Sands of the Last Pharaoh

The sun had risen over Thebes for thousands of years, but on this morning, its golden rays felt heavy—like a farewell.

Pharaoh Nectanebo II, the last true ruler of an independent Egypt, stood atop the steps of the Temple of Amun. Before him stretched the sacred Nile, calm and unbothered by the warships creeping up its waters from the north. The Persians were coming—not for the first time, but perhaps for the last. And this time, the gods felt distant.

The year was 343 BCE. For centuries, Egypt had withstood conquerors, invaders, and rebellions. But now, the sand beneath the sandals of its people no longer held firm. It shifted, uncertain and loose.

Nectanebo II was no fool. He had ruled wisely, restored temples, and sought omens in the stars. But prophecy could not stop an empire's fall, and his soldiers—though brave—were no match for the disciplined army of Artaxerxes III of Persia. They had already crossed the Nile Delta. Memphis had fallen. And Thebes—sacred Thebes—was next.

In the temple courtyard, Asa, a young scribe, clutched a scroll tighter to his chest. He had served the temple priests, copying the wisdom of Thoth and the ancient Book of the Dead. But now, the priests were burning scrolls to keep them from enemy hands.

“We must preserve what we can,” whispered the high priest. “If the gods leave us, let the words stay behind.”

Asa had been chosen to carry a single scroll into hiding—a text said to contain the prophecy of Egypt’s rebirth. It was old, faded, and its symbols barely readable. But the priests believed it must survive. Asa didn't understand it fully, but he had seen the desperation in their eyes.

That night, the fires began.

The Persian army, clad in black and red, swept into Thebes like a storm. Their war cries echoed through the streets. Statues were toppled. Temples looted. Golden masks and sacred relics were stripped from the dead. Soldiers dragged scribes from libraries and set papyrus shelves ablaze. The scent of burning incense turned to ash and blood.

In the heart of the chaos, Pharaoh Nectanebo II stood in his golden armor, the Eye of Horus etched onto his chestplate. He did not flee. Not at first.

But when the palace walls shook and word came that the Temple of Karnak had fallen, he understood: Egypt was no longer his.

He fled south, into Nubia, with a handful of loyal guards. Legend would later say he disappeared into the desert sands and became a sorcerer—or that he would one day return when Egypt was free. But history is rarely that kind.

Asa, meanwhile, had hidden in a catacomb beneath the temple, scroll still pressed to his chest. Days passed. The silence above became unbearable. Finally, when the air no longer reeked of smoke, he emerged.

Thebes was broken.

Temples once crowned in gold now lay in rubble. Obelisks, once pointing to the sky in praise of the sun god Ra, had been shattered. The sacred pools were dry. Statues of Horus and Isis had their heads cracked open like eggs.

But Asa walked carefully, wrapped in plain linen, unnoticed by the victors. He carried the scroll to the Valley of the Kings and buried it beneath a crumbling tomb, whispering a prayer to Thoth, the god of wisdom.

“Let this knowledge sleep until Egypt rises again.”

Years later, under Greek and then Roman rule, Egypt would become a land of stories and ruins. Pharaohs became myths, gods became forgotten, and pyramids became puzzles for strangers.

But deep beneath the sand, Asa’s scroll remained. Unread. Waiting.

And though the Nile still flows, and the sun still rises, the divine kings of Egypt never returned. Their thrones turned to stone. Their crowns to dust. Their names, once carved in gold, now faded on broken walls.

Yet the world would never forget what was lost.

Because empires may fall, but memory endures—etched in stone, buried in tombs, and whispered through time.

And in the silence of the desert, the sands still shift… carrying the last breath of Egypt’s glory.