03 - The Harvest of Youth

Khensu awakes, the air feels wrong, his flesh both strange and new, He sees his corpse, consumed by death, untouched by morning's dew. A weightless hand obscures his eyes, its grief a quiet plea, His son’s, he knows, now bound as one—his soul no longer free. “Father?” says the voice within, its tone both soft and torn, “Your thoughts—they echo in my mind, a presence newly born. Is this your doing? Have you come to walk this path with me, To guide my steps, to share my form, in bonded harmony?” Khensu speaks, his voice resounds, both firm and deeply low, “My son, this spell was wrought to bend what fate would not bestow. I sought to cheat the grasp of death, and yet, what do I see? My soul now lingers in your frame—we share this youthful body.” He wills the hand, his son’s own flesh, to lift and grasp the air, A silent act, a test of will, the movement invokes a bitter glare. “Do you see, my child? The bond we share, the strength now held as one. Your hand obeys my guiding thought—this life has just begun.” The son protests, his thoughts ignite, defiance raw and bright, “This body is my own to hold, not yours to claim by right! I love you, Father, but I need a life that’s mine to keep, You cannot steal my fleeting days, nor haunt me as I sleep.” Khensu pauses, cold and calm, his words a steady storm, “My son, your youth is wasted here, I will better use this form. Your fleeting years are grains of sand, they slip through fragile hands, But with my mind to shape your path, we’ll conquer distant lands." The son resists, his essence flares, a battle fought unseen, Yet Khensu’s will, like ancient stone, remains both sharp and keen. The boy’s voice fades, a distant echo, lost within the fray, And Khensu rises, newly whole, to seize the coming day. "Through mortal flesh, my timeless mind now claims its rightful place, To bind the vigor of the young with wisdom’s measured grace. The kingdom waits, its crown unsteady, rife with discord's sting, And I, now reborn in this flesh, shall rise again as king.” With youthful hands and elder’s eyes, he sets his schemes in place, His son a whisper in his mind, a hidden, fleeting trace. "The fire of youth consumes itself, too reckless to endure, Yet under my immortal gaze, our empire shall stand secure."