#RE: MERESANKH.

[deathbind]

THE SCRATCHED OUT CAMEO.

Of all the items in Serot's possession when he was reborn, one baffles him more than any other. It is an agate cameo, magnificently carved, set in gold. Although he suspects it is quite old, and although it lacks the protective enchantments on the rest of his jewelry, it is in beautiful condition. With one exception: the face is scratched out. He feels certain the cameo belongs to him, but he cannot name the source of the certainty. Nor can he name whose likeness was carved into it. When his memories resurface, this is what he learns —

WHEN THE BEETLE DEATH SWEPT across Meket, what disturbed people most was its relentlessness. Few could ward them off, yet even those precautions were neither permanent nor infallible; and once the kheprer had staked their claim, they could not be purged. Despair overwhelmed the people faster than the kheprer. The helplessness was unbearable. They looked for someone to blame — anyone — desperate to believe something could be done to save them.

They even became desperate enough for regicide.

When kheprer encroached on the capital city of Nubt, the royal family prudently decided to move. Riots had begun; unrest was mounting; and the kheprer moved ever closer. It was clear what direction this was going. They left the capital in secret, taking only a small retinue, but bitterness had crept into their household. Their guards turned on them on the road. They believed the kheprer had been sent as divine retribution for the Monarch's sins — or perhaps they resented their handling of the matter. Most likely both. Whatever their reasoning, they left no survivors. Any members of the household who stood with them, died with them.

Whether they felt shame for what they had done cannot be said, for certainly they did not keep it secret. They asserted that, with the Monarch's blood spilled, surely the kheprer would disappear. Loyalists rode out to verify their claim of slaughter. The carnage had already been picked over by looters, but fearing to disturb the royal corpses, they had missed one treasure. The Monarch's nephew and heir, perhaps thirteen years old, yet lived. Hidden beneath the bloodied corpse of his mother, he had stayed deathly silent through the attack. He did not speak when looters came. He did not speak when loyalists pulled him free.

He did not speak for the next five years.

His maternal aunt became his regent. He was content in this initially, yet as he grew, effort was made to control him. She claimed only to be servicing his interests and that of the kingdom — perhaps she believed that — but she fed into his grief, his fear, his paranoia. She kept him swaddled and tucked away. Regardless of her intentions, the slaughter he'd narrowly survived made him see daggers in every hand, hers included. He feared he would not live long under the care of others. He prayed for a miracle.

Serot appeared.

He gave the young ghul lord every resource at his disposal to combat the kheprer. It was the very year in which he was to be officially crowned, yet he swore there would be no coronation until the land had been purged. Serot managed it. The rising Monarch took the regnal name Meresankh, and sat Serot beside them at the coronary feast.

Initially, he was only a saving grace, a means to an end. His growing reputation could help Meresankh secure their reign. Yet the more time they spent together, the closer they grew. They had both known loss and horror. They both had dreams for their home's future. Fear was Meresankh's constant companion, but Serot was at their side, too. He was the only person of whom that could be said.

As time wore on, however, the voice of fear grew louder than anyone else's, including Serot's. They feared rebellion. They feared treachery. They feared being slaughtered in the streets like their family. They did much to rebuild Meket's prosperity, but their inability to trust hindered them.

They had doubts even of Serot, who had never doubted them. His order, the Anactaci, become a cornerstone of Meketi life before a generation had passed. Serot himself was regarded as a living saint. He was massively influential, though he used it sparingly. Meresankh trusted Serot. They did.

But, they would trust him more if they had an advantage over him.

Meresankh asked him to turn control of the kheprer and Meket's mummies, animated by the Anactaci, over to them. Serot refused. These were not weapons; they were sacred. Meresankh asked again. Again Serot refused. Because Meresankh loved him, they asked a third time. Because Serot loved them, he once more refused.

This led to a massive falling out between them. Meresankh threatened to seize what Serot would not willingly yield. Serot, who had never once been angry with Meresankh, became angry then. Anyone else would have been slapped into oblivion after the first request, yet here was Meresankh demanding without right. Disaster was narrowly averted by the intervention of Meresankh's heir, but irreparable damage had been done. Meresankh scratched their own face from the cameo Serot carried. They forbade him from speaking their name or keeping their memory. They banished him from court and the very capital. They would never again walk together, in this life or the next.

Nevertheless, Serot carried the cameo. Nevertheless, Serot loved Meresankh. Nevertheless, his heart bled incessantly.

Years passed before the heir found Serot in the City of Eternity. Meresankh was planning something terrible. No one could talk them down. She herself had been imprisoned to keep her silent, and she had barely escaped. Every hope rested on Serot. Meresankh had always listened to him.

Serot did not hesitate before riding to the Monarch's side. Given how things had ended, he doubted the Monarch would hear him, but he would be thrice damned if he didn't try. What he found was madness. Meresankh sought to take the essence of the Plane of the Death and the essence of the Plane of Life directly into themself. They would become the very embodiment of balance: neither living nor dead, neither mortal nor divine, at once everything and nothing. All would be contained in them. And, they could never be betrayed. They could never be overthrown.

But, this was tearing them apart and threatening to spill out over the land. Serot did not hesitate. He plunged after Meresankh and held on with his very soul. And, Meresankh wept. Here Serot was again after everything: their saving grace.

Only Serot could not save them this time. Meresankh was being pulled away from this plane, and Serot was pulled with them. He cried out to Refhremmit to anchor them. But, Refhremmit plunged Meresankh into the Plane of Death instead, and sealed them away. They claimed this was the only way to end the ritual before it was too late, that Meresankh was beyond saving, that Serot would only have perished with them. This was not untrue, but what Refhremmit failed to mention was the part their distaste for Meresankh played in the decision. Serot did not doubt them, however. Nor did he confide how failing Meresankh had broken him.

There was silence for well over a thousand years. Then came the Spellplague, and the Plane of Death was plunged into the Elemental Chaos. Serot had been born as Neheb, and Neheb had died as a bulwark against the most devastating effects. But, Meresankh had changed in the Plane of Death, had become a piece of death itself. With their seal broken, they clung to the only piece of themself that remained: a tether to Serot's soul, tied when he'd tried to save them. Each time they pulled on that bond, they came closer to the land of the living and Serot, to the land of the dead.

#META / HC: WORLDBUILDING. #META / HC: PRIMARY. #RE: MERESANKH. #I'll go into this more in its own post but monarchs in Meket are always referred to in a gender neutral manner #hence my transition to they/them pronouns once Meresankh was crowned #[also I know Meresankh is a feminine name but work with me here let's pretend it isn't SKDLFJH]