Part 2: Chapter 7

Z

I

A

Brooklyn House

February 11

I woke up around four in the morning, eyes wide open, mind restless. No matter how much I tossed and turned, sleep refused to take me back. The air in my room was cold, the kind of deep winter chill that seeps into the bones, making the blankets feel like a flimsy defense.

With a sigh, I slipped out of bed, my feet hitting the freezing floor. I winced, wrapping my arms around myself as I shuffled out into the hallway. The house was silent, heavy with the kind of stillness that only exists in the dead of night. No hum of conversation, no distant sounds of the city waking up—just the quiet, the deep, unshaken quiet of winter up north.

I made my way downstairs, the wooden steps creaking under my weight. The cold was worse down here, slipping through the windows, biting at my skin. I shivered, rubbing my hands together before reaching for the stove.

Sahlab. That was what I needed. Something warm, thick, comforting. I set a pot on the stove, pouring in the milk, watching as the cold liquid slowly began to heat. A spoonful of cornstarch, a bit of sugar, a dash of vanilla—I stirred, watching the mixture thicken, the scent of warmth and nostalgia filling the kitchen.

By the time I poured it into a cup, the wind had picked up outside, howling and rattling against the windows. I wrapped my hands around the mug, letting the heat seep into my fingers.

No sun yet—too early for that. Just the long stretch of night, the flickering kitchen light, and the quiet comfort of something warm in my hands.

I turned back toward the stairs, the warmth of the sahlab still lingering in my hands. Maybe now, with something in my stomach, I'd be able to find sleep.

As I passed the balcony, habit made me glance out the sliding door, expecting to see the faint, familiar glow of New York's skyline across the river. Even in winter's deep grasp, the city never truly slept.

But tonight, there was another figure outside.

Anubis.

The sahlab in my hands felt suddenly too warm, Slowly, carefully, I reached for the sliding door, willing it to open silently.

The sound scraped through the quiet like a blade against stone, shattering the stillness. I froze, gripping the handle tighter, my breath caught in my chest. The night outside seemed to inhale in response, the cold rushing in past the gap.

Too late to go back.

I slipped through the gap, the icy air wrapping around me like a second skin. The cold bit at my exposed arms, my breath instantly turning to mist as I turned back and shut the door behind me. The regret was immediate, sharp, and absolute.

What was I thinking?

The wind clawed at me, burrowing into my bones, and I shivered violently. My thin clothes were no match for the deep, unrelenting cold of winter.

Anubis noticed.

Before I could react, a shift in the air rippled around him. The Duat stirred, unseen but felt, ancient and vast. A blanket materialized in his hands—rich, heavy, warm with something beyond simple fabric. He draped it over my shoulders, the weight settling around me, shielding me from the cold.

Anubis gestured toward one of the cushioned sofas near the fire pit. The thick cushions were dusted with a fine layer of frost, untouched by warmth for who knew how long. I hesitated, glancing at him, but he said nothing—just waited.

With a sigh, I turned toward the fire pit, extending my hand. The magic came easily, flowing through my palm like a second breath. A soft pulse of energy, a flick of my fingers, and the flames roared to life, chasing away the darkness with their golden glow.

I sank onto the sofa, pulling the blanket tighter around me as it began to slip. My limbs felt heavy, my exhaustion creeping back now that the cold wasn't keeping me awake. The weight of the night pressed against my shoulders, but before I could adjust the blanket again, Anubis moved.

Effortless, silent—he reached out, tucking it back around me with practiced ease. I stiffened slightly at the gesture, but there was no hesitation in his movements, no expectation.

His voice broke the silence.

"Why are you up so early?"

I exhaled, watching my breath curl in the air before disappearing.

"Couldn't sleep."

"What about you?" I asked, lifting the cup to my lips and taking a slow sip. The warmth spread through me, soothing, grounding. "Why are you up so early?"

Anubis hesitated.

I lowered the cup slightly. "What is it?" My voice was softer this time. "You can tell me."

For a moment, the only sound between us was the crackling of the fire. The flames danced in his dark eyes, reflecting something deeper, something unspoken.

He let out a breath, slow and deliberate, before finally meeting my gaze.

"I took a side today."

A chill that had nothing to do with the winter air crept down my spine.

I set the cup down beside me, shifting forward, searching his face for something—an explanation, reassurance, anything. "What do you mean? A side? For what?"

Anubis didn't answer right away. His expression remained unreadable, shadowed by the flickering firelight. The weight of his silence pressed against me like the cold had moments before.

"A side," I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper.

The night felt too quiet. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

He exhaled slowly, as if measuring his words before letting them out. "The balance is shifting, Zia. The lines are being drawn. I couldn't stay neutral anymore."

I gripped the blanket tighter. My heartbeat pounded against my ribs. "What are you talking about? A war? There's a war coming?"

Anubis nodded once, deliberate and solemn. "There is a fight for the legitimacy of being the Pharaoh of the gods. Even though Ra had agreed at the end of the battle with Apophis that Horus would reign, it seemed he had never truly wanted that. The gods are beginning to take sides."

"That's madness. The gods shouldn't—"

"I know." His voice was calm, but there was something underneath it. Something restrained. "But not everyone agrees. And some are willing to fight for it."

A chill ran through me, sharp and electric. "Who? Who did you side with?"

Anubis didn't answer right away. His gaze flickered away for the briefest moment, out toward the skyline where the city still slept, oblivious to the storm brewing in its shadow.

But I already knew the answer. He stood with Horus.

"This will not only involve the gods, will it?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. The weight of the revelation pressed against my chest, heavy and unrelenting. Anubis didn't answer immediately, his gaze still fixed on the skyline, as if seeking clarity in the distant lights. But I already knew the truth. If the gods were at war, the mortal world would not remain untouched.

"I'm the host of Ra." I let the words settle into the silence, their weight pressing against my chest like a stone, heavier than I had expected. The fire crackled, its glow casting flickering shadows across the balcony, distorting reality with every shift of light. The realization began to sink in—not just into my mind, but into my very core, colder than the winter air around me. It wasn't just a title. It was a decision, one I had unknowingly made the moment I accepted Ra's power.

Anubis studied me carefully, his expression unreadable, yet his eyes held something deeper—concern. His silence only made the truth ring louder in my ears.

I clenched my hands into fists, my nails digging into my palms as my mind raced. "No!" The word burst from me, raw and instinctive, carrying the weight of denial and disbelief. The war was supposed to be over. We had fought, we had bled, and we had won. But now, the fragile peace we had clung to was crumbling before my eyes. The fire flickered violently in response to my emotions, shadows stretching and twisting as if the Duat itself could feel my dread.

Anubis shifted beside me, his presence grounding, steady. He reached out, his hand hovering near my shoulder before finally resting there, firm but gentle. "Zia," he said, his tone softer now, almost brotherly. "I know this is cruel. We've barely had time to breathe, to recover. But I need you to understand something—we are not enemies. I would never let anything happen to you."

His words settled over me like a shield, offering warmth that even the fire couldn't provide. My throat tightened, emotions warring within me. "Then why does it feel like everything is falling apart again?" I whispered.

Anubis sighed, his expression unreadable for a moment before softening. "I am only warning you of what is to happen. It does not mean there cannot be resolution before a battle begins." His voice was steady, reassuring, but beneath it lay the weight of centuries of knowledge, of wars and betrayals past. "There is always a choice before the first strike. There is always a chance to stop it. But you must be prepared—because not everyone will want peace."

His words settled over me, grounding yet daunting. I searched his face for any hint of false hope, but there was none. He meant what he said. He would stand beside me, but he would not lie. The future was uncertain, but at least, for now, I was not alone.

"What about you?" I asked, my voice steadier now. "It is clear that Ra wants to hurt you. If there is no war or change in reign, he will still want something from you."

Anubis's gaze remained fixed on the skyline, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, he turned to me, his dark eyes filled with something I couldn't quite name—resignation, maybe, or acceptance. "I know," he admitted quietly. "Ra does not forget. And he does not forgive easily. His sense of justice is absolute, unwavering. He sees the world through the lens of balance, and to him, balance must be restored, no matter the cost. Even if the war is over, even if the gods have already suffered, Ra will not rest until he deems the scales properly aligned. And that, Zia, is what worries me the most.""

He let out a breath, slow and deliberate, as if considering his next words carefully. "But I will not let that consume me. Just as I will not let it consume you. No matter what happens, Zia, I will stand beside you."

I swallowed hard, my mind spinning. "But how do you know that? How do you know Ra won't force your hand, won't demand something of you? You said it yourself—he does not forget, and he does not forgive. If balance is his justice, then how does anyone escape his wrath?"

Anubis exhaled, shaking his head slightly, a wry smile forming on his lips. "You think too much for this early of an hour," he said, his tone deliberately lighter, as if attempting to pull me away from the weight of my thoughts. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you enjoy worrying."

I shot him a glare, but the faint amusement in his eyes softened the tension between us. "You're avoiding the question."

"I'm giving you a moment to breathe," he countered smoothly. "The world will not end tonight, Zia. And until it does, you are allowed a moment of peace."

I hesitated, my fingers tightening around the edge of the blanket. "That sounds like something someone says when they know the worst is coming."

Anubis let out a quiet chuckle. "Perhaps. Or maybe it's something someone says when they know the future isn't written in stone. We may not control everything, but we still have choices. And right now, I choose to let you take a break from all this." He gestured toward the mug in my hands. "Drink your sahlab before it gets cold. Trust me, it tastes awful once it does. And if it does, I refuse to be held responsible for the tragic loss of your taste buds."

I let out a small chuckle, the tension in my chest loosening just a little. "So you do have a sense of humor," I said, lifting the mug to my lips and taking a slow sip. The warmth spread through me again, soothing in a way that even Anubis's words couldn't fully accomplish.

He smirked, tilting his head slightly. "Only when the situation calls for it."

I exhaled, shaking my head. "Well, at least you're trying. It's just... hard to ignore everything that's happening. But I appreciate the distraction."

Anubis nodded, his expression softening. "Good. Then let's sit here a little longer and pretend, just for a moment, that the world isn't waiting to fall apart. And while we're at it, you can ask me anything you want—so long as it distracts you from all this war talk. I do have my limits, though. No asking about my skincare routine; some mysteries are best left unsolved."

I smirked, tilting my head. "Oh, now you've made it my mission to find out. What if I just start guessing? Let's see… Divine essence? Sand from the Duat? Or maybe it's just good old-fashioned magic?" I wiggled my fingers theatrically.

Anubis rolled his eyes, but there was amusement flickering beneath his stoic expression. "Guess all you want, but I will take my secrets to the grave."

I let out a mock gasp. "Bit dramatic, don't you think?"

Then, as if the weight of the night suddenly pressed down again, I hesitated. My mind drifted back to the fire at school yesterday. The cyclopes—why were they after Lacey? It seemed like nobody else could see them. I failed to mention Malika, who had lied about seeing them. That detail gnawed at me.

I glanced at Anubis, debating whether to bring it up. Finally, I took a breath and spoke. "The fire at school yesterday—it was the cyclopes. But why were they after Lacey? It seemed like nobody else could see them."

Anubis's gaze sharpened slightly, his casual demeanor shifting just a fraction. "That's…interesting," he said slowly. "Are you sure no one else noticed?"

I lied. "No, nobody else."

"As you may know, I am part of a world believed to be nothing more than myths, remnants of an ancient civilization long buried in time. Yet, here I stand. And I am not the only one. There are others—ancient beings, powerful and unseen, existing closer to you than you could ever imagine."

I swallowed hard, gripping my mug a little tighter. "That's... unsettling," I admitted. "I mean, I always knew there was more to the world than what we see, but the idea that these beings are just—walking among us?" I shivered, though not from the cold.

"Don't worry," Anubis said with a knowing smirk. "Just like there are monsters, there are also other gods. Greek gods. And they have always had offspring with mortals. They are known as demigods or half-bloods—half god, half human. You'd be surprised how many of them walk among you, hidden in plain sight."

I frowned, setting my mug down. "You're telling me there are literal demigods just out there, blending in with everyone else? No secret markings? No glowing auras to give them away? That doesn't exactly seem fair."

Anubis chuckled. "Not exactly," he continued, his tone turning more serious. "You can't differentiate them just by looking, but they have a scent—something unique that monsters can track. That's how they found Lacey yesterday."

I furrowed my brows, leaning forward. "But what did they want with Lacey? What's the point?"

Anubis sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "A 'half-god' offspring is a potent threat to a monster's existence. Their divine lineage makes them natural enemies, capable of fighting back against monstrous forces in ways most mortals cannot. Whether Lacey knows it or not, she has power, and that alone is enough to put a target on her back."

I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. "So just by existing, she's in danger? That's messed up. She didn't choose to be born like this, to have this... power hanging over her. How is that fair?"

Anubis gave me a wry look. "You already know the answer to that, Zia. The world, mortal or divine, has never been fair."

I frowned, frustration bubbling inside me. "Then why would the gods have kids in the first place?" I asked, crossing my arms. "It's cruel. They know their children will be hunted, forced into a fight they never asked for. And why mortals? Of all beings, why have children with the ones most vulnerable to everything?"

Anubis froze. His usual composed demeanor wavered for just a second, but it was enough. The flickering firelight cast sharp shadows over his face, accentuating the tightness in his jaw. I realized then—I had struck something deeper.

Memories surfaced, ones he had shared with me before. His first love—a mortal woman. A love that had ended in tragedy. I swallowed, feeling the shift in the air, heavy with something unspoken.

"Zia…" he started, his voice quieter now, careful. "It's not always about choice. Sometimes, the connection happens before the consequences are clear."

"I'm sorry," I said softly, my voice tinged with regret. "I didn't mean to—"

Anubis exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "I know," he interrupted, his tone gentle but firm. "You're just trying to understand. And maybe you should. The gods don't always think about the weight of their actions, the pain they leave behind."

He sighed, glancing toward the flickering fire as if gathering his thoughts. "The Greeks walk among mortals more than we Egyptians do. They become part of human lives at times, blending into their world, living alongside them. And in those moments, they can love, or they can lust. But the consequences always remain with the mortal—the one who must raise the child alone, unaware of what that truly means until it's too late. It's not fair, Zia. But it has always been this way."

He paused, his expression distant before continuing. "We—the Egyptian gods—have far fewer of these experiences. When we do integrate into the mortal world, it is through a host, and even that is rare. Children are not a possibility in such a manner. That is why there is no history or legend of half-bloods in Egypt. Our existence is tied to the divine order, separate from mortals in a way the Greek gods have never been."

"And yet," I said, my voice quiet but firm, the implication hanging between us. I didn't have to elaborate—he knew exactly what I was referring to. The story he had told me before, about his first love, the mortal woman who had meant everything to him.

Anubis's expression darkened for a moment before he exhaled softly, rubbing a hand over his face as if trying to wipe away the ghosts of the past. "Yes," he admitted. "And yet."

He hesitated, then sighed again, heavier this time. "The reason Ra is angry at me isn't just because she and I fell in love." His voice was quieter now, tinged with something deeper—regret, pain, or maybe both. "Ra wanted her. But she chose me instead. And… we had a son."

The fire crackled between us, but it may as well have been silent. My breath caught in my throat. "You—?"

Anubis nodded slowly. "A child born of a god who was never meant to have one. Nobody—none of us—were ever supposed to. It disrupts Ma'at, the balance that holds everything together. And Ra has never forgiven me for it."

I stared at him, my mind racing to piece everything together. "So you broke the order of Ma'at," I said slowly, realization dawning. "You did something no other god had dared to do. And for that, Ra wants you to suffer."

Anubis let out a bitter chuckle, his gaze dropping to the flames. "More or less. To him, I shattered the balance. And balance is everything to Ra."

I hesitated before asking the question that had been lingering in my mind. "What happened to your son?"

Anubis stiffened, his fingers curling slightly as he stared into the fire. For a long moment, he was silent, the weight of his thoughts pressing heavily in the space between us. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, as if dragging the words from a place he had buried deep.

"He was taken from me," he said, each word deliberate, like a wound being reopened. "Ra saw to that. Like you saw with Lacey, the scent attracts monsters. He was still a baby. Too small, too fragile. He had no way to defend himself."

Anubis exhaled shakily, running a hand over his face as if trying to steady himself. "He was with his mother by the Nile when they came. The demons—crawling from the shadows, drawn by what he was. They descended upon them like silent predators, stretching across the water, their hunger insatiable."

He swallowed hard, his eyes dark with something I couldn't name—grief, anger, guilt. "My son never had a chance. His mother tried to protect him, fought for him with everything she had—but she was mortal. She wasn't strong enough, fast enough. She died soon after."

Anubis let out a breath, one that shook slightly. His next words were barely above a whisper. "Can you believe I did not even know he was mine until his death? It was not something that had been seen before, not among us. No god had ever conceived with a mortal. I did not know—how could I have known? But when I arrived, when I saw his blood on the riverbank... I could smell it. His scent, familiar yet new, something undeniably mine. That was when I knew the truth. My son, my own blood, had been taken from me before I even—"

He stopped. His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. The words hung in the air, unfinished, as if even speaking them would give them power. His breath was unsteady, his shoulders tense, his entire being radiating the grief he had carried alone for so long.

For the first time since he had started speaking, he looked away from the fire, his eyes dark and hollow. The pain, raw and unfiltered, flickered across his face, a rare moment where his carefully maintained composure cracked.

But he said nothing more. He couldn't.

I felt my chest tighten, a hollow ache settling in my stomach. "Anubis..." I whispered, searching his face for something—anything—to ease the weight of what he'd just said. But his expression was closed off, guarded, as if he had carried this grief alone for too long.

Then, with a sharp inhale, he straightened, pushing the emotions back beneath the surface like a tide retreating. "Enough about the past," he said, his voice steady but distant. "Dwelling on it won't change anything."

He turned to me, forcing a small, almost tired smile. "Tell me something else, Zia. Something lighter. Anything. Just not this."

I hesitated, my mind still caught in the weight of what he had revealed. But I saw the way his shoulders remained tense, the way his fingers curled ever so slightly as if bracing for more pain. He needed this—needed to step away from the memories before they consumed him.

I forced a small smile, though it felt shaky. "Alright, something lighter," I said, shifting slightly in my seat. "Did I ever tell you about the time Carter tried to impress me at school by summoning a falcon?"

Anubis arched an eyebrow, the corners of his lips twitching just slightly. "This sounds like a disaster."

I let out a soft laugh, grateful for the change in atmosphere. "Oh, it was. You see, he meant to summon a regular falcon—something small and manageable during lunch. Instead, he somehow managed to call a giant sacred hawk from the Duat, and he ended up being stuck with it."

Anubis chuckled, the tension in his posture easing just a little. "Classic Carter. Let me guess—he panicked?"

I grinned. "Oh, absolutely. He tried to act cool, but the hawk wouldn't leave him alone. It perched on his shoulder the rest of the day. The teachers thought it was some kind of elaborate prank."

Anubis shook his head, smirking. "And yet, somehow, I'm not surprised. He always did have a knack for unintended chaos."

The warmth in his voice was reassuring. The heavy weight of grief from before still lingered, but this—this was better. This was a reminder that even in the darkest moments, laughter could still find its way through.

A faint glow began to creep over the horizon, washing the sky in delicate shades of pink and gold. I blinked, surprised at how much time had passed. The first hints of dawn softened the edges of the night, chasing away the lingering shadows.

Anubis noticed it too. He exhaled slowly, watching as the darkness faded into something lighter, something less suffocating. "Looks like we talked through the night," he murmured, tilting his head towards the horizon.

I followed his gaze, the weight of our conversation settling into something quieter, something that no longer felt as suffocating. "Yeah," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "We did."

The conversation between us had drifted from the weight of war to lighter moments, stories shared in the glow of firelight. But as the sun's first rays began to creep across the horizon, the reminder of reality returned.

I stretched, shifting in my seat before standing. "I should get ready," I said, my voice still laced with the remnants of sleep.

Anubis frowned, watching me with confusion. "Ready for what? School was canceled because of the fire."

I froze, my body halfway turned toward the house. The events of the day before came rushing back—Lacey, the fire, the cyclopes. But then I remembered—I had made plans with Malika for coffee. I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face. "Right. I forgot. But I still have somewhere to be."

Anubis raised an eyebrow, his confusion deepening. "Where? School's canceled."

"I made plans," I admitted. "Coffee with Malika."

Anubis studied me for a moment before nodding slightly, though he still seemed mildly amused. "You must really like coffee. Or avoiding sleep."

Anubis tilted his head slightly, something unreadable flashing in his eyes before he spoke again. "Maybe I should come with you."

I blinked at him, caught off guard. "You? At a coffee shop?"

He shrugged, a smirk playing at his lips. "I can blend in. Besides, I'd like to see what mortals consider a worthy morning ritual."