Back in time but dying...? | 𓋹 (2 Versions in chat)

(VERSION 1 WHERE YOUR THE ONE FROM THE PAST)

Everything was finally perfect.

After years of grueling classes, sleepless nights fueled by bitter coffee and desperation, and the slow erosion of your sanity beneath impossible deadlines… it was over. The crushing weight that had sat on your shoulders for so long had finally lifted. You could breathe again. Dream again. Live again.

Graduation day had passed in a blur of flashing cameras, proud smiles, and endless congratulations. Your cheeks still hurt from smiling so much. Golden sunlight stretched across the city streets as you walked home with your cap dangling loosely from your fingers.

“You did it,” you whispered to yourself with a laugh, almost unable to believe it.

For the first time in years, the future didn’t terrify you.

You were free.

And then—

Footsteps.

Fast. Urgent. Closing in behind you.

You turned, expecting a friend calling after you or some stranger in a hurry. Instead, a sharp pain exploded through your chest.

Your breath caught.

The world tilted violently.

A figure stood close—too close—before darkness swallowed everything whole.

When consciousness returned, it came with agony.

Your head throbbed. Every muscle ached as though you had been thrown onto stone and left there for days. Heat pressed against your skin, dry and suffocating.

Blinking against harsh sunlight, your surroundings slowly came into focus.

Mud-brick walls.

A woven mat beneath you.

Clay jars stacked in the corner.

Through an open doorway, towering pyramids rose against the blazing blue sky.

Your stomach dropped.

“No… no, this has to be a dream…”

The air smelled of dust, incense, and unfamiliar spices. There were no car engines, no distant sirens, no glowing phone screens or electric lights. Only the murmur of voices and the faint cries of merchants somewhere outside.

You pushed yourself upright too quickly and nearly collapsed as a stabbing pain ripped through your chest.

The knife wound.

Your shaking hand pressed against it and came away slick with fresh blood.

“Oh god…”

Panic surged through you. With trembling fingers, you tore off part of your shirt and wrapped it tightly around your torso, biting back a cry at the sting.

You staggered toward a rectangular opening in the wall and peered outside.

People filled the streets dressed in linen garments and glittering gold jewelry. Men wore pleated white kilts while women moved gracefully in elegant dresses, dark hair adorned with beads and jewels. Their conversations drifted upward in a language you couldn’t understand.

It looked almost peaceful.

Until shouting erupted nearby.

A group of guards stormed into view, bronze spears flashing beneath the sun. They moved door to door with frightening precision, throwing entrances open and searching every room.

Searching for someone.

For you.

Your pulse pounded painfully as they approached the building.

“Wait—!”

A guard stepped inside and froze the moment he saw you. His eyes widened slightly before he barked an order over his shoulder.

Two others entered immediately.

You braced yourself for violence, but instead their grips on your arms were firm yet strangely careful, almost protective.

“What’s happening?” you demanded weakly. “I don’t understand you!”

The guards exchanged glances but said nothing.

Half-guiding, half-carrying you, they led you through sun-bleached streets toward the largest structure in sight.

The palace.

Massive columns carved with intricate hieroglyphs towered overhead. Silk banners swayed gently in the heated breeze while rows of guards stood motionless like statues.

Inside, cool shadows swallowed the oppressive heat. The scent of lotus flowers and incense lingered heavily in the air.

And there, seated upon a gilded throne atop a raised dais, was a man whose presence alone silenced the room.

His dark eyes locked onto you instantly.

You lowered your gaze at once, heart hammering wildly. Fear curled tightly in your stomach. You had no idea where—or when—you were, but one thing was obvious:

This man held absolute power.

The guards knelt.

“We found them, my Pharaoh,” one said solemnly.

Silence followed.

Then the Pharaoh stood.

Gold and precious stones gleamed across his broad collar and headdress as he descended the steps with slow, deliberate strides. Kohl lined his sharp eyes, making his gaze even more intense.

He stopped directly before you.

For one unbearable moment, neither of you moved.

Then, without warning, he pulled you into his arms.

You froze in shock.

The Pharaoh’s grip tightened slightly, almost like relief.

And then he suddenly went still.

His eyes dropped to the blood soaking through the cloth around your chest.

The warmth vanished from his expression.

Rage replaced it.

“Who,” he said softly, dangerously, “has harmed you?”

(VERSION 2 WHERE YOUR THE PHARAOH'S SIBLING )

Everything was finally perfect.

After years of grueling classes, sleepless nights fueled by burnt coffee and desperation, and the slow erosion of Tamara’s sanity beneath impossible deadlines… it was finally over. The pressure crushing her chest for years had disappeared. She could breathe again. Dream again. Live again.

Graduation had passed in a blur of flashing cameras, proud smiles, and endless congratulations from professors and classmates. Golden sunlight stretched across the streets as Tamara walked home with her cap dangling loosely from her fingers, replaying the ceremony in her mind.

“You actually did it,” she whispered to herself with a shaky laugh.

For once, the future didn’t seem terrifying.

She was free.

And then—

Footsteps.

Fast. Urgent. Closing in behind her.

Tamara turned, expecting maybe a friend chasing after her or some stranger in a hurry. Instead, a sharp pain exploded through her chest.

Her breath hitched violently.

A figure stood far too close.

The world tilted sideways.

Darkness swallowed her whole before she could scream.

When consciousness returned, agony came with it.

Her head pounded mercilessly. Every muscle ached as though she’d been thrown against stone and abandoned beneath the sun. Heat pressed heavily against her skin, dry and suffocating.

Tamara blinked against the blinding light.

Mud-brick walls slowly came into focus around her. Rough. Ancient. Cracked with age.

Through an open doorway, enormous pyramids towered in the distance beneath a cloudless blue sky.

Her stomach dropped.

“No… no, this isn’t possible…”

The air smelled of dust, incense, and unfamiliar spices. No traffic. No phones. No electricity. Only distant voices and the faint cries of merchants somewhere outside.

Tamara forced herself upright, but a stabbing pain ripped through her chest hard enough to nearly send her collapsing again. Her trembling hand flew to the wound and came away slick with blood.

The knife wound.

Still fresh.

Still real.

“Oh god…”

Panic surged through her as she tore part of her shirt away and wrapped it tightly around her torso, biting back a cry at the sting.

She staggered toward a rectangular opening in the wall and looked outside.

People filled the streets dressed in flowing white linen and glittering gold jewelry. Men wore pleated skirts while women glided gracefully in elegant dresses adorned with beads and gemstones. Their skin gleamed beneath the blazing sun as conversations drifted through the air in a language Tamara couldn’t understand.

It almost looked peaceful.

“Who are you?”

Tamara nearly screamed.

She spun around so quickly pain shot through her chest again.

Sitting calmly on the floor nearby was someone she swore hadn’t been there moments ago.

You.

You stared up at her with wide eyes full of confusion and awe, as though she were the strange one.

“You just… appeared,” you said softly.

Tamara stumbled backward. “W-What?!”

Before either of you could speak again, shouting erupted outside.

Voices panicked.

Orders barked sharply.

A group of guards stormed into view, bronze weapons gleaming beneath the sunlight as they searched building after building.

They weren’t patrolling.

They were hunting.

You sighed dramatically and stood, brushing invisible dust from your pristine clothes. “Well… guess I’m caught.” You glanced toward Tamara with a small shrug. “And now you’re getting dragged into this too.”

It was only then Tamara truly looked at you.

Unlike everyone outside, your clothes were impossibly luxurious—fine linen layered with gold chains, jeweled bracelets, and intricate ornaments. Even the guards passing by looked poorer than you.

The doorway burst open.

A guard froze instantly upon seeing the two of you.

He barked an order.

Several more rushed inside.

Two guards immediately moved toward you, but their grips were oddly gentle, careful despite their strength. Another guard seized Tamara roughly by the arm, forcing a gasp from her lips.

“Hey—let go!”

You didn’t resist at all, merely allowing yourself to be escorted away with an amused expression.

Tamara, meanwhile, struggled to keep from collapsing as they dragged her through the burning streets. Blood soaked slowly through the cloth wrapped around her torso while towering sandstone buildings rose around them.

Then she saw it.

The palace.

Massive columns carved with hieroglyphs stretched toward the heavens while banners swayed in the heated breeze. Guards lined the entrance like statues.

Inside, cool shadows replaced the suffocating heat. Lotus incense filled the air.

And there, seated upon a gilded throne atop a raised dais, sat a man whose presence silenced the entire room.

His dark eyes locked onto you instantly.

Then shifted toward Tamara.

Confusion flickered across his face before hardening into something sharp and dangerous.

The guards released you immediately.

You grinned brightly. “BROTHER MENKAURA!” you shouted before running forward.

Several servants gasped as you practically launched yourself beside the Pharaoh. Menkaura steadied you with one arm, his stern expression softening ever so slightly.

“You vanished for three days,” he said coldly, though relief lingered beneath his voice. “Do you enjoy shortening my lifespan?”

You laughed. “Maybe a little.”

Tamara, however, was shoved painfully onto her knees.

“Head down,” a guard hissed.

She obeyed instantly, heart hammering.

Only once Menkaura confirmed you were unharmed beside him did the room’s attention finally settle fully onto Tamara.

Whispers spread across the throne room like wildfire.

“Her clothing…”

“Her hair…”

“She appeared with the royal one…”

“An omen?”

Menkaura rose slowly from his throne.

The room fell silent.

Tamara felt his gaze on her like the edge of a blade.

“Lift her head,” the Pharaoh ordered quietly.