I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

The decision had been made. Julius Caesar had cast aside any remaining illusions of neutrality and firmly aligned himself with Cleopatra. Alexandria, proud and ancient, now stood on the brink of chaos, and the gears of war were beginning to turn.

That night, a still tension lay over the Roman encampment outside the city like a heavy fog. The wind that swept in from the Mediterranean carried the scent of salt and blood, as if it already sensed the violence to come. Torches flickered in the darkness, casting long shadows across the sand. Soldiers moved in hushed tones, sharpening blades, checking armor, muttering prayers to foreign gods under their breath.

Nathan, despite his growing connection with Cleopatra, was given his own tent, separated from hers by both duty and circumstance. He didn’t mind—it gave him a moment of quiet, a moment to think. He prepared alone for the coming battle, fastening the straps of his armor, checking the edge of his sword, the flickering lamp above casting soft golden light over his focused face.

But then, the silence broke.

The tent flap was pulled aside, and in stepped Cleopatra.

Her presence was like a drop of perfume in a room full of steel—elegant, sharp, and commanding. Draped in a robe of deep indigo embroidered with golden thread, her dark eyes glittered with unreadable depth. The queen was never without poise, even now, when the fate of Egypt teetered on the edge of a knife.

Nathan looked up, startled but amused. “Have you come because you missed me already?” he asked, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Cleopatra’s lips curved slightly, but she shook her head. Her expression was far too serious for flirtation.

“I’m here to give you advice,” she said, her tone low and deliberate.

Nathan arched an eyebrow. “Advice?” he echoed. It felt strange. He was capable—surely she knew that by now. What could she tell him that Caesar hadn’t already laid out in his own stern strategic briefings?

“I’m listening,” he added, though his voice betrayed a flicker of curiosity beneath the skepticism.

Cleopatra stepped closer, the silk of her robes whispering against the coarse floor of the tent. “The Pharos of Alexandria,” she began, her gaze locking onto his, “you must destroy it. And quickly.”

Nathan leaned back slightly, folding his arms. “Caesar already told me that. It’s the city’s most strategic point. Once it falls, the harbor is ours. I’ll handle it. No need to worry.”

“I’m not here because I doubt your strength,” Cleopatra said, shaking her head. “I came because I doubt your understanding.”

He frowned. “Understanding of what?”

She walked to the small table near the tent’s center, placing her hands on its surface as if weighing her next words. “Do you know why the Pharos was built in the first place?” she asked quietly.

Nathan shrugged. “As a symbol of Alexander’s power? To guide ships into the harbor?”

Cleopatra gave a slow, deliberate nod. “That’s the story history tells. But the truth runs deeper. Alexander ordered it built not merely as a beacon for sailors, but as a beacon for something else entirely.”

Nathan’s expression turned cautious, even wary. “You mean… reinforcements? You said that already. Caesar mentioned it could call in more troops.”

Cleopatra straightened, her voice colder now. “Yes. It can call reinforcements—but not from nearby cities. Not from any empire of men.”

Nathan’s stomach tightened. “Then from where?”

Her eyes bore into him, as if she were weighing whether he could even handle the truth. “From the Gods,” she said at last. “The Desert Gods. The ones that blessed Alexander in his final conquest.”

The desert Gods so The Egyptian pantheon—ancient, mighty, terrifying in its reach—suddenly loomed large in his thoughts. Nathan remembered the names he had heard on Earth. Anubis. Set. Sobek. Bastet. Deities not of love and light, but of judgment, chaos, war, and death. Beings that didn’t just symbolize the desert—they were the desert.

“Among the many blessings the Gods granted him, they gave Alexander the power to call upon them in his time of greatest need,” Cleopatra explained solemnly. “It was not just a token of favor—but a divine safeguard. If his city was ever attacked, the gods would answer his call to protect it. That sacred power… Alexander sealed it beneath the place where the Pharos now stands. He didn’t build the Lighthouse merely as a beacon. He built it to seal that power, to keep it hidden.”

Nathan was stunned. “Call gods to protect the city?” he echoed, almost in disbelief.

Cleopatra exhaled slowly, her voice quieter now, filled with reverence and dread. “My ancestor was deeply beloved by our Gods. He was born to rule. And he ruled wisely, always honoring the divine. The Gods returned his loyalty with gifts, favors beyond mortal comprehension. One of those gifts was the divine authority to summon them in times of peril.”

She paused, then continued with weight behind every word. “Alexander never used it… but he left it behind, just in case. That power’s existence has been a closely guarded secret, passed down through generations of our bloodline.”

“Does Ptolemy know about it?” Nathan asked sharply.

Cleopatra’s expression darkened. She clenched her fists, her voice bitter. “Yes. He knows. That power was meant to protect Alexandria. I can’t say whether it will still work after all these years—or if the gods would even listen to my foolish brother’s call—but if it does…”

She looked up at Nathan, her voice trembling with conviction.

“We’re doomed.”

There was a silence, thick and heavy, before Nathan finally asked, “So that’s why you want me to destroy it?”

“Yes,” Cleopatra replied with unwavering resolve. “Not just the Pharos. The power inside it too. It must be destroyed.”

Nathan furrowed his brow. “You’re serious? This power was gifted to your ancestors to protect the city… isn’t that like a royal heirloom? Something sacred?”

Cleopatra stepped closer, her voice cold and decisive. “I don’t want to take any chances, Nathan. Not when the fate of Egypt is at stake.”

Nathan studied her expression. She wasn’t afraid—she was determined. She wanted her throne back. She wanted her Empire. And she would risk even divine wrath to secure it.

He didn’t argue. But he asked the most important question: “How do I destroy something created by gods?”

Cleopatra didn’t hesitate. A small, knowing smile touched her lips—the first sign of confidence breaking through the tension.

Without a word, she raised her hand.

Golden light shimmered in the air, forming into the shape of a sword. As it fully materialized, the golden weapon glowed with ancient hieroglyphs carved deep into its blade. It radiated divine power—a weapon meant not for mortals, but for legends.

She stepped forward and offered it to him. “This is the Sword of Alexander,” she said, her voice reverent. “A gift from Isis herself. It served him in his conquests. And now it will serve you in destroying what he left behind.”

Nathan stared down at the golden blade in his hand, still pulsing faintly with divine energy. Its surface shimmered with ancient symbols older than most civilizations—symbols that hummed with a power beyond mortal comprehension. He let the silence hang for a moment before looking up at Cleopatra with a curious gleam in his eye.

“You’re giving me this?” he asked, his voice steady, yet edged with intrigue. “A sacred relic from your ancestor… a divine sword blessed by a goddess. Aren’t you afraid I’ll run off with it? Or worse—turn on you and side with your brother now that I know the gods might intervene on his behalf?”

Cleopatra’s gaze didn’t waver. Her face held no fear, no doubt—only quiet certainty.

“But you won’t,” she said simply.

“How can you be so sure?”

She took a step closer, her voice low but firm, filled with a strange, gentle confidence. “Because I know it.”

A moment passed between them, charged with something intangible. Nathan studied her expression—calm, resolute, and filled with trust. It was a kind of trust that felt heavier than any oath, more sacred than any alliance.

He exhaled, then looked back down at the sword. He didn’t need to ask again. She wasn’t bluffing. She had placed her fate, her kingdom, her very soul in his hands.

And something inside him… stirred.

He gripped the hilt tighter, feeling its ancient warmth, its divine weight. He could be facing gods soon—entities of sand and sun, of chaos and judgment, of a pantheon not his own. It wasn’t a fate he desired. But it was one he was strangely eager to confront.

“I’ll destroy it,” Nathan said, his voice a low vow. His fingers tightened around the sword’s hilt, and the golden light flared briefly in agreement.

Cleopatra stepped in closer, her breath warm against him. She raised a hand and placed it on his chest, fingers spread gently as if feeling for his heartbeat. Her eyes locked with his, sharp and luminous, then without warning—

She kissed him.

It wasn’t a timid kiss, nor one borne of fleeting passion. It was fierce. Unapologetic. A fire lit by desperation and hope, by fear and desire.

Nathan kissed her back, letting his free arm pull her closer, the sword still clenched at his side.

When they finally parted, Cleopatra’s forehead rested against his for a lingering heartbeat.

Then she whispered, barely louder than a prayer, “Come back to me… alive.”

She lingered for only a moment longer, her fingers trailing down his chest as she stepped away. Without another word, she turned and left the tent, her silhouette vanishing through the entrance flaps like a shadow at dawn.

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