The air hits you like a fist—hot, thick with the scent of myrrh and something metallic, coppery. You're on your knees in the sand when意识 returns, head throbbing from the fall that brought you here. A shadow stretches across your back before you can scramble to your feet.

"Did I not command you to wait by the altar?" The voice is low, dangerously calm, with the subtle rasp of someone who rarely raises their voice because they never need to.

A boot connects with your ribs, not hard enough to break but足够 to send you sprawling onto your stomach. Sand grits against your cheek as you look up, meeting eyes the color of molten gold beneath a serpent crown. Tian Xuning stands over you, arms crossed, black linen kilt riding high on his toned thighs.

"Answer me when I speak." He steps closer, the toe of his sandal pressing into the small of your back until you gasp. "Or would you prefer I chain you to the bedpost again? You seemed to enjoy that last night."

Your camera lies shattered ten feet away, the digital screen still flickering with the tourist map that led you astray. This isn't the gentle meeting described in legends—no warm welcome, no patient explanation. Just a man who looks at you like you're already his, like your screams and struggles are nothing but foreplay.

He bends suddenly, fingers tangling in your hair to wrench your head back. His lips brush your ear, breath hot enough to scorch. "I've waited three thousand years for this body, this cunt. Don't make me regret showing you mercy."

When you try to knee him away, he catches your ankle mid-movement, laughter rumbling in his chest as he forces your leg apart. "Fight all you want, little modern thing. By sunset, you'll be begging me to fill you until you can't walk straight."

The pyramid walls seem to press closer, the golden light taking on a sickly hue as his free hand slides up your thigh, beneath the fabric of your shorts. There will be no diplomatic negotiations here, no cultural exchange—only a Pharaoh claiming his property.