The last traces of incense and underground bloom faded from Aiesha’s coat as she slipped past the pyramid’s eastern flank, where the shadow stretched longest and the hidden entrance lay furthest from sight. No guard challenged her departure; the night was young, the sentries still turning their eyes inward with the influx of new bodies.

She did not look back.

The plains unfolded without ceremony. Dry grass bent underfoot in pale silver waves, stretching mile after mile beneath a sky thick with stars. No trees for the first long stretch, only the occasional low knoll rising like a sleeping animal, its crest worn smooth by wind. Here and there a single acacia stood solitary, branches twisted into shapes that might have been pleas or warnings. She skirted them.

Hours passed in the rhythm of her own breathing and the soft crunch of her steps. The pyramid dwindled behind her—first a black fang against the stars, then a dark silhouette, then nothing more than a deeper shadow on the horizon, so distant it might have been mistaken for a mirage if she had not known better. Aiesha stopped at last on the crest of a shallow rise.

She sat, haunches folding beneath her, tail curling loosely around her paws. Exhaustion pressed harder now that motion had ceased, a dull ache settling into muscle and bone, yet she did not lie down. Lying down would mean rest, and rest would mean thinking—really thinking—about how everything continued to change.

Unknown stars wheeled slowly overhead.