Between the Shadows Part 2: Chapter 6, a kane chronicles fanfic

Part 2: Chapter 6

Sun Boat

February 10th

A vast coastline stretched out before us, not quite solid, not entirely real. Shadowy villages rose and fell on the horizon, their forms shimmering in and out of existence as though they were trapped between one world and the next. The spirits of the lost drifted along the shore—souls who had never received proper rites, who had forgotten their names, or who had simply wandered too far from the light.

The air was thick with mist, curling like unseen hands along the edges of the vessel. Beneath us, the ocean was an abyss—calm on the surface but endless in its depths, where pale serpents wove through the currents, their sinuous bodies breaking the stillness in fleeting flashes of ivory and gold.

We were passing through the Fifth House: The Shore of Echoes.

They watched us as we passed, their hollowed eyes following the golden radiance of the sun boat. Some figures moved with purpose, enacting forgotten rituals or playing out silent, fragmented memories—scenes from lives long lost. Others simply stood, gazing toward the sun, their faces reflecting something close to reverence. Here, I was not just a god but their only beacon of reality, the one thing that remained unchanged in their limbo.

"Khonsu has sworn his allegiance to you, Ra." Set's voice carried a note of satisfaction as he leaned over the large stone table. The dim torchlight flickered against the polished alabaster, casting shifting shadows over the carved layout before us. Small figurines of the gods were arranged upon it—Horus's allies placed firmly on the left, mine on the right. At the center stood those whose allegiances remained uncertain, their tiny stone likenesses waiting to be claimed.

With deliberate care, Set reached forward and nudged Khonsu's figure toward my side of the board. The movement, though small, carried weight. The god of the moon had chosen to stand with me.

I studied the remaining pieces, my eyes lingering on one in particular. "What of Neith?" I asked, my voice steady.

Set's golden eyes flicked toward me, considering. "There is a possibility she could join our side," he admitted. "She is not blindly loyal."

A slow, knowing smile touched my lips. "Is that now an issue?"

"It would be," Set conceded. "However…" He traced a finger along the edge of the board, lost in thought for a moment before continuing. "She was fair in my judgment after the war between me and Horus. She did not allow sentiment to cloud her reason." His tone darkened slightly, as if recalling the wounds of the past. Then, as if shaking off the weight of memory, he straightened. "Besides, you represent the old gods, the old ways. And Neith is one of them. Her natural inclination will be to defend your rule."

I turned my gaze back to the figurines, the silent deities carved in stone, waiting. The game was shifting. Piece by piece, the gods were choosing their place in the battle to come.

I leaned back, feeling the gentle sway of the sun boat beneath me, the ever-present hum of its divine power coursing through the golden vessel. One of the orbs drifted toward me, hovering silently before tipping a stream of dark red wine into my chalice. The aroma of aged grapes and honeyed spices curled into the air.

Bringing the cup to my lips, I let the wine settle on my tongue before speaking. "So, in total, how many do we have?"

Set rested his hands on the edges of the stone table, his claws tapping against the polished alabaster. He cast a glance at the figurines before us, his expression calculating.

"We have seven," he said at last, reaching out and placing a finger over each piece in turn.

Set rested his hands on the edges of the stone table, his claws tapping against the polished alabaster. He cast a glance at the figurines before us, his expression calculating.

"We have eight," he said at last, reaching out and placing a finger over each piece in turn.

"Bast." His voice was firm, certain. "The Eye of Ra. She has been your protector since the earliest days, and she will not waver now. She is more than a warrior—she is a guardian, sharp and swift, with a mind for both battle and strategy."

"Sobek." Set's lips curled slightly in a knowing smirk. "Fierce, primal, unyielding. His devotion to you is unquestionable, and his brutality in war will turn the tides in our favor. Few dare to challenge a crocodile in its own waters."

"Tefnut." His voice softened, just a fraction. "Your daughter, tied to the very essence of moisture and life. She upholds the balance of the world, and as your blood, her loyalty will not falter. She will stand with you."

"Shu." His finger tapped against Tefnut's counterpart, the deity of air and order. "As one who upholds Ma'at and your decree, he will not turn against you. He is bound by duty as much as by blood."

"Khnum." He traced a claw along the edges of the ram-headed god's figurine. "The one who shapes the flesh of mortals, the one tied to your cycle of renewal. He weaves the bodies of the living as the sun weaves the day. He remains in your service, as he always has."

"Nefertem." The final piece before the newest addition. Set rolled it between his fingers for a moment before placing it firmly on my side of the board. "A sun god, your grandchild, your legacy. He follows the path of the light, and his strength will aid us."

Then, Set's golden eyes flicked toward the last figurine that had only recently shifted onto our side.

"Khonsu." He tapped the moon god's piece lightly, a smirk playing at the edges of his lips. "The traveler, the wanderer, the measurer of time. His influence extends beyond mortals—his power touches both the seen and the unseen. Though his domain is the night, his loyalty lies with you now, and with it, the tides of fate begin to shift."

I studied the pieces before me—the warriors and guardians, the forces of destruction and renewal alike. These were the gods of my domain, those who had shaped the world in my image, who had stood beside me in ages past. Yet, even with their strength, the weight of strategy pressed against my thoughts.

I set my chalice down, the rich wine inside reflecting the flickering torchlight. My gaze moved from the board to Set. "And what of Horus?"

Set exhaled through his nose, his smirk fading slightly. He reached across the table, his clawed fingers tracing the figurines on the left side of the board, where our opposition stood. "Let's see."

Beyond us, the cavern breathed—shadows flickering, the echoes of lost voices merging into the restless murmur of the Ba souls. They drifted aimlessly through the cavernous expanse, glowing orbs bouncing lightly against the cavern walls, flickering as they took on half-formed shapes—twisted limbs, fleeting faces, hollowed eyes that had long since forgotten what it was to see.

Some of them mumbled, their voices barely more than a breath carried through the chambers. Who am I? Where am I? What was I meant to do? The same questions, repeated endlessly, as if the answers had been stolen from them.

Set, undeterred by the wretched spirits, gestured toward the figurines before him. His expression darkened slightly as he named them one by one.

"Shezmu." He tapped the executioner's piece, his golden eyes gleaming with amusement. "The butcher of souls, the one who purifies through blood. His loyalty lies with Osiris, and Osiris belongs to Horus. Shezmu is no tactician, but his wrath is an instrument Horus will wield without hesitation."

"Isis." The smirk on his lips flattened into a grim line. "The Queen of Magic. His mother. There is no stronger bond in this fight. She will shape fate itself to protect him, bend destiny to his will if she must."

"Osiris." Set's claw hesitated over this piece, his expression unreadable. "His father. A god who has no love for you, Ra. Given the old wounds, he would back his son without question. Horus stands on the shoulders of a god-king."

I remained silent, watching as Set's fingers moved to the next figure.

"Nephthys." His voice was quieter now. "Loyal sister, devoted ally. She has always been bound to Osiris and Isis, and where they go, she follows. She will not break from them now."

"Geb." A slow tap on the figurine. "The earth itself. Separated from Nut by your decree, cast apart by your will. He may not be openly vengeful, but resentment festers in stone as well as flesh. He will side with Horus out of defiance, if nothing else."

"Nut." He traced the edges of her piece, his smirk returning, though tinged with something colder. "The sky, the mother of the stars. Your punishment cost her dearly, and it is not forgotten. If there is a chance to defy you, to take back what was lost, she will take it. Out of vengeance, if nothing else."

Set leaned back slightly, folding his arms. The two sides of the board were set before us—our forces standing firm on one end, Horus's gathering in opposition.

I let out a slow breath, watching as the pieces aligned against me grew. "That makes six for Horus," I said, voice measured.

Set leaned back slightly, folding his arms. "Six for him, seven for us." He tilted his head. "But there are still those who stand undecided."

His fingers trailed toward the center of the board, where the remaining figurines stood untouched, waiting. "Neith. Thoth. Ptah. Bes. Not all are set in their allegiance." He lifted his gaze to meet mine. "The game is not yet lost."

I narrowed my eyes, gripping the edge of the table as I studied Set's expression. The flames flickered, casting shadows over his sharp features, but there was something behind his smirk—something calculated, something dangerous.

"We also may have Sekhmet," he said casually, his tone almost amused.

I scoffed. "And how is that?"

Set leaned forward, his golden eyes gleaming with mischief. "She is currently Hathor," I spat, my voice sharper than I intended. "And the chances of her changing form again are slim—now that she is with her beloved Horus." I could taste the bitterness in my own words.

"Yes," Set responded smoothly, unfazed by my disdain. He drummed his claws against the stone, each tap deliberate, measured. "That is precisely why you have me." He tilted his head, his smirk deepening. "I'll take care of it."

Hathor was no longer the wrathful lioness, no longer the living weapon I had once unleashed upon the world. She had been soothed, tamed—wrapped in the arms of Horus, her nature softened by love. But Set… Set was nothing if not persistent. If there was a way to coax the lioness back out of the cow, he would find it.

I took a slow sip of wine, watching him over the rim of my chalice. "And what, exactly, is your plan?"

Set chuckled under his breath, the sound low and dark. "Oh, you'll see," he murmured, reclining back against his seat. "By the time this game is done, the lioness may yet remember her claws."

I wasn't sure whether to be intrigued or concerned. Perhaps both.

The cavernous gloom of the Sixth House melted away behind us, and in its place, a radiant city stretched before us, bathed in an eternal twilight of deep blues and warm golds. Lush fields of wheat swayed in the soft, endless breeze, their golden stalks rippling like waves beneath a sky where the sun and moon coexisted in perfect harmony.

The air here was rich with the scent of honeyed dates and incense, the aroma of roasted meats and spiced wine drifting from the grand halls that dotted the landscape. Unlike the previous realms we had passed, there was no suffering here, no lost souls drifting without purpose. The spirits that dwelled in Paradise—those who had been judged worthy—walked with purpose, their forms whole and luminous.

The Hall of Judgment loomed ahead, music echoing, its melody winding through the air like a living thing. Deep drumbeats pulsed beneath the sound of flutes and harps, weaving a rhythm that felt almost like a heartbeat.

Set, standing at the prow of the barge, tilted his head slightly, listening. His smirk returned, though it was thinner now, more calculating. "Not the usual welcome," he murmured, as the boat eased to a halt at the edge.

Set stepped forward first, his crimson form silhouetted against the golden glow of the divine city. His golden eyes gleamed with amusement as he looked toward the great hall. "They feast without us," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. "How rude."

I followed, stepping onto the pristine stone walkway that led up to the temple. The scents of honeyed wine, roasted meats, and fresh bread filled the air, mingling with the flickering torches that lined the towering pillars. Its massive doors thrown open in welcome, though the weight of history pressed against the threshold. Inside, the hall was alive with the warmth of golden torchlight reflecting off the polished limestone walls, adorned with intricate reliefs depicting the balance of Ma'at. The murals told the stories of gods and kings, of victories won and legacies forged in fire and time.

The music swelled, rich and rhythmic, the blend of deep drums and lyres echoing through the great chamber, weaving through the scent of incense, roasted meats, honeyed bread, and fresh wine.

Set chuckled under his breath as we entered, his golden eyes dancing with amusement. "Now this is a sight to behold."

The banquet table stretched long and unbroken, an unspoken truce holding between those gathered. Though this was a place of judgment, a place where the dead had their hearts weighed against the feather of truth, tonight it was something else—a meeting of gods, a pause before war.

At the center of the table, Osiris, king of the dead, sat with quiet authority. His skin shifted under the torchlight—olive green in the shadows, deep blue where the firelight touched him. His piercing brown eyes, sharp and watchful, took in the room like a ruler who had witnessed countless rises and falls. His resemblance to his mortal descendant, Julius Kane, was striking. A well-groomed goatee framed his strong jaw. He wore a broad collar of emerald, lapis, and obsidian, and his white linen robes were edged with gold, pristine and regal.

To his left, Isis, Queen of Magic, sat beside him. Her dark hair was braided with tiny diamonds, catching the torchlight like stars. Her brown eyes gleamed with knowledge, and behind her, multicolored wings faded in and out, shifting like the Northern Lights. Her white robes flowed around her, simple yet flawless, exuding power without excess.

Next to her, Horus, the god of kingship, sat tall and broad-shouldered, every inch a warrior. His golden-brown skin contrasted with the deep blue of his beaded collar, a falcon's feather tucked behind his ear. His kohl-rimmed eyes swept the room, his expression unreadable. He wore a white linen robe embroidered with gold falcon wings, a thick leather armband wrapped around his bicep.

Beside him, Hathor, once the lioness of war, leaned close, whispering something to Horus. Her rich brown skin glowed in the torchlight, her full lips curved into a smile as she laughed at the floating orbs of light. Dark curls fell thick and wild down her back, held by a delicate gold circlet. She wore a simple white dress cinched with a broad, jewel-encrusted belt, her posture relaxed, unaffected by the tension in the room.

Further down, Nephthys, the silent shadow, sat quietly. Where Isis burned bright, Nephthys was subdued. Her ink-black hair framed softer, more solemn features, and her kohl-darkened eyes took in everything. A sheer veil covered her lower face, embroidered with silver sigils of protection.

On the other side of Osiris, Ruby Kane sat, her fair skin had an unnatural glow, flickering between solid and translucent under the torchlight. Long caramel-colored hair fell over her shoulders, its edges shifting like mist. Her deep blue eyes remained sharp and focused, unchanged by death. She wore a white linen dress embroidered with protective spells, the fabric seeming both real and unreal, shifting with her form.

Beside her, Anubis sat in human form, though his presence still carried the weight of death. His skin was pale as the night sky, his golden eyes sharp and focused. His black linen robes were stitched with silver thread, stark against the gold bands on his wrists. He traced the rim of his goblet absently, though his gaze was locked onto Ra and Set as they entered.

Next to Anubis, Neith, the old warrior, sat with a quiet, unmoving strength. Her skin was the color of desert sand, her features sharp and disciplined. Her short, tightly coiled hair was adorned with a bronze headpiece, her pleated tunic stitched with sigils of war and protection. Her muscular arms were bare, save for a single iron band around her wrist—a testament to her many battles.

The room fell quiet for only a moment as Set and I stepped forward, our forms casting long shadows across the polished stone floor.

Osiris, ever the king, gestured toward the empty seats before us, his voice even, yet layered with meaning.

"Ra, Set." His tone was neutral, but his eyes were sharp. "Join us. You've come a long way."

Set exhaled dramatically, "Don't mind if we do." He reached for a goblet of wine, raising it slightly before taking a long sip.

Dropping into the seat beside Nephthys, he stretched his arms along the back of his chair, his smirk lingering. The movement was casual—too casual. The tension was immediate. Nephthys sat stiffly, her hands resting on her lap, fingers curled slightly as if resisting the urge to pull away. She did not acknowledge him.

Set noticed.

Hathor, seated across from them, took an immediate interest in the situation. Her brown eyes flicked between the two, her lips curving into an amused smile. "Well, isn't this rare?" she mused, sipping her wine. "The great Set, seated beside his wife."

Nephthys shot Hathor a sharp glance, but the goddess of love only chuckled, unbothered. "Tell me, Set," Hathor continued, tilting her head, her curls cascading over her shoulder, "are you feeling sentimental, or did someone else take your usual seat?"

Set grinned, unrepentant. "I have no usual seat," he countered smoothly. "I go where I please." He leaned closer toward Nephthys. "And besides, it's not as if my dear wife would deny me the pleasure of her company. Would you?"

Nephthys' expression remained neutral, but her shoulders tensed slightly. Her gaze stayed fixed on the table, fingers tightening around her goblet. She did not answer.

Hathor, watching closely, took another sip of wine. "Careful, Set," she said with a light laugh, "you might remind her why she left you in the first place."

Set's smirk deepened. "Oh, I do hope so."

The words were light, but there was something dangerous behind them. Something challenging. Nephthys inhaled sharply through her nose but did not turn to look at him.

Across the table, I took my seat beside Neith, who greeted me with a nod. Her presence was a steady contrast to the unease brewing near Set.

"Ra," she said, her voice level and sure. "How has your journey through the Duat gone so far?"

I let out a slow breath, setting my chalice on the polished table. "As well as one could expect," I replied, my gaze shifting briefly to the gathering around us. "The Duat never rests. But you already know that."

Neith inclined her head slightly, the faintest glimmer of amusement in her sharp, dark eyes. "Indeed. But I ask not for my own knowledge." She gestured subtly toward the table, where the gods watched and listened, even as they feasted. "A question asked aloud is an answer given to all."

I met her gaze, understanding her meaning. This was not just conversation—it was positioning. The battle for alliances had begun, even here.

I took a sip of my wine before answering. "The journey has been... revealing." My voice remained even, measured. "All things move toward their fate. Some willingly. Others must be reminded."

Neith considered my words before nodding. "A god must always be prepared to remind those who forget."

Her words carried weight, and I knew they were not just for me.

I leaned in slightly, letting the pause between us stretch just long enough to press the weight of my words.

"And how is life in the mortal world treating you, Anubis?"

The question sounded casual, but it carried intent.

Anubis, who had been absently tracing the rim of his goblet, stilled. His golden eyes flicked toward me, his expression unreadable. There was a brief hesitation before he exhaled, slow and measured.

"It has been… different."

His fingers resumed their slow movement along the cup, an absent gesture of thought. "The mortal world is ever-changing. Among the living… the smallest moments stand out." He paused, his golden eyes distant. "I see these things now. And I appreciate them more."

I held his gaze, letting his words settle. Then, I tilted my head slightly.

"Good. It is a privilege—not all gods have it."

There it was. The reminder.

Set let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, don't be so modest, Ra," he said, propping his elbow on the table. "You gave Anubis the greatest privilege of all, didn't you?" His smirk sharpened. "You let him play house with the living. How very kind."

Anubis's jaw tightened.

The table fell silent.

I let that truth hang between us before adding, deliberately, "And how is your relationship with Sadie Kane?"

There was a slight tightening of his jaw, just enough to show he understood the weight of my words. Then, with practiced ease, he lifted his cup and took a slow sip before setting it down again.

Finally, Anubis spoke, his voice measured, controlled. "It is going well, my Lord."

A careful answer. A calculated one.

I nodded, taking a slow sip of my own wine. "I'm glad to hear that." My voice was even, but then I let my next words slip out, slow and deliberate.

Set continued. "That's good to hear son! Of course, there was that little mess with your last mortal love. What was her name again? Ah yes… Princess Kamilah." He tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness. "Now, that was a disaster, wasn't it?"

Anubis's fingers curled slightly around his goblet.

Across the table, Isis inhaled slowly, but she did not speak. Horus's jaw was set like stone, his knuckles pale against the table. Nephthys remained silent, but her gaze flickered toward Anubis, her expression unreadable.

The air shifted.

Set watched with clear amusement, his smirk barely contained.

The reaction was instant.

Anubis's hand tensed around his goblet. His golden eyes flashed from Set toward me, his usually composed face shifting into something colder, something restrained.

The air grew thicker, an unspoken tension humming between us, stretching across the table.

Isis's grip tightened on her cup. Across from me, Horus went rigid, his jaw set like carved stone. Nephthys, though silent, cast a glance toward Anubis—an expression unreadable, but present nonetheless.

Set, ever the spectator, let out a quiet chuckle, low and knowing.

But the only one who seemed oblivious to the shift was Hathor.

She waved a hand lazily in the air, her expression amused. "Oh, Set, it was young love."

She took a sip of wine, completely unbothered by the sudden weight pressing down on the room.

Anubis exhaled through his nose, his fingers still curled around his goblet, his face unreadable once again.

I observed Anubis, my gaze steady. "Yes, but with such consequences," I said, letting my words settle. "Two unnecessary, cruel deaths."

Anubis's fingers curled slightly around his goblet. He did not respond immediately, but his expression grew darker, his golden eyes flickering with something unspoken.

Across the table, Horus's grip on his own cup tightened, his knuckles pale. Isis lowered her gaze, her expression unreadable. Nephthys shifted subtly, her shoulders tense.

Set, of course, found the tension amusing. His smirk deepened, though he said nothing, merely observing.

Hathor, the only one who seemed unbothered, sighed dramatically and swirled the wine in her goblet. "Tragedy and romance are at times intermixed, Ra." Her tone was light, but there was a flicker of something knowing in her eyes.

Anubis exhaled, slow and measured. "That is true," he said at last. His voice was quiet, but there was a weight behind it, something strained. "But it does not change what has already been done."

He did not look at me when he spoke.

I let the silence stretch for a moment before I spoke again, my voice calm but heavy with intent. "Yes, nothing like letting two mortals pay for your sins against Ma'at."

Anubis stiffened.

His golden eyes, usually distant and composed, sharpened as they met mine. His grip on his goblet tightened just enough that I wondered if he might crack the delicate vessel.

The weight of the room had shifted, thick with something unspoken.

Set, reclining in his chair, let out a low chuckle, barely contained amusement glinting in his golden eyes. "Careful, Anubis," he murmured, swirling the wine in his goblet lazily. "You're about to break something."

Anubis exhaled sharply through his nose and released his grip on the goblet, setting it down with deliberate control. "I have not forgotten my place," he said evenly, though there was an edge to his voice.

I studied him. "Good."

I did not need to say more. The message had been received.

Hathor, once again, was the only one unbothered by the tension thickening around us. She let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling her eyes as she plucked a date from a golden dish. "Really, Ra? You act as if love and duty have never clashed before."

She popped the fruit into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully before continuing. "You're forgetting what it was like to be young."

Set barked a short laugh. "Ra was never young."

A few chuckles rippled down the table, some forced, some genuine. The moment passed, but the tension remained, lingering in the space between words, between glances.

Anubis picked up his goblet again, and finally looked at me, his golden eyes steady, sharp. There was a shift in his demeanor—not outright defiance, but something close. A controlled, measured strike.

"I never did thank you, Ra."

I arched a brow, tilting my head slightly. "Thank me?"

He nodded, the corner of his lips curling—not in a smile, but something resembling one. "Yes, for your mercy."

Set leaned forward slightly, intrigued, while across the table, Isis's fingers curled around her goblet. Horus's gaze darkened, but he did not interrupt.

I kept my expression neutral. "You'll have to be more specific."

Anubis exhaled slowly, his tone even, his words deliberate. "You never punished me, Ra."

The table fell silent.

Even Hathor, lounging in her seat, flicked her gaze toward him, her expression suddenly more focused.

Set leaned in slightly, intrigued. Across from me, Isis's grip tightened on her goblet. Horus's jaw tensed.

"Punished you?" I echoed, my voice as calm as ever.

"Yes." He tilted his head slightly, watching me. "She was your host, Ra. Your chosen mortal." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing, his voice just soft enough to force those around us to listen carefully.

Anubis tilted his head slightly, his golden eyes locked onto mine. "And yet she chose me." His voice was quiet but deliberate, each word calculated.

The words were like a dagger drawn slowly from its sheath, precise and sharp.

A murmur of power stirred the air.

"Knowing what it would cost her, knowing the risk of your wrath, she still chose me."

His fingers traced the rim of his goblet again, slow and thoughtful. "That is how much she preferred me over you."

The silence that followed was heavy. Unyielding.

Even Neith, who had remained steady until now, shifted slightly, her eyes flicking between me and Anubis with quiet calculation.

I did not speak.

Anubis traced the rim of his goblet absently. "Such strength it must have taken not to punish me… for enjoying her, and she I."

Even Set stopped smiling.

The energy in the room shifted. Horus exhaled through his nose, low and sharp. Isis's fingers curled inward.

Anubis continued, his voice quieter now. "And not only that, if I remember correctly, you allowed our son to remain alive. Even for a short time."

"To have her watch our son die at the hands of demons. To have her sacrifice herself to seal the gateway to the Duat and Aphophis. And now, even in death, to ensure she may never arrive here—to never pass through the afterlife you made sure to destroy her body."

He tilted his head slightly. "Such mercy, my Lord. The wisdom of an experienced Pharaoh."

The table remained silent.

Even the flickering orbs of light overhead seemed frozen, trapped in the gravity of the words.

Even the orbs of light floating above the table seemed frozen, their movement barely noticeable in the thickened air.

I did not move, did not change my expression. I let him speak.

Then, with a slow, deliberate tilt of his head, Anubis delivered the final blow.

"And now you allow me to be with Sadie Kane."

The air in the hall shifted—heavier, denser. The flickering torches seemed to dim for a moment, as if caught in the gravity of the silence that followed Anubis's words.

Even now, after eons, he had chosen his moment well. A precise strike.

The gods at the table were still. Even Set, who had been reveling in the exchange, no longer smirked.

Across from me, Isis's lips pressed into a thin line, but she did not speak. Horus's grip on his cup had turned white-knuckled.

Even Nephthys, who had remained quiet, turned her gaze toward Anubis—not in approval, not in disapproval, but in something unreadable. Recognition, perhaps.

And Anubis himself…
He did not smile. He did not gloat.
His golden eyes were steady, his expression unreadable, but the weight of his words hung in the air like a blade left unsheathed.

I exhaled slowly, deliberately. I did not blink. I did not move.

I let the silence stretch.

Then I leaned forward, fingers resting lightly on the stem of my chalice. My voice, when I spoke, was even. Measured.

"Yes."

I let the word settle, let it breathe.

"I did allow you to be with her."

A pause.

Then I tilted my head, just slightly. The faintest shift.

"You mistake that for mercy."

A flicker in Anubis's eyes. Not uncertainty. But something close.

"You mistake all of it for mercy."

I let my words settle between us before continuing, my tone unchanged. Calm. Unyielding.

"To have her watch her son die at the hands of demons. To have her sacrifice her own life force to seal the doorway to the Duat. And even now, long after my return, to have her body destroyed so that she may never arrive here, may never move through the afterlife."

I did not raise my voice. I did not need to.

"That is not mercy, Anubis. That is justice."

A god's justice. A pharaoh's wisdom.

The table remained silent. Even the music, once a distant hum in the background, seemed to have faded.

Anubis did not speak immediately. His jaw tensed just slightly. He lifted his goblet, taking a slow sip, using the moment to compose himself.

Anubis did not look away. He held my gaze, his golden eyes unreadable—calculating, composed, but no longer unshaken.

The silence after my words was absolute. The weight of the moment pressed against the chamber, the air thick with something unspoken yet undeniable.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he lifted his goblet.

A quiet, mocking gesture.

"To justice, then."

The words were smooth, almost effortless. But the way he said them, the way his lips curved just slightly at the edges, told a different story.

A toast, but not one of reverence.

A challenge. A mockery.

His cup caught the flickering torchlight, the deep red wine inside reflecting like blood against the polished gold rim. A toast not to honor, not to agreement—but to cruelty.

To vengeance.

To me.

Set exhaled sharply through his nose, barely containing a smirk. Beside him, Nephthys's expression remained neutral, though her fingers curled ever so slightly against her lap.

Across the table, Isis did not move. Horus's grip on his goblet was so tight I thought it might shatter.

Anubis took a slow sip, his eyes never leaving mine.

He had made his statement.

The Pharaoh of the Sun, the god of order, the creator of Ma'at—was no different from the gods of wrath and ruin.

I watched him, unblinking, as he lowered his goblet back to the table with deliberate ease.

And then, in the silence that followed, I reached for my own.

I lifted it, mirroring his movement.

The air hummed, charged with something electric.

"To justice," I said, voice steady, even.

But unlike his, mine was not a mockery.

It was a decree.

Anubis held my gaze for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before finally tilting his head slightly—a silent acknowledgment, a refusal to back down.

And then, as if the moment had never happened, he took another sip of his wine.

Set let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Well," he mused, reclining back against his seat, "now it's a party."

Hathor sighed, swirling her own goblet lazily. "Truly, Ra, you always did have a way with words."

But the tension did not break.

The game had shifted.

Anubis had not just made a move—he had declared his position.