All souls are weighed when we pass into the afterlife, but we should also be aware that we have a conscious decision to plunge ourselves into darkness, or bathe in the radiance of the sun. Be careful though, and choose wisely, because your decision will echo for eternity."

- Words delivered to new initiates of the Cult of Aten by the Great Wife, Nefertiti

Nekhet's life had been turned upside down after her stupid mistakes, and she did everything she could to make things right with her father. All she saw in his eyes was disappointment and regret — when he even bothered to make eye contact with her — and that was despite her best efforts to try and help with the debt however she could. It just so happened that the only way she knew how to, was crime. But he didn't know that, and she never wanted him to find out.

Her back already bore the whip scar mementos of previously failed excursions; to say her mistakes had brought her father and her to their knees was an understatement, and she felt entirely responsible.

Once, she'd had everything she could ever want or need. As much food as she could eat; protection; career prospects, even. Her father had been a priest for as long as she could remember, and the quality of life afforded priests was generous. They were granted their own breezy and cool rooms, complete with wooden furniture, and the rooms had been spacious enough that they didn't feel claustrophobic, a rarity in Thebes. She'd been particularly fond of the view from the window, which had allowed her to look out across the temple and glimpse the Nile beyond the Avenue of Sphinxes.

Her father had done everything for them, working tirelessly over the years for a better life, and Nekhet had thrown everything away in a heartbeat. When everything changed, home became one of the many rundown mud-brick hovels of the Narrows, the main slum area just on the outskirts of Thebes.

She cringed at the thought of drawing further away from her father and appearing to be even more of a failure. Maybe even worse, but not quite, was to experience the agony and humiliation of government punishment all over again. She was determined to make this venture a success and drag her father and her from their pathetic lives. She owed it to him.

Against all odds, Nekhet had managed to sneak aboard one of the priesthood's barges, which now cruised gently along the Nile with the rest of the processional flotilla headed for the Necropolis. Although she'd been preparing for this crime for months, she was forced to improvise.

Her initial attempts to join the barge at its departure point where the procession started were a failure: she'd planned to board as a servant of the Cult of Amun in Karnak, but she was angrily informed that servants had already left on the previous three barges. The guards at the launching platforms had sensed something was amiss, and she ended up having to flee to the waterfront, pick through the crowds to the banks, and swim the currents to join the boat as it moved instead.

Her sources from the Narrows informed her that the smaller barges at the rear of the flotilla, owned by the Cult of Amun, not the royal retinue, were likely to have the most wealth — a considerable wealth which the prolific religious organisation had come to be associated with in recent years. These boats would travel upriver to deliver the donations that had been made — largely by wealthy politicians or merchants in exchange for favours — to the temple in Malkata, Pharaoh's palace.

At the Festival of Opet, dozens of barges carried sacred statues of the god along the Nile. It was a journey observed by thousands who cheered from the banks and recited prayers along with the wab priests of the Cult who were responsible for upholding reverence to the god. The festival this year was on a scale no one living had ever seen before, with the Cult now reaching the zenith of its power: in part due to its tremendous popularity with the people — rich and poor — and the sizeable donations made by Pharaoh Amenhotep III himself from the foreign gifts he'd received around the empire.

Nekhet's hands ached as she clung for her life onto the back of the slippery barge, trying to ignore the possibility of lurking crocodiles. She figured the weather this time of the year was far too hot at midday for crocodiles to bother, and the crowds that now smothered the banks of the river were probably enough to drive them into a temporary hibernation.

She peered over the edge of the barge. She could make out two Cult of Amun guards quietly observing the riverside crowds just a little further ahead. If she was to break into the locked chambers, she'd need to distract them, pick the lock, and then quickly select the most valuable treasures from inside to ensure they wouldn't weigh her down in the water. Then she would have to wait for the river to narrow before making her escape for the banks, into the crowds, and back to Thebes on foot.

Save for the sound of her drenched clothes draining water onto the Lebanon wood deck of the barge, Nekhet was sufficiently quiet not to draw the attention of the guards, or the oarsmen, further down the barge. She then found a pile of hemp rope baskets, which were only stacked to about half her height, and crouched in their shade to catch her breath and decide her next steps. The gentle breeze from the river caressed her ebony hair and cooled her while she relished this moment of tranquillity.

The Nile had always been special for her, but she couldn't explain why. Every Egyptian understood the importance of the river to Egypt's immense wealth and influence, but somehow she buzzed with renewed life when she was nearby.

One of the guards at that moment had turned from silence to address his counterpart when he spotted the wet footsteps Nekhet had made just moments before. The deck of the barge was glossy with puddles.

The burly guard, probably in his forties, had mahogany dark skin. He wore the traditional Cult guard uniform of a rough wool undershirt and pants, a sash of jade green, and a simple boiled leather breastplate which was studded with splints of hard ash wood. His fire-hardened spear, well-balanced and deadly sharp, knocked on the deck of the barge as he advanced to inspect the puddles, passing Nekhet by only a few feet. He stank of alcohol and sweat.

As he opened his mouth to speak and call the other guard, he spotted the shape of Nekhet behind the baskets. She didn't give him enough time to let his brain turn over and, before he knew it, she was rushing him. Leaning in with a shoulder, she powered forward, thighs pumping, and released a battle cry. She made contact, and the guard, dropping his spear, lost his balance and stumbled backwards onto a drenched rope, the momentum carrying him into the guardrail and into the depths of the murky Nile with a heavy splash.

The noise had attracted the other guard, who was more prepared than his peer. He was shorter and wirier than his companion. Gripping his spear, he advanced slowly along the narrow corridor that ran along the side of the covered interior, closing the gap on Nekhet. In a heartbeat, she grabbed up the fallen guard's spear and wielded it herself. Its previous owner was now splashing helplessly in the river, and wasn't just incapable of swimming, but was also being ripped apart by crocodiles. She'd been wrong about whether there were crocodiles, then, she thought in a pinch.

A look of brief concern crossed the pockmarked features of the remaining guard, noticing Nekhet had some understanding of how to use a spear. He gulped visibly, then took a step forward.

"We don't have to do this, you know," Nekhet suggested confidently, her chin lifting. "I've killed my fair share of people with a spear, though clubs are definitely my preferred weapon."

"Shut it!" the guard rasped. "Drop the spear an' I'll go easy on ya."

"How about you drop yours and I'll go easy on you instead?"

The guard growled and rushed Nekhet without warning, his sandals thumping on the hard wood of the deck.

For a split second, Nekhet felt like she knew the man as he rushed towards her: where he lived, who his family was, and what motivated him. Time slowed just long enough for her to contemplate the odd feeling of familiarity that washed over her, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

The gravity of the situation rushed back into focus and then, steeling herself, she watched the guard's advance with a hawkish stare. She saw him lift the spear before he even knew he was doing it, and she took the opportunity to arc a quick, wide blow of the spear's leather-padded haft into his ribs, cracking a few and knocking the wind from him.

"I told you I knew how to use it," she said with a grin. The guard was now on his knees clutching his ribs in pain. She advanced close enough to hold the point of the blackened spear end to his throat, raising his chin. "Unlock the door for me and I won't shove this through your face, yeah?"

A moment of realisation dawned on the guard, and he laughed a wry, mirthful laugh which sent him into shockwaves of pain again. "Oh shit," he managed to cough, lips drawn into a smirk. "You thought there was valuable shit aboard this one, did ya?" He cackled a hoarse, painful laugh again that died the moment Nekhet tested the thickness of his throat flesh with the spear point.

"Unlock the fucking door. Won't say it again."

Her teeth were gritted hard, her jaw muscles showed it, and the prospect of failure briefly flashed in her mind before she forced it out and away. Coming away from here empty-handed wasn't an option. Her father had already been late twice this year, and she'd been unable to provide anything of significance from her last few excursions.

The guard choked through the pain. "Yeah, I will, I will, just fuckin' let me up!"

She backed away and withdrew the spear from his throat, allowing him enough room to stand and turn toward the covered room of the barge. As he rose, he did so with the spear still tightly gripped in his hand, and he thrust out at Nekhet's mid-section. She was quick enough to dip backwards, but the spearpoint split the flesh beneath her flax tunic and briefly entered her flesh just below the navel.

Yelping in shock, sheer instinct took over and in one, fluid movement she wrenched the spear from herself whilst driving the other into the throat of the guard. He gurgled blood as it came through his mouth and teeth, staining the breastplate he'd been given by the Cult. Nekhet looked up as crowds cheered on the bank, and when she looked back his eyes were an empty stare, and he collapsed in a heap onto the deck of the barge.

Fear gripped Nekhet: she couldn't leave her father. She couldn't let him down. Not again. She needed this more than anything. No more failures. She scrambled to her feet, letting adrenaline take her, then lurched desperately over to where the guard lay to look for the wooden key.

Panic made her hands shake and her eyes frantic. The guard didn't have the key. Had it gone overboard with the other guard?

Alright, think. There's no key. How do you get in?

Rising from the corpse of the guard with a grimace, her mid-section now slick with blood, she crept toward the covered chamber that formed the tallest point of the barge.

There was a framed window for ventilation another head taller than she, and an attempt to peer in while on tiptoes only gave her the briefest glance within the dark room.

Doubting herself from the first thought of how stupidly simple it seemed, she tried pushing the door open. It was unlocked.

She managed a grin, and a feeling of immense relief washed over her, loosening her muscles. Finally. This was it. Success had finally come. She swung the door open slowly on its chunky wooden hinges.

The midday light illuminated the darkness to reveal the contents of the room. Her heart sunk and the grin faded. The room was filled not with sparkling jewels and trunks of gold coins, but with several large wooden vats of oil, several stacks of lumber, and a crate of cooking utensils.

She could feel her world crumbling beneath her.