The Temple's Treachery

The wind in the alley swept up sand and dust, tugging at the hem of Ian's robe.

The old man—or rather, Nakht—still clutched the so-called "Eye of Ra fragment" tightly in his hand, the last traces of stubbornness flickering in his clouded eyes.

"You said... all of this was a dream?"

"Ra's revelation... was fake?" Nakht's voice was as hoarse as sandpaper scraping together. The old man's already hunched back now seemed even more twisted. He staggered unsteadily, his steps chaotic, as though he were walking on cotton. Both hands clung tightly to that so-called "Eye of Ra fragment."

His lips trembled slightly, his eyes filled with shock and confusion.

Ian did not answer immediately.

He watched the old man's trembling fingers. The blue shard of glass gave off a faint glow in the dim light, like some shoddy magical prop.

The young wizard slowly nodded, his voice low but clear.

"That wasn't a real divine oracle, Mr. Nakht. Someone wove a dream and made you believe you were 'the chosen one,' then used you."

The moment those words left his mouth—

The old man staggered back several steps.

"A dream... Just a dream someone made for me? The work of wizards." He muttered to himself, his voice hoarse and broken as his expression shifted again and again.

"That wasn't an oracle? Ra himself didn't descend?" His face suddenly twisted, first with shock, then fury, and finally a near-collapse of bewilderment.

His lips shook as though he wanted to refute it, yet he could find no evidence to do so. He recalled those nights when Ra had appeared to him in his dreams, that majestic voice telling him he was the chosen guardian... But if even the god was fake, then what had everything he lost—his family, wealth, and dignity—been