In the City of Paris, at the crossroads of the rue Nicholas Flamel and rue Perenelle, a small apartment was hidden through magic, in which a man was seated around their breakfast table in a tense silence, at the table sat an old man, wizened by time and magic. A famous genius alchemist who'd resolved to win an ancient game,

It all started a couple years ago, when the morning paper reported the death of his close friend "Marcel Simon". A man known as religious historian to the muggle world, but who was in actuality a highly skilled mage, had passed away when Nicholas and his wife had asked him to investigate rumours about the decent of a Heretic God in Egypt,

What the newspapers hadn't reported though, was the manner in which he'd been found deceased, his body completely uninjured to mundane eyes but any mage worth their salt would've known something was wrong, as none would've failed to notice the divine essence that still clung to his corpse. But the divinity that clung to Marcel's remains wasn't the only thing odd about his demise, if anything the oddest thing about it was simply this.

He'd been found dead in his own apartment in Paris, despite having been sighted on-site in a temple dedicated to the Greek god Hermes in Egypt, investigating rumours of Hermes' Heretical descent onto the mortal plain.

This, the immortal alchemist reasoned, was a declaration of intent directed squarely at him, the god of thieves they had met when they'd been young had returned to the world, centuries after his fall by the hands of a now long-dead god, and he'd singled out their agent amongst the throngs of archaeologists working the site, and used his domains as a traveling god to deliver Marcel's corpse to their proverbial doorstep.

A deep sigh sounded in the room as Nicholas contemplated his options and his mind wandered to those days of old, and the acts that had set today's events in motion.

At the time he'd just been a simple archaeologist, scouring the world for ancient knowledge he'd translated many ancient manuscripts and published them. One such adventure had led to his finding an old scroll, that would end up changing his fate. The moment he'd seen it he knew there was something special about it, it's papyrus had weathered the test of time impeccably and its golden script had glistened as if illuminated by the sun itself even within the center of that ancient tomb. And as he read it the scroll vanished in a flash of light blue like the untarnished night-sky.

Soon he'd learn the scroll had been a store of divine power containing the authority of Thoth, the Egyptian god of scribes, wisdom and magic. A god who'd maniphested himself into the world soon afterwards, angered that a mortal had stolen some of his power,

Days had been spent, running from the great baboon-god, whose eyes were alight with solar flame. Sleepless nights had been spent praying that one of the kings of the era would take their pursuer out. Until eventually he'd been found by a traveller bearing nothing but a ragged cloak and shepard's cane.

Hermes, Greek god of Thieves, Merchants and Travelers, had offered him a bargain. The god had been impressed with his younger self for stealing from a god and evading Thoth for weeks on end, Hermes would take care of Thoth, and afterwards they'd hold a competition. Before departing to face Thoth, Hermes had given him a single divine artefact, to be hidden by the alchemist. And when Hermes returned from his fight with the sacred scribe, he'd steal something from Nicholas before setting out to steal it back.

If Nicholas could obtain what was stolen from him, before Hermes stole the stone, it'd be his victory and he would be allowed to keep it. If Hermes won, he'd probably keep his stolen treasure. That had been the competition, that had been postponed indefinitely.

Until today, when he returned from his laboratory to find his wife, robbed of her soul in their bedroom, alongside a single note written in hieroglyphics.

The game was on, and the man who'd outlived over a dozen Kings, had no intention of losing it.