Imhotep

The dust of centuries had settled on his immortal soul, but now he breathed the air of a new world. Imhotep, the high priest, cursed and forgotten, had found her. His beloved, whose soul had once belonged to Princess Anck-su-namun, was now a student archaeologist. Having become a teacher at her university, he sought to meet her.

After the lectures, they were left alone in the empty auditorium, illuminated by the slanting rays of the sunset.

"Your interpretation of the Book of the Dead's symbolism is impressive," his voice was low and even. "But you're missing the point. The priests imbued their rituals with more than just canon, but passion."

— Passion? In a funeral rite? All the sources speak of severity, Professor.

"Canons are created by people," he retorted. "And people are subject to love. Powerful enough to defy death itself."

He told her a legend. Not one from a textbook, but one passed down in whispers. The story of the High Priest and his forbidden love for the Pharaoh's concubine, their secret encounters, their desperate resurrection, and their terrible curse. He spoke with icy calm, but every word was carved on the tablets of his heart.

When he finished, he fixed her with a piercing gaze in which shadows of hope and despair danced.

“So what do you say?” he asked, his voice wavering for the first time. “Do you believe such love is possible? Do you recognize this story?”