The Truth in Shadows

Prologue

"I know you felt it too."

Set's eyes had been closed, but at his brother's voice, he opened them to stare ahead. He did not look at his brother.

Osiris passed in front of him, looking to the side. "He will target him first."

"Hardly," Set replied, "He targets the unexpected. I know him that much."

"And he knows that too."

Zorc Necrophades was a demon. Problematic for mortals, but still rather beneath the notice of deities. Loki was a different matter, and his escape had all of the gods uneasy, not just the Asgardians.

"He might not like this incarnation. The child is far more wounded than last time, and to play with him would mean far less. This time he does not have a whole country to look after."

"He was always a sick bastard," Osiris said lowly, "You know how he killed Baldur, just to prove that he can. What is a mortal life?"

Set's hands clenched, and he finally raised his eyes.

"You mean to tell me," He sneered, "That you want me to go, now?"

"There are others who can outsmart Loki," Said Osiris, "But from our pantheon, you alone are a match, and at the tail-end of this latest business with the Millennium Items, the reincarnations living at the same time, exactly as the prophecy foretold—it is prudent, I would think, that we take care he does not target our little ones at their weakest."

"They are no longer our little ones. Their souls have migrated east. The dragon kings are now responsible for them."

"When has that ever stopped you?"

Set resisted the urge to snarl. Osiris was the one to talk…but the years had mellowed both of them out, and the God of Storms could no longer summon the rage that fueled him in his youth. In a way, he missed it; that fiery energy that propelled him forward, the righteous anger when Osiris stole his worshipers. Back in the day, the regard of mortals had meant so much. The gods did not love as well as mortals did, and all beings strove to be loved, no matter what form. Set had been much more naïve then, believing that what was rightfully his would always be so. He had been hurt and outraged when Osiris rose in power, and people started to villify Set, even as he strove to take back what had been his.

And then Egypt faded, and so had Greece and Rome, and as the years went by more and more pantheons were lost to the dust. It no longer mattered who had worshipers, because eventually none of them did. As time went on, Set realized that for all the love mortals might have for the gods, that did not compare to the love they had for each other. That was the only love to persist, and his anger extinguished. What was the point?

Unlike Set, and Osiris, however, Loki had not mellowed out. If anything, he seemed to become more bitter, a fuse waiting for a spark. It was no wonder, for he belonged to a particularly violent pantheon, and battle was their way of things. He could hardly embody the Norse spirit if he were as complacent. However, Loki was hardly productive when it came to expressing his restlessness.

"The dragon kings have their own issues," Osiris continued, "Their mortals angered much of the world. They may not have the attention to spare to outwit one like Loki."

"Since when did you care?" Set closed his eyes with a snort.

"Does it matter? Whether or not Loki targets him first, you know he will target him sooner or later."

Set's eyes snapped open again and he gritted his teeth as Osiris walked by, but the other god simply moved out of the room, leaving Set alone.

He has always been able to take care of himself, Set sneered in his head, before closing his eyes again.

The first time Set broke out of his haze of fury was when the child emerged in court.

At that point, few people dared to revere the God of Chaos, as he became named. It was a surprise to realize the boy was named after him, and he wondered what manner of parents would dare, after Osiris had stolen his people so many lifetimes ago and caused the mortals to believe him a fratricidal monster—which, ironically, he was starting to become.

And the child was…unremarkable, really. Smarter than most, but the same stupidly loyal subject all high priests were. All that really caught Set's attention was his name.

But he kept going back, looking, watching, because in those days he hardly even had a name, except one muttered as an oath, and Seto was remarkable, just not in a way that was immediately obvious. Young and new, he ascended from the common ranks to that of nobility in a time when such a thing was nearly impossible. One deed after another, and Seto became pharaoh, keeping the land in his cousin's name, and when everyone else regarded him as the living Horus, he never forgot the life he had as a commoner, dispensable and powerless. At nights he would pray, he would worry that his was a life not meant for him, that the power he wielded was undeserved, and Set watched the contrast between the facade he displayed for mortals and the frightened yet brave child he was to the gods.

He never prayed to Set. It seemed the name was as audacious as he could get, but neither did he curse with Set's name, and he was the first one to look upon the lore and wonder out loud, "What if Set did not…?" He said no more than that, but the consideration was enough, because he had been the only one, mortal or otherwise, to give even that much, without any prodding at all.

Set vowed that in the next life, Seto would know no sorrow.

But Seto did not return to Egypt in the next life, and Egypt had few extra lives left. The mighty empire of thousands of years disappeared into the sands. Its people lived on, but their hearts were gone. They wore the same faces, but like all reincarnations, they were no longer the same. When the gods finally ceased their disputes, there was nothing to dispute over. In the end, all of them lost. Set merely lost first.

He hardly thought of the young High Priest who infiltrated the noble ranks from the crowd of commoners, even when his reincarnation finally emerged once more, defiant as always, but bearing the scars of many lifetimes. And Set did not bother warding his life from sorrow. By that point, he was too choked with it himself to ward it from anyone else, much less a child that never prayed to him.

"Darkness behind me, and light on my way!" Loki laughed gleefully as he hopped between his two feet, tipping a goblet high over his mouth and letting the wine pour over his lips. His teeth flashed white, and he swallowed once, obscenely, before suddenly emerging by Set's side. "No being can stop what I will do today! Have a drink?"

"No."

"Hm!" Loki tossed the goblet, where it shattered like clay, despite looking like it was made of gold. "You and I," He slurred a little as he swung himself around to face Set from right in front, "Are very alike."

Set regarded him warily. The Trickster god was known to be unpredictable even when he was not a raging maniac. He kept his guard up, just in case Loki tried anything; it was difficult to say if the half-jotunn could best Set at this point. Egypt had died some time ago, enough that the last vestiges of its culture were no more than a memory. However, few worshiped Loki, and the Vikings were never truly strong, nomads and wanderers that they were.

"Both of us were robbed. Robbed!" Loki staggered back, still smiling and looking inebriated. Set wondered how much of that was faked. He would not put it past Loki to still have full grasp of his wits even when thoroughly drunk. That just seemed to be one ability of the Trickster god. "But that also makes us interesting, yes? Far more interesting than your usual…" He burped.

"What do you want?"

Loki cackled at this. "What do I want! He asks what I want. What do any of us want, in this damned world?"

Set snarled, turning away. "I do not have time for this."

"Time!" Loki materialized in front of him, grabbing him by the face in a mockery of affection. "Time is the only thing any of us have!"

Set shoved him off, and Loki fell to the side, laughing again.

"You are mad," The God of Storms spat, "Go annoy the Asgardians. Do not waste your time here. I want nothing more to do with you."

Loki laughed again, but this time it sounded odd, as if the sound should have been a sob. Set had half the mind to force Loki out with his powers, but then the Trickster god spoke.

"You ever wonder what it would be like, if the one you loved could live forever?"

Set thought of Seto and then wondered why this child, who had grown old and died a long time ago, was the first face to appear in his thoughts. There had been others in the past, ones from the days when Set had been popular and revered. He suspected it was because Seto had been the short life to grace the world when Set was at his darkest. Everyone else had loved Set because they were told to. Seto was the first and only mortal to care at all about Set when there had been no reason to. What would it be like, if the young soul were to live forever in one form, instead of repeating endless cycles, each time starting with a blank slate?

"She would have died sooner or later," Loki's face wore a sick smile, "And perhaps if she had died later I would have grown tired of her. Mortals do not age well. Well, not most of them. Some grow as they age. Others just age. Now, we will never know which she would have been."

"You are sick." Set wanted to bathe, clean Loki's touch from his skin. He always found the northern gods despicable in their lusts. Mortals were like children; even the oldest of them were but a breath in the lifetime of a god, and to desire any of them that way—he shuddered. Set had loved Seto, loved the child who grew to lead Egypt to a time of prosperity, but he had loved him as a father would a son, a grandfather would a grandson. It occurred to him that Thor might have done the mortal woman a great favor by killing her with that lightning bolt before Loki could get to her. The mortals who were so taken advantage of rarely survive the encounter without serious trauma, and even back then, when Loki had been relatively sane, the Trickster god was hardly the considerate sort. He always had found a disgusting amusement out of hurting others.

"We are all sick!" Loki hopped to his feet, though his back was turned. "Sick of this world…sick of each other, and yet we are doomed to stay here, for as long as Ragnarok deigns to wait. Do not claim that you feel otherwise, God of Chaos." He turned around then, mouth crooked. "When the end of the world comes, part of you will welcome it, even as you quail in fear."

He released another cackle. "That is the true gift of madness, my dear friend! You feel no fear! Why would you, when your very mind is fear itself?"

"Loki is among mortals now," Isis reported softly, "We know he had infiltrated their realm. Just not where."

Isis did not bear the years well. She had always been fair and golden, but now her skin had gone grey, as if ill. She had not worn her throne headdress since Egypt had collapsed under the tide of the Romans, and her wig had lost its gloss. A beautiful goddess she still was, but sick and pale and weak and sad.

Like all of them.

"I have no interest in Loki's activities," Set told his sister. His rage had cooled long ago, when she chose to side with Osiris, but that did not mean his love had returned. Some injuries were beyond repair, or if they were not, required far longer than any of the gods had lived.

"You are the only one he would deign to listen to."

"And that is incentive?" He looked away. "I fail to see how Loki is any concern of ours. He is not one of us."

"Great-Grandfather is worried."

Great-Grandfather, Amun-Ra, Creator of all the gods, who sat by as Osiris stole Set's followers and proceeded to blame Set for any ill that befell their great Egypt.

"Is he, now?"

After Egypt was gone, Isis had never been able to meet his eyes, or confront him about anything for long. After a long moment of silence, he sensed her withdraw.

Poor, pathetic, Loki's voice jeered, Pity that human of yours is long dead. I would have enjoyed toying with him just to see if you had any spark left.

He headed out to the balcony of Heaven to look over the world, feeling ill-at-ease. Despite himself, he found his mind draw to the reincarnation.

He is not the High Priest. Even so, he had to look, had to see. As much as he wanted to ignore Osiris, his brother was right; Loki would target Seto Kaiba. The Trickster God was miserable and wanted everyone else ten times more so, and it had always infuriated him when he had been unable to touch Set—

The god's shoulders tensed. Child.

It was not Loki, but Loki was not the only evil that could plague mortals.

Cursing, he hesitated. You win. Confound it all, Osiris and Ra and Isis—they all win. He had to go to Seto.

The God of Storms whirled around to prepare to leave.