A few weeks after the end of the Giant War, in a certain New Orleans Cemetery:
A boy leaned up against a monument. His ragged, shoulder-length black hair put his face in shadow. His black combat boots hid a silver knife. A bronze dagger was strapped to his left leg. He wore black jeans with a black belt. Hanging from the belt was a black sword sheath.
His hand, which had been on the hilt of his sword, strayed up, and a silver ring in the shape of a skull caught the light. He wore a battered, brown leather aviator's jacket over a plain black t-shirt. A bow and arrows were slung over his shoulder (he learned archery in his time in the underworld). As he shifted, a collection of throwing knives were revealed, sewn into the inside of his jacket.
As he raised his lowered head, a watcher could see translucent, pale skin. His deep black eyes had a sheen like shattered glass. His expression seemed stuck in a permanent scowl.
He was gaunt, with sunken eyes, but something about him told the watcher he could squash you like a fly. But not this watcher.
The watcher looked to be the same age as the boy, but a little taller. His black hair was shorter than that of the first. He wore a black leather jacket over a navy t-shirt. He, also, wore black jeans and combat boots. However, he appeared to be more muscular and had more color to his skin.
He took a step towards the stranger. Almost immediately, he could feel cold metal pressed up against his neck. "Turn around," hissed the attacker. The watcher turned slowly, carefully.
When he saw who had snuck up on him, he tried to hide his shock, but the attacker could see it.
He lowered the dagger slightly, and the watcher took that moment to attack. Or, he tried to. As he raised his own dagger, the attacker darted away with the speed and grace of a panther. The next thing the watcher knew, he was slammed up against a tombstone. The attacker watched him.
"You're like me," he said suddenly. The watcher was startled.
The attacker, who he knew by now to be the same boy he had been watching earlier, extended a hand.
The watcher reached up hesitantly, and took it, and the attacker pulled him up with surprising strength.
"Nico," the attacker said.
"Anubis," he replied. "I shouldn't have been watching you. You just seemed. . . different."
The silence was uncomfortable.
"What did you mean by that? 'You're like me'."
Nico seemed to think. "Anubis. That sounds familiar." He was quiet for a moment. "You're Egypt's Thanatos. Anubis. God of death, dying, embalming, and funerals."
Anubis looked impressed. "You know your stuff."
Nico seemed to study his face for a moment. "I have to."
"You know who I am. Now tell me about you."
He hesitated. "I can't," he said quietly, "it's too dangerous."
"Do you come here often?" Anubis asked.
Nico nodded. "I, I have to go." And with that, he was gone.