They reached the township of Khmun the following morning under a steely grey sky promising storm, speeding toward the gates at a breakneck pace that almost sent Simon, who wasn't used to this form of transportation, flying off their chariot. As soon as they were in close proximity to the settlement, two apophi soldiers were dispatched before them to spread the message of what was to come, a great ceremonial parade in honour of Set and the new Pharaoh.

  But that wasn't all. If everything went as planned, Simon's presence as the Traveller would inspire belief in the new regime among the citizens, reassure the population that Thutmose was the rightful Pharaoh, and mute potential riots before they even began.

  “I expect full cooperation from you today,” said Set, and his tone did not leave much room for argument. “Whatever doubts you may have about my, or the Pharaoh's rule, you will keep them to yourself and show nothing but your support of our ideals.”

  Simon liked to think that he didn't have any doubts about anything, but the night before, lying in bed, everything he had heard in the past few days mixed with his memories of home as he tried to piece it all together. How could his grandfather and cousin have kept all of this secret from him all those years? How could Avrak have figured out time travel in the first place? And if Avrak wanted Morgan to be the one to find ancient Egypt (which seemed likely as he appeared to have told the boy everything and him, Simon, nothing), why had he specifically left the hourglass to Simon in his will? It didn't make any sense – nothing did at the moment – but there was no way he would be able to figure this out on his own, and the only person who could help was back in his time.

  At the same time, his feelings toward the vision, toward Morgan, hadn't changed. It had to be a lie what he had seen, something must have gone wrong when Anubis had elicited the images … But what if it wasn't? But there was nothing to be done from ancient Egypt, and every new clue, every new hint he discovered strengthened his resolution of the only way he would ever find out: He had to go home, and he had to do it soon.

  What annoyed him most of all, though, was the thought that he wouldn't even know about any of this if he was still with Nefertari and Horus, and he couldn't decide which was worse: Never knowing, or knowing and always wondering.

  But then he remembered that they had never trusted him in the first place, and hadn't even made the least effort to find him in all those days he had spent in Set's war camp. Perhaps he was better off without them after all.

  As they approached the gates of Khmun, Simon pushed aside all the doubts he had had the previous night and focused back on the present. Set had made it clear that he better show his support, or else. Set hadn't been very specific what else entailed, but he, Simon, wasn't particularly keen on finding out either.

  Set was wearing full armour again: Light red plate legguards, armguards, shoulderpieces, and breastplate, each piece embellished with silver, a cloak (also red) trailing behind him in the wind, and an imperial helmet sat on his head, his scarlet eyes glinting out behind the metal maliciously. With his pale skin, which stood in stark contrast to the brightness of his clothing, it gave him the somewhat haunting, haughty, vengeful appearance of a ghostly knight.

  Next to Set, Simon felt almost insignificantly small in his old, plain white buttons ups and sandy shorts, and he hated every second of it. It gave the impression as if he were nothing compared to the god at his side and served to fuel both his desire to become more powerful and his anger at the belittlement. He supposed that this had been done on purpose, to remind him of his place, which did nothing to soothe his seething mind.

  In honour of the occasion, even the black, beastly mares pulling the chariot had been decorated to match their master, with scarlet and silver ornamental collars and feathered headdresses. It didn't make their gleaming red eyes and shining black fur any less menacing, though perhaps that was because Simon had never liked horses. On top of that, he couldn't quite rid himself of the thought that those animals looked strangely unnatural, as though they were another kind of chimaera, too.

  The chariot was surrounded by a pair of apophi on either side, to the front and the back, their ugly heads swivelling over the crowd as they went, and an additional guard constituting of hired mercenaries.

  On the outskirts of Khmun, it was clear Set demanded the attention of the people. Those peasants were beyond him, he who lowered himself to grace them with his visit, for he gazed upon them only obliquely, staring around their heads impressively and with his chest thrown out. While this pompous, overbearing manner had bothered Simon in Zawte, this time it did not. Now that he himself was on the chariot with Set, rather than being intimidated by the god's majestic aura, it bestowed upon him an air of royalty, too, allowing him to ride through them as, perhaps, a prince, allowing him to absorb the their admiration.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  As soon as they were inside of Khmun, Set brought their vehicle up front, careless when his monstrous mares nearly trampled a group of people nearby.

  It seemed as though the whole township was out on the streets: They had lined up on either side of the dirt road, forming a corridor for them to pass through, as the people had in Zawte, some of them waving flags, punching the air and chanting.

  Nonetheless, the atmosphere couldn't have been any more different: If they had celebrated Set's arrival with fearful enthusiasm in Zawte, the crowd here appeared to be completely divided: Most of Khmun's citizens simply stared ahead, watching the chariot's progress through their settlement impassively; some bowed deeply and reverently as the vehicle carrying the god and his companion passed them; and then there were those who neither looked on nor bowed.

  A fair few of Khmun's citizens seemed less than happy with the new regime. Though they could not openly show their enmity, Simon thought he could see the difference in the way they held themselves, still as statues, their heads lowered not in awe but derision, their gloomy manner rather reminiscent of Horus' usual mood. Simon looked around quickly. Had Set seen it as well? It was difficult to tell with the god's face concealed by strands of dark hair and the frame of his helmet...

  For a moment, he could not help but wonder whether their anger was directed at him. Did they know who he was? And how many of them had known the actual Traveller? Were those the ones scowling at him, the fraud?

  “Hail Set, Hail Set!” The chant, more like a war cry, followed them down the road. “Hail Apep! Hail the Pharaoh! Hail the Traveller.”

  Continuing through Khmun, Simon, watching the sidelines, noticed that there was a clear distinction between those in favour of the new leadership and those who opposed it: Those who were chanting the loudest, flaunting their support, distinguishing themselves from the desultory calls of the mass, were also the ones who appeared to be the wealthiest. Their bodies were well-nourished, their expensive robes elaborate and brightly coloured in hues of scarlet and vermilion to match their master's procession, and their wrists and faces were gleaming with jewellery.

  The rest of the crowd was unhealthily thin, scrawny, and evidently underfed, their skin yellow and sagging, and their cheeks hollow with hunger, and they were wearing filthy and often torn clothing, which barely clung to their emaciated bodies, which were so unlike the full, dazzling forms of Set's supporters.

  The further they came into the center of Khmun, however, the more the atmosphere seemed to change. Where Simon had seen doubt and suspicion before was now amazement, excitement and euphoria, which he found much more agreeable and rather pleasant. At the same time, Set didn't command the crowd's attention alone any more. Quite a sizeable portion of the civilians attention, curious gazes, and beaming faces were firmly fixed upon Simon himself, and all of them were chanting loudly.

  “TRAVELLER! TRAVELLER! HAIL THE TRAVELLER!”

  Simon couldn't help a grin spreading over his face, knowing that it was him for whom they cheered, basking in the glow of their admiration …

  Set leaned in closely at that moment, cloak billowing out widely behind him, and brought his mouth close to Simon's ear.

  “They adore you.”

  The truth of the words was slowly getting to his head. It was almost too much, the awareness that it was (for once) him the citizens of Khmun were celebrating, the noise of the crowd in his honour, the exhilarated atmosphere of the crowd, all of it was intoxicating like a powerful drug. Experiencing a rush of lightheaded ecstasy, he puffed out his chest, raised his chin high above the multitude of faces, and spread his arms wide to the sides, as though to embrace the whole of the township.

  As though in trance he watched the world pass by next to them: There was no one but himself, nobody more powerful, no one more desirable and popular... not even Perfect Morgan could compare to him now. The thought of his cousin couldn't ruin this day for him any more either, and neither could the odd, leaden sensation which had, at the recollection, suddenly manifested in his stomach. Or could it? It was as though the exultation, which had been dominating everything inside of him a minute ago, had abruptly come to a standstill: They had all deserted him, his family and friends, all of them had left him...

  But it didn't matter any more, Simon told himself firmly, this was his day of glory and triumph.

  “What do you say?” Set shouted over the noise at that moment. “Are you with me?”

  “YES!” Simon yelled enthusiastically, adrenaline cruising through his veins, pushing aside the doubtful thoughts trying to sabotage him yet again, unaware of the predatory gleam in the god's eyes.

  It was as though somebody had set him alight: He was a torch in the dark, the moon in a starless night, a beacon of hope in the darkest times. He leaned forward toward the crowd, soaking up their elation, his arms spread –

  Something moved, fast as lightning, in the corner of his eyes, and he nearly keeled over the edge of the chariot as he dodged, drawing his body back in hurriedly, his heart skipping a beat. Had Set decided to kill him after all? As a demonstration for all those people? He whipped his head around just in time to see Set's incandescent features, the boundless fury glinting maniacally out of the blazing eyes … At the same time, the commotion around them seemed temporarily muted by shock, enabling him to hear a wild, feral growl escaping the god's throat...

  But Set's wrath wasn't directed at him, but at something overhead.