Part 2: Chapter 4

A

N

U

B

I

S
Brooklyn House
January 6th

It was a new sensation for me—to dream. Gods did not dream. They did not sleep. But ever since I had lingered in the mortal realm, I had begun to experience more of their ways. And tonight, I dreamed.

I walked along the banks of the Nile, the palace gleaming like polished gold beneath the silver light of the moon. The river murmured softly, its gentle current lapping against the shore. Frogs croaked in rhythmic harmony, their voices blending with the rustling of papyrus leaves swaying in the night breeze. The air was rich with the scent of damp earth and the distant sweetness of blooming flowers.

I turned to her. Her fingers intertwined with mine as we strolled in the moonlight. In her other hand, she held a blue lotus—its delicate petals, the color of a twilight sky, cupped around its golden heart. She lifted it to her face, breathing in its intoxicating fragrance, her lips curving into a soft smile. The sight of her—serene, radiant, lost in the simple joy of the flower—was more mesmerizing than the river, more beautiful than the palace itself.

"I wish nights could last forever," she murmured, turning to me, her eyes, deep green like emeralds, caught the moonlight and reflected the sereness of the night. "To be by your side like this, without fear, without the shadow of Ra watching over us." She sighed, the weight of her worries pressing into the silence between us.

I tightened my grip on her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin against mine. Bringing it to my lips, I pressed a lingering kiss to her fingers, letting my breath whisper across them before I traced slow, reverent circles against her palm. "Don't think of him now," I said softly, my voice barely louder than the rustling reeds. "He cannot see us now," I assured her. "Right now, it's just us, my love."

She let out a quiet breath, her fingers tightening around mine. "I hate that we have to hide," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "That our moments are borrowed, slipping away before we can truly hold onto them."

I brushed my thumb over her hand, grounding her in the present. "But this moment is ours," I said. "No one can take that from us."

She searched my face. "And when the Ra rises?"

I hesitated, knowing the answer she dreaded. "Then we wait for the night to return."

She exhaled, her grip loosening slightly. "Always waiting," she murmured, shaking her head. But then she looked at me again, her expression softening. "At least the nights are worth it."

I cupped her hand in both of mine, holding her close. "They are. Because you're in them."

She smiled, but it was fleeting. Her expression wavered, and with a slow, tired sigh, she hesitated—then gently slipped her hand from mine. Stepping away, she moved toward the riverbank, her gaze fixed on the dark, shifting water.

She stood by the river's edge, the moonlight draping over her like a second skin. The fabric of her dress, a flowing green-blue like the Nile itself, rippled with the night breeze, shifting like water with every movement. It clung and billowed in equal measure, wrapping around her slender frame before cascading to the ground in soft waves.

Her black hair, long and silken, moved with the wind, carrying the distant scent of the lotus still clutched in her fingers.

"You'll be there, right?" she asked, her voice quieter now, more uncertain. "To stop him?"

The air seemed heavier, the once-gentle wind turning cold. The croaking of frogs had stilled, leaving only the distant, restless murmur of the river. Shadows stretched longer, creeping toward the shore as if drawn by an unseen force.

I stepped forward, but she did not turn to face me. "You know I will," I said, though even as I spoke, I felt the weight of the promise settle over me.

She exhaled, watching the dark currents as they twisted and churned beneath the moonlight. "I don't think he'll give us another night," she murmured, her fingers tightening around the lotus before slowly letting it slip from her grasp. The flower drifted onto the water's surface, its delicate petals trembling as the river carried it away.

When she finally turned to face me, her expression was unreadable, but there was something in her eyes—something between fear and certainty. "When he finds out," she whispered, "he won't just take the nights from us." She hesitated, her throat working around the words, as if saying them made them more real. "He'll make us pay."

The wind howled now, tearing through the reeds, carrying whispers that weren't there before. The river darkened, its surface rippling unnaturally, the palace lights in the distance flickering as if struggling to stay lit. The world around us was unraveling, slipping away like water through my fingers.

She stood by the Nile's edge, her form hazy, as though the night itself was pulling her into the shadows. Her green eyes met mine one last time, something unreadable lingering there—not sorrow, not fear—just a quiet, resigned certainty.

"It's too late," she murmured.

I stepped closer, reaching for her hand again—but the distance between us stretched impossibly, like the earth itself had shifted. The sand beneath my feet felt heavy, pulling me down, dragging me away from her. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't reach her.

The sky above cracked, streaked with the first hints of burning gold. The darkness shrank, retreating as the horizon glowed brighter, brighter—

I tried to call her name, but the wind swallowed my voice. My vision blurred, the world breaking apart into fragments, slipping from my grasp—

I woke with a sharp inhale, my chest rising as if I had been holding my breath for too long. The silence of the room pressed against me, stark and absolute, a suffocating contrast to the restless echoes of the dream still clinging to my mind.

I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling, my body heavy, unwilling to move. The linen sheets were tangled around me, damp with the lingering heat of sleep, but they felt distant, unfamiliar, as if I was caught between two worlds—one real, one already slipping from my grasp.

The words echoed in my mind, settling deep in my chest like a weight I couldn't shake. The dream had felt so real—too real. It felt like memory, like one of the many nights we had stolen together—walking along the river, breathing in the scent of lotus and papyrus, whispering to each other under the moonlight, where we couldn't be seen. I could still feel the gentle weight of her hand in mine, the way her fingers curled around my own, the scent of blue lotus lingering in the air between us.

My fingers twitched, aching with the phantom sensation of her touch, the warmth of her hand still lingering in my palm.

It had been just like before. Until the end.

It's too late.

I exhaled slowly, pushing the sheets aside and sitting up. The room was quiet, save for the faint rustle of fabric as I moved. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, my feet meeting the cool hardwood floor. The remnants of sleep clung to me, but I knew I couldn't stay here, lost in the echoes of a dream that felt too much like a memory. Running a hand over my face, I tried to shake off the unease tightening in my chest.

I stood, moving toward the dresser, grabbing the first shirt and jeans within reach. As I pulled them on, my fingers hesitated for a moment. I inhaled deeply, shaking it off, pushing my arms through the sleeves and running my hands through my was no more time to dwell on it—I needed answers, and I knew exactly who to go to.

Without hesitation, I pulled on my leather jacket, the worn material familiar and grounding. I strode across the room, reaching for the balcony door and pulling it open. The midnight air rushed in, sharp and biting against my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. I stepped out for a brief moment, letting the cold clear my mind before pulling the door shut behind me.

I needed answers.

I found him at Jabal Mousa.

The mountain loomed in the night, its jagged peaks and weathered cliffs bathed in the cold glow of starlight. The vast sky stretched above, endless and unbroken, with the Milky Way draped like a celestial veil, casting a pale shimmer over the rocky expanse. The air was sharp, carrying the scent of stone and dust, the silence broken only by the occasional whisper of the wind snaking through the crags.

The ground beneath my feet was uneven, worn smooth in some places by centuries of footsteps, rough and treacherous in others. Ancient trails wound through the darkness, their paths carved by time and faith. Far below, the valley lay in hushed stillness, the faint flicker of distant fires marking settlements lost in the shadows of the towering cliffs.

And there he stood.

I had never liked Horus. He was loud, arrogant, too certain of his own destiny. I had watched as he was heralded as the savior, the avenger of Osiris, the rightful king. Meanwhile, I had been left in the shadows, my place beside Isis slowly fading. She had once treated me like a son but after Horus was born, her attention shifted. He became her priority, her triumph. I was a relic of a time before him, a reminder of a past she no longer needed.

And then there was what he had—what I had lost. A wife, a family, things I could never have again. He stood as a symbol of all that had been taken from me, yet here I was, forced to stand beside him once more. Horus, the god of war, the sky, and kingship—while I was left to walk the path of death, forever watching from the shadows. Once, I had been a king in my own right, ruling over the underworld, guiding souls, holding dominion over the dead. But that title had not been mine to keep. In the end, I had given my throne to Osiris and I had been cast into a lesser role—no longer a ruler, but a servant of death and embalming. It was a fate I had accepted, but standing before Horus now, I felt the sting of what had been stripped from me. He had ascended once again while I remained the same.

He gazed over the horizon, unmoving, as if carved from the very stone beneath him. The wind tugged at his cloak, but he remained steady—watchful. Patient. His posture was that of a falcon, poised, sharp-eyed, waiting for the first sign of movement in the vast darkness before him.

I stepped forward, my approach silent, yet he sensed me before I could speak. He turned his head slightly, his profile catching the glow of the stars. Then, as I moved closer, the details of his face sharpened—the smooth, youthful features, the shaved head with a single braided ponytail swaying against the back of his neck. His leather armor, fitted and worn from countless battles, glinted faintly under the celestial light, and at his waist, a sheathed khopesh rested, its hilt within easy reach.

His most striking feature, however, was his eyes. Outlined in kohl, one gleamed gold, the other silver—like the sun and the moon forever watching in tandem. They met mine, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"About time you came, cousin," Horus said, his voice smooth, carrying no urgency—only certainty. His golden and silver eyes reflected the starlight, gleaming like celestial fire against the darkness.

He turned fully to face me, the faint glow of the distant horizon tracing the sharp lines of his youthful face. His arms crossed over his chest, the dark leather of his armor shifting slightly as he moved. The wind howled through the mountain pass, whipping at the edges of his cloak, yet he remained unmoved—watchful, unreadable, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike. It had been too long since we had stood face to face, and now, the weight of time pressed between us.

"I heard you visited me during my predicament," I said, stepping forward, my voice steady despite the unease settling in my gut.

"Yes. You had other visitors as well," he said, his careless tone turning sharper, more pointed. His fingers flexed briefly against the hilt of his khopesh. "Ra is planning something. He is not one to stay idle."

"No," I answered, my gaze locked onto his. "He already has something in motion."

Horus sighed, his stance relaxing slightly but his expression remained grim. His fingers drummed restlessly against the hilt of his khopesh before tightening into a fist. The flicker of tension in his jaw revealed a frustration he wasn't voicing, his body taut with the weight of what lay ahead. He turned his eyes back toward the horizon, where the first hints of dawn threatened the night, as if knowing all too well that time was slipping away from us.

"I feared that," he admitted, his fingers tightening against his arms. "Moments of peace seem to become shorter and shorter."

The wind kicked up between us, lifting dust from the ground and carrying it into the night. The stars above seemed distant now, their light dimming as the golden threads of dawn crept forward. Horus's eyes flickered back to me, the gold and silver gleaming with an intensity I had seen only in battle.

"There's more," he said, his voice lower now, almost cautious. "Ra isn't just watching—he's moving. And I suspect he's already chosen his first target."

I felt my jaw tighten. "I know. He sent me to the tomb under the guise of a quest, but it was no coincidence." My voice wavered, betraying my unease. I swallowed hard before continuing. "We had met there before—months ago."

Horus tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing as curiosity flickered in his otherwise unreadable expression. His arms, once crossed, dropped slightly, one hand resting on his hip while the other curled at his side, his fingers twitching as if itching for movement. "And?"

I exhaled sharply, steadying myself. "My sheut was there. Ra saw it, and now it's gone. Someone took it."

Horus narrowed his gaze, piecing the puzzle together. "But you're here now," he said slowly. "Your sheut must have been returned to you, or you wouldn't be standing here."

"No," I shook my head. "He sent me there for another reason. To see that her body was gone." My voice wavered before I forced it back under control. "My shadow was tied to her. I moved it from place to place—places we shared, places that held happiness. And Ra saw when I placed it there."

Horus's expression darkened, understanding dawning in his mismatched eyes. He looked away for a moment, lips pressing into a firm line. "I've heard whispers of what happened. The woman… how it ended. And the rumors—of a child."

His words trailed off, letting the words hang between us, heavy with judgment, his tone edged with something close to reprimand. My fists clenched at my sides, the past pressing down on me like a weight I couldn't shake. "It doesn't matter anymore. What matters now is what Ra plans to do next."

It was clear that Ra was out for vengeance. He hadn't just taken her—he had obliterated her body, the destruction of the body was the cruelest fate, an act of absolute erasure. It was more than death—it was the theft of existence itself, a punishment not just for her, but for me, a final, brutal warning of Ra's power. It was a message, brutal and absolute, a reminder of the power he held not just over me, but over those close to me.

But this wasn't just about revenge. Ra was moving with purpose, and I could see the realization settling over Horus as well. This wasn't just the wrath of a god scorned—this was the calculated maneuver of a ruler who had once held dominion over all and now sought to reclaim his former throne, no matter the cost. Horus had fought to hold onto what was rightfully his, but Ra was not one to sit idle while another ruled in his place. He did not seek mere vengeance—he sought restoration. The old ways, the order that once placed him above all, had been stripped away, and he would see it rebuilt, even if it meant tearing the current world apart. If deposing Horus demanded war, he would wage it. And if he had to dismantle the gods themselves to reclaim his throne, he would do so piece by piece.

The understanding flickered in Horus's eyes, his arms tensing as if the weight of this truth settled onto his shoulders.

Horus turned back to me, his golden and silver gaze sharp, searching. "Then we need to be ready. Because whatever he's set in motion—we may not be able to stop it. The gods will take sides, just as they did before.

"And you know how that ended," I said, my voice quieter now. "You know what happened the last time the gods took sides—the brutal war between you and Set. The gods were torn apart, forced to choose a side after he murdered Osiris, and what followed was an age of chaos and destruction."

Horus let out a slow breath, crossing his arms tighter. His shoulders squared, his stance shifting as though bracing for a blow that had yet to come. His gaze flickered to the horizon, scanning the darkness as if searching for answers written in the stars. "Some will stand with me. But others... they remember Ra's rule, his might, and what he once was. The old ones, those who still whisper his name with reverence, will not hesitate to bend the knee again. And I suspect your father Set and Bast are already colluding with him. Their loyalty have never wavered or been hidden. Isis and Osiris will clearly stand with me, but what of the rest? The gods will have to choose, and so will the magicians."

I exhaled sharply, the weight of his words pressing down on me. If this war erupted, it would not be contained to just the divine. The last time gods clashed on such a scale, the Greeks and Romans had nearly torn the world apart, their conflicts spilling into mortal history, shaping wars that changed civilizations.

I had walked the ruins of cities reduced to ash, seen the smoke rise like funeral pyres over battlefields littered with the dead. I had watched the sky darken with the fire of human warplanes, heard the screams of men who had no idea they were fighting battles dictated by forces beyond their understanding. I had stood among the wreckage of World War II, where the echoes of Olympus had rippled through time, turning mortal conflict into something even more monstrous.

The wind howled between us, carrying with it the biting chill of the mountain night. My fingers curled into fists at my sides, the tension in the air thick enough to be felt in the very stone beneath our feet. The distant howl of a jackal echoed through the crags, and I knew that silence would not last much longer.

I hesitated. The words sat heavy on my tongue, the weight of what they meant pressing into me. To stand with Horus was to take a side, to step into a war that could consume everything. I had spent centuries walking the line between the living and the dead, watching battles unfold without truly belonging to either side. But now, there was no middle ground. If I did nothing, I was as good as complicit in Ra's return. And I knew that for me, losing was not an option. Ra wanted vengeance, and his punishment would not be light. This was not just a battle for power; it was survival.

The cold bit at my skin, grounding me. I exhaled sharply, pushing aside the doubts clawing at my mind. There was no more time for hesitation.

I took a step forward, meeting Horus's gaze directly, his silver one a stark reminder of the price of war. "Then let it be known—I stand with you. I will not let Ra tear apart what remains. If war is coming, then I will fight."

The admission left a weight in the air, heavier than the night itself. Horus studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. His eyes narrowed slightly, assessing, weighing my words before he finally exhaled through his nose. His fingers flexed once at his sides before he gave a single, approving nod, his posture settling into something resolute. "Then let's be ready for what comes next."