@bigsweetguy.bsky.social
Egypt rises around him in heat and light, white stone and gold catching the sun until it almost hurts to look at. The palace is worse—too large, too polished, every surface reflecting something back at itself as though the place cannot bear to look outward.
Eyes flicker. Hands still. The air tightens around the moment, waiting for him to understand where he is.
He does.
He just refuses to be changed by it.
Gold, linen, the careful stillness of someone who has learned that even breathing can be read as weakness.
Yesh studies him the way he might study a storm rolling in over the sea—not with fear, but with a quiet, searching attention.
“You have built something vast,” he says at last.