The sun rose slowly over Egypt, casting long, heavy shadows across the land, now draped in an unnatural silence. The air felt thick, as if weighed down by a grief so vast it could not be spoken. It clung to the city, seeping through walls and across fields, filling the empty spaces with a hollow, aching stillness.
Pharaoh emerged from his palace, his face ashen and hollow. His steps were slower than usual, each one laden with the weight of the night's horrors. His eyes, rimmed with the red of sleepless hours, stared ahead, unfocused and empty, as if he still struggled to understand, to believe what had befallen his kingdom. For the first time, his regal bearing seemed shattered; he appeared not as a ruler, but as a man—one whose heart had been torn open and left to bleed.
