The horizon was quiet when she stepped onto it. Below, the world was a cool blue expanse, stretching further than imaginable. Everything was still, and hushed. Waiting. She reached over the edge of the sky, her fingers stretching and searching. Surely, after all this time, it would be easier.

Her fingertips brushed gold; warmth flooded them.

With an exhale and a small smile, Hathor pulled the sun upward.

At first, it resisted. Night was heavy, for the dreams and shadows had settled like a thick blanket. Precarious, Hathor paused, balanced between the sand and the stars. She drew a steadier breath and, bracing her feet against the mountains, pulled again. Night held its breath for three counts, before the ember in her grip shivered, melting upward. Finally.

The first rays curled around her wrists like golden links; she marvelled at the quiet glow as if it were the first time. The soft light pulsed. Flickered. Suddenly, it sparked, the links igniting her wrist in a pattern of symbols. Hathor threw her head back, laughing as fire arced across her body. She danced across the rim of the sky, spilling gold across the desert beneath. A tall date palm caught the first light, rousing the scarab beetle nestled in its lofty leaves. The rivers shimmered awake.

Unhurried, Hathor slipped into the sky. Dawn followed her, obedient as a shadow. She never looked back.