Chapter Twelve - Death of a God

CHAPTER TWELVE

Death of a God

WHEN RAMSES FINALLY died, it didn’t feel real.

Not to the priests.
Not to the court.
Not to Egypt.

He had ruled for sixty-seven years. No one alive remembered a time before him. For some people, this wasn’t just the death of a king, it was the collapse of the sky.

But Egypt had a process.
Even for gods.

His body was taken and prepared. Washed, oiled, anointed, and wrapped in linen soaked with resin. Fingers and toes individually bound. Amulets tucked between layers. Spells spoken. Names recited. The Book of the Dead read like a script. Every ritual had to be perfect. Every word had to be right. If Ramses wasn’t buried correctly, his soul might get lost in the underworld. And nobody wanted a pissed-off Ramses wandering eternity.

His funeral was massive.
Gods, banners, incense, and prayers.
A gold mask. A royal sarcophagus. And a parade across the Nile.

They buried him in the Valley of the Kings, a hidden tomb carved deep into the rock. Chamber after chamber. Paintings of gods, stars, serpents, and spells. A tomb built not to be visited, but to be sealed. To protect the Pharaoh’s body until the end of time.

But that’s not the end of the story.
Because Ramses didn’t die in one moment.
He died slowly, over generations. As his body moved, as his tomb collapsed, as his kingdom forgot him and remembered him all over again.

And even then…
he still wasn’t finished.