I've Got Soul

By TheNakedKing

At some point Atem had stopped keeping track of time. How long he had been ruling he did not know; only that the days blurred into weeks, and that today was the first day of a new season.

Today was the day of his coronation.

To say he was nervous would have been a lie. He was not nervous. Today would not practically change anything that had transpired as of late. Ruling without a regent, he would still fully be the young king of is country and no formal ceremony would change that.

This did not diminish the sense of anticipation he felt.

It was true that energy coursed through him. He could feel it, this sense of anticipation as he prepared to receive the Royal Ka. There would be no turning back from this point onward, not that he'd ever really had a true choice, but today seemed to make it final. Today drove it home.

Atem was King.

The weight of gold that he wore was something he had since become accustomed to, but looking at his reflection in the surface of the polished metal he had to admit shock. He raised his hand to it, surprised at how mature he looked draped in the regalia of a king. There was something in the set of his jaw; in the way his already sharp cheekbones were accentuated by the bangs that framed face that made him look almost fierce. Of course, his eyes looked quite sharp, especially with the way his diadem hung over his brow line, its wedjat eye proclaiming him protected of Horus more easily than anything else could. He couldn't remember ever looking like this in his entire life, but he couldn't say he was disappointed with the result.

"Are you prepared, Your Majesty?"

Atem turned to face his mother, who stood facing him. She looked proud, and very beautiful to the point where he was quite proud to claim her as the woman who gave birth to him. He could hardly believe that he now stood in front of her on his way to become king.

Gently, he covered her hands with his own and nodded. "I am ready, Queen Mother."

In the doorway stood Siamun, his father's Vizier and now his own, and the Six Priests of the Items. Atem took a breath and patted his mother's hand in parting, striding confidently toward his entourage.

They departed in complete silence.

Preparations were made and Atem soon held in his hands the offering he was to give to the god. He was to be claimed now, separated from normal human beings. He was the mouthpiece of the gods, and it was time he fully and truly accept the duty.

The trip to the temple was a short one, in which Atem lead the small procession of Priests, who paused only outside of the most holy of holies, the doors to that most sacred of places admitting only Atem now.

Atem and his offering.

Tonight he would join the revelers at the palace as a King, infused with the Royal Ka, but then was not now. Now was a time for prayer, for Atem in the silence and seclusion of the inner temple to face the creator god Amun.

Inside the inner sanctum of the temple it was dark, and so far away from the pylons, bustling with priestly activity, it was silent. He could see the shrine, inlaid with gold and precious jewels, shimmering in the orange-red glow of the torchlight, in front of it sat the Millennium Pendant, which he has last seen hanging upon his father's neck.

Now it was his to bear.

Gently, he kneeled before the shrine, opening the doors to stare upon the face of the god, whom he and the High Priests alone were allowed to see. The face was wise, though somewhat detached, but Atem was quickly beginning to realize the level of detachment that godhood required.

Offering to the god what he had brought, the finest of the things he could offer, Atem bowed his head low and offered his prayers to Amun before taking the leather cord of the Pendant in his hands.

For a long moment he simply stared upon it, meeting the gaze of the wedjat eye unflinchingly. Then, without another though otherwise, he slipped it over his head.

The world shifted.

A million whispers filled his head, and he found himself suddenly crouching on the ground in pain without any idea of how he had gotten there in the first place. Closing his eyes, he took deep breaths, attempting to fight the overwhelming intensity of the voices. They were many and they were great, and Atem could not pick from them one single strange until they began to subside and he was left with one, powerful voice that rang through his skull painfully.

"Son of the gods!"

Trembling, he rose to his knees, still unable to stand on his own. He braced himself against the floor, feeling pathetic upon his hands and knees. "I hear you!" he called, unable to completely keep the tremble from his voice.

He was in the presence of the divine.

"Still your beating heart," the voice encouraged. "You are not unworthy of those you stand in the presence of. If you were We would not allow you here."

Atem tried his best to control his breathing, not daring to look up.

"You are aware of your sacred duty," the voice continued, "and of the power of the Seven Items of the Millennium. You are truly our mouthpiece, young King, and with such a position comes precious knowledge."

He did not speak, only waited.

"Power is in the name of the gods," said the voice. "You have been blessed beyond all other men with glorious destiny. To you we give the privilege of control of the Spirit Beasts of this Sacred Triad – Amun, Osiris, and Ra."

His heart pounded within his chest as knowledge filled him, knowledge that had no logical origin other than that of the voice. Atem shivered, his mind recalling names and images he had never learned, and even though he had felt the presence fade he remained on the floor for a long moment, attempting to regain his senses.

He felt different.

Even as he stood on shaky legs he felt … odd. It was if magic suddenly coursed through him, and he realized now that his father had never actually been a passive watcher in all of those trials he'd been forced to witness. Magic … The Seven Items were truly magical in nature, and even now he was aware that the training he'd had would not be enough to teach him how to harness his newfound power.

He had received, in that moment, the Royal Ka, and the knowledge of the power that granted him was sobering in its weight.

For a long moment he crouched on the floor, unsure what to do, but he soon picked himself up and gathered his wits about him. With a deep and steadying breath, he turned around and walked from the room, every step deliberate. He did not blink into the light, though the sudden transition from dim to bright stung his eyes.

Outside the Priests waited for him, each examining him carefully. He paid them no mind and simply ushered them along. Now that the ritual was over, the procession and festivities could begin.

Once again noise greeted him in the form of the throng of the procession that awaited him as he exited the temple. A great cheer rose from the crowd, happy laughing and clapping, singing and dancing, but the noise was different from the voice of the god. It was a different sort of loudness that did not pierce his heart or shake his soul.

Still, looking into the faces of the people around him, young and old, male and female, noble and mercantile, Atem's heart grew lighter. The people had come out to see their new King and to join in the festivities, and they would not be disappointed.

The procession seemed to rush by as Atem was carried back to the palace, where he was quickly ushered to his throne. The proclamations of his worth then began, complete with royal titles and affirmations of his wonderful character. Well wishes were made that he should live long on this earth and that he should always be in good health, and many offered him wishes of wisdom and discernment, that the gods would be able to communicate to him the best way to administer Ma'at.

But for the most part it passed quickly, and Atem was mostly unaware of the proceedings. Too many questions yet swam through his mind, most of them centered upon this great destiny the god spoke of. What could be so significant that the gods would allow him the use of the names of their sacred Ka? It had to be important, grave even, if such a thing were to be allowed.

The thoughts would haunt him late into the night, even when he had at least retired to the repose of his chambers, lying upon the edge of the bed.

And he knew then that for the King there would never be true rest.