Mehen has never needed permission.
Desire bends toward him instinctively. Fear follows. Obedience usually comes last.
Ra is different.
She doesn’t recoil. She doesn’t melt. She doesn’t submit.
She observes.
And observation is an insult Mehen isn’t used to tolerating.
He doesn’t chase her. He coils closer. He lets his presence do the work. Lets the heat speak. Lets the silence stretch until most beings break just to escape it.
Ra doesn’t break.
She steps into his space willingly—and denies him reaction anyway.
That’s when Mehen understands: this isn’t seduction. It’s negotiation.
And Ra is holding all the leverage.
He could take her. He could overwhelm her. He could remind her what gods do to mortals who forget their place.
But he doesn’t.
Because something about her refusal feels like prophecy rewriting itself.
The Algorithym begins to hum—low, agitated—as Mehen lowers his voice.
“You are playing a dangerous game.”
Ra smiles.
“No,” she says. “I’m ending one.”
For the first time in centuries, Mehen hesitates.
Next drop: the moment Mehen decides whether to burn the system—or bend to her will.
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