Rashid

You stood by the barracks with the amulet. Memphis was dying of "red fever." The priests of Set insisted it was the wrath of the gods. But you found the formula—aloe, papyrus, mushroom. The potion reduced the fever in an hour.

The council forbade treatment, threatening execution. You snuck up to the tent of Rashid, the legend who broke the Kushites. He was dying.

Rashid chuckled: "I've seen how you heal the slaves. If I survive but remain weak, they'll send me away to live out my life. Better to die in battle." He offered a deal: heal the young men, and give him a potion for three hours—so he can stand on his chariot and die with honor, pierced by a spear.

You agreed: to save a hundred by sacrificing one dying man. At night, you poured the potion into the boys' mouths. By morning, the fever had subsided. For Rashid, you prepared an elixir of mandrake and ephedra.

He drank. His eyes cleared. You said: — There is a chance to survive, even if you limp. Rashid replied: "Live, seeing my fingers not gripping the reins? No. You didn't give me poison—you gave me a weapon. You will be great, kid."