t like that guy,” he decided as he watched Nefertari disappear into the crowd.
“Flour,” he scoffed.
“What kind of man sends a girl like that to buy flour?” he asked in disbelief.
Home wasn’t her dad’s mansion for Nefertari. It was more like a gilded cage. Here she was treated like a servant, a maid for her stepmother and stepsiblings. Walking inside only filled her with tension.
“Make yourself useful and start making dinner for the family,” Hanif ordered, a scowl on his face.
“Aywa, Abbahat,” Nefertari sadly nodded, making her way towards the kitchen. She grabbed a bowl of dough, adding more flour, yeast, and water to it. Once she finished kneading it, she set it aside to rise.
“Nefertari!” a child-like voice called out. It was Atiya, her 11-year-old stepsister. Unlike Nefertari, Atiya had warm beige skin with wavy brown hair that fell over her shoulders. She wore a simple, sleeveless pink dress
“What are you making for dinner?” She first asked, her tone coming off as friendly and curious, but Nefertari knew that tone of voice had conditions.
“Kersha and Eish Baladi,” Nefertari answered, preparing for Atiya’s demands. She knew Atiya never approached her unless she needed something.
“I need you to sew this back together, now,” Atiya ordered, shoving a bright orange dress at her. It was torn in the back.
“How did it get torn?” Nefertari asked. Her voice was gentle, but Atiya was already annoyed.
“Why must you ask so many questions? Does it even matter?” Atiya snapped.
“I’m just… curious…” Nefertari flinched, shrinking into herself.
“I tore it at school, now stop asking questions and sew it back together!” Atiya demanded. Nefertari flinched again but nodded in obligation.
“Aywa, Atiya,” grabbing the dress and going into the other room to get her sewing kit.
Little did Nefertari know, Azmaveth was watching her through his shadow raven, and he wasn’t happy.
“So that’s why she wasn’t at the dinner. She’s Hanif’s daughter, she’s an indentured servant to his family,” Azmaveth thought, clenching his jaw. He had so many questions, so few answers. Nefertari had to be Christian as he noticed her cross necklace. Hanif and his family were Muslims. Why was a Christian girl in their house? Did Hanif honestly think he could hide her and nobody would find out? Azmaveth was going to find out the whole truth.
Cairo base, Nyx’s office
Azmaveth returned to the modular base located in the middle of the desert. He walked into his mom’s office like a man with a purpose, because he was. Nyx, looking through papers, noticed.
“Azmaveth, what’s going on?” Nyx asked, seeing the serious look on his normally laid-back face.
“You know Hanif’s daughters?” Azmaveth first asked.
“Ja, Yasmina, Daniyah, and Atiya,” Nyx listed.
“What if I told you there’s a fourth?”
“I don’t recall a fourth daughter,” Nyx replied.
“Her name is Nefertari,” Azmaveth said.
“That’s a different name from the others,” Nyx noticed. Unlike the daughters she did meet, it didn't end with an A, and Nefertari was an ancient Egyptian name, more commonly used by Copts. Not an Arabic name.
“Not just that, take a look,” Azmaveth summoned his raven, which showed a screen. It showed everything from Hanif telling Nefertari to make herself useful and cook dinner, to Atiya demanding her skirt be sewn. Then it showed what was happening right now, dinner.
Everyone sat around the table, eating the kersha Nefertari had prepared. The table was lively with Nefertari’s stepmother and stepsisters conversing about their day, Hanif listening to them talk, and the boys focused on enjoying their food. Nefertari, on the other hand, seemed depressed. She didn’t have much of an appetite, taking a few bites and mostly mindlessly stirring the stew.
“Yousra,” Hanif suddenly called out. Yousra perked up, looking at him with a smile.
“Something interesting happened today,” Hanif mentioned with a smug look. That look filled Nefertari with dread.
“And what was that?” Yousra asked, moving some hair out of her face.
“One of the Tzelic soldiers went up to Nefertari,” Hanif revealed.
“Oh?” Everyone looked intrigued,
“Was he hot?” Atiya asked, giggling.
“Nefertari thought so because she was blushing nonstop,” Hanif replied with a smirk.
“Abbahat…” Nefertari protested, but it came out as a squeak.
“Well, what did he do?” Yousra asked.
“He paid for her flour and started calling her beautiful,” Hanif continued. Everyone giggled, although Daniyah couldn’t help but feel jealous. She had been trying to get the attention of those Tzelic soldiers, but they were like statues or robots.
“Why would they be interested in you? You’re a regular girl, nothing special,” Daniyah scoffed. “I bet if he saw me, he would think I’m prettier,” she added with a smirk. Nefertari bit her lip, trying to hold back tears. If she got any attention, Daniyah would somehow turn it into how pretty she was.
“Did you think he would scoop you in his arms and take you away to his home country?”
“W-what? No,” Nefertari blurted out, although secretly, that’s what she wanted. To be taken away from this household. Somewhere, she would feel loved and appreciated.
“What did he look like?” Yasmina asked.
“He was tall, like the other soldiers, and pale,” Hanif described.
“Pale?” Daniyah repeated, sounding skeptical.
“Paler than anyone I’ve ever seen,” Hanif confirmed.
"His skin was nearly white, almost like a ghost or a corpse,” He added. Daniyah shuddered at her stepdad’s description of the soldier, suddenly losing all interest.
Dinner ended, and Nefertari spent time in the kitchen doing the dishes. Afterwards, she retreated to her room. It was a small, humble space. White walls, a twin bed against the wall, a small desk and a nightstand, and a small window. Nefertari grabbed a picture from the nightstand, one of her mom. She snuck it into her bag before moving to this house. Other relatives took the rest of the pictures. It was the only picture of her mom that Nefertari had. She was a spitting image of Nefertari, with the same warm golden skin, brown eyes, and long black hair.
“Mama, I wish you were still here with me,” Nefertari muttered, a tear falling down her cheek. She gently put the picture down, then walked to her wardrobe. She changed out of her clothing and into a simple black nightgown, then got in bed. Nefertari took one last look at the picture of her mom, then turned the lamp off.
