The weather was hot and unforgiving, with the wind sweeping across the endless desert in waves that carried sand against Isamu's exposed skin, while beneath his feet the ground shifted with every step and seemed determined to make even the simple act of walking feel like an exhausting battle against nature itself. Despite the scorching heat, the dryness clawing at his throat, and the hunger that had gradually transformed from an uncomfortable sensation into a dull pain spreading throughout his entire body, the man continued forward without knowing where he was going or how long he had already been walking.
Hours, days, perhaps less, perhaps more.
Isamu had stopped keeping track.
Time had lost its meaning somewhere behind him, somewhere between the moment his shirt became stained with blood and the moment his legs began moving without requiring conscious thought.
His son, Magnolia.
The thought of the boy's name was enough to keep him moving. Isamu wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
His breathing became increasingly shallow as he continued through the desert, and although his large frame had once been capable of carrying heavy stones for hours without complaint, his body had begun to betray him after days without proper food or water, with his muscles trembling beneath his clothes and his vision occasionally becoming distorted whenever the sunlight reflected against the endless dunes around him.
Still, he walked, he had to.
Eventually, something appeared in the distance.
At first, Isamu thought it was another hallucination, another meaningless shape created by an exhausted mind desperate for something other than sand to occupy his vision, but as he continued forward, the shape gradually became clearer, and the scattered stones surrounding its base slowly transformed into walls, pillars, and an enormous entrance buried partially beneath the sand.
A temple. Isamu then stopped.
For several seconds, he simply stared at the structure, unsure why he had found it or whether there was anything inside that could help him, but at this point he had reached a state where even false hope was preferable to having no hope at all, so he forced his legs forward again and eventually reached the enormous stone entrance.
The doors were partially collapsed, with several massive stones having fallen across the entrance and nearly sealing the structure completely. Isamu placed both hands against one of them, his muscles straining as he pushed with everything his weakened body had left, until the stone finally shifted enough for him to squeeze through.
His experience working with stone had apparently followed him farther into the desert than he had expected.
Inside, the temperature changed almost immediately. The oppressive heat disappeared, replaced by cold air that surrounded him and caused Isamu to shiver despite the sweat covering his body, and he remained still for several moments as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.
Once they finally did, he realized the walls surrounding him were covered with enormous paintings depicting battles, kings, gods, and creatures he had never seen before.
The first painting showed a falcon.
The creature possessed enormous wings spread across the entire wall, with golden light surrounding its body while a white and red crown rested upon its head. Opposite the falcon stood a dog-like creature.
Again and again.
Every section of the mural showed another confrontation between them, with the falcon repeatedly overcoming the dog while its kingdom grew larger behind it, until eventually the final image of the first sequence depicted the falcon standing above an entire civilization with its wings spread over the people beneath it.
Isamu stared yet there was something strangely familiar about the imagery.
Not the story itself, but the feeling.
The falcon represented strength, leadership, and divine authority, while the dog represented something quieter and more patient, something that remained beneath the surface.
Isamu continued deeper into the temple.
The second-to-last painting changed everything. The falcon was no longer standing, its golden blood covering the ground while its kingdom burned around it, and the same dog that had previously remained beneath the shadows now stood above the fallen god, its silhouette stretching across the mural while the falcon's broken body lay beneath it.
Isamu slowly approached the final section, but there was no painting.
Instead, a massive stone stood in the center of the chamber, its surface almost completely covered in dust. Isamu raised one trembling hand and wiped the dust away.
He leaned closer, then he read them aloud.
"Here lies the foolish falcon, the fool who couldn't see lies and accepted false truths."
His voice weakened.
"Here lies Horus the Immortal."
Isamu stepped backward.
His eyes widened as the realization struck him with enough force to momentarily overcome his exhaustion. This wasn't a temple.
It was a tomb.
A voice emerged from the darkness.
"Why have you come?"
Isamu froze.
The voice was deep, tired, and strangely bitter, carrying an ancient resentment beneath every word that made the air itself seem heavier. "Have you come to pray, or have you come to mock the god of foolishness?"
Isamu slowly looked toward the tomb as a figure emerged from the darkness.
Horus.
The god looked nothing like the heroic figure depicted within the murals. His white and blue feathers were disheveled, several appearing almost torn, while his light brown skin looked unusually pale and scars covered portions of his body, and around his waist rested a large white sash decorated with faded golden trimming that seemed to have once represented an enormous amount of wealth and authority.
His eyes were worse, they looked empty, not lifeless—Empty.
As though the god had spent so long staring at his own mistakes that he had eventually forgotten what hope looked like.
Horus examined Isamu from head to toe, taking in the torn shirt, dried blood, sunken cheeks, trembling hands, and exhausted eyes before finally understanding why the mortal had reached his tomb in such a state.
"I understand."
Horus lifted one hand, food, appeared, water appeared.
Isamu stared at them, his body moving before his mind could process what had happened. He dropped to his knees and began eating, drinking first and then eating as quickly as his weakened body allowed.
Eventually, Isamu noticed, his hands stopped, he looked toward the god, and Horus
continued walking.
Isamu stood, then he followed.
The god glanced over his shoulder. "You've received what you came for."
Isamu continued walking.
Horus frowned. "I gave you food and water."
Isamu remained silent.
"I gave you life."
Still nothing Horus then stopped. "Why are you still following me?"
Isamu finally answered. "I want to know what happened."
Horus looked back. "What?"
"What happened to you?"
Isamu's eyes moved toward another mural, one depicting thousands of people surrounding a golden figure. Horus stood above them with his wings spread wide while golden light descended from his body and surrounded the people kneeling below.
"The champion of the gods," Isamu continued. "The former God King of Egypt."
Horus stared at him. "Quite a tone for a mortal."
Isamu didn't respond.
"I'm sure the pictures told you enough."
Horus continued walking, his footsteps echoing through the tomb.
"But if you insist on hearing it from me, then I'll make it simple."
He stopped.
"I saw the truth."
Horus looked toward the mural. "And I refused to believe it."
Isamu watched him carefully.
"Eventually, my refusal became my downfall."
Horus' expression tightened.
"Acceptance." The god's eyes lowered.
"That was my greatest failure."
Isamu lowered his head. "My son was taken from me."
Horus turned.
Isamu's fists clenched. "I came here because I need the strength to bring him back."
"Is that what you truly want?"
Isamu looked up.
"Yes."
Horus stared into his eyes, studying him for several silent seconds before his expression changed.
"What happened to your shirt?"
Isamu looked down. "The blood?"
"Yes."
"I fought."
"Against whom?"
"I don't remember."
Horus narrowed his eyes. "You don't remember?"
"I remember enough."
"You came here parched, starving, and covered in blood because you fought someone you cannot even remember."
Isamu remained silence as Horus walked closer.
"What happened to your son?"
"He was taken."
"And you failed to stop it."
Isamu's jaw tightened. "Yes."
"Why?"
"I wasn't strong enough."
Horus stared at him. "No."
Isamu's eyes widened slightly.
"You were." The god's voice became quieter.
"You simply didn't want to be."
Isamu stepped backward.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Horus smiled faintly. It wasn't a happy smile, but rather the expression of someone who had already recognized a lie because he had once told the same lie to himself.
"Neither did I."
Isamu looked away and Horus continued.
"I once believed the truth was something people discovered."
He looked toward the murals. "I was wrong."
"The truth is something people often already know."
Isamu's breathing became heavier.
"They simply refuse to accept it." Horus looked directly at him.
"Tell me, Isamu."
The man's eyes widened. "How do you know my name?"
"I am a god." Horus stepped closer. "I know more than names."
Isamu clenched his fists. "What do you want?"
"I want nothing." Horus' eyes narrowed.
"I want you to answer one question."
Isamu waited.
"Do you truly want to save your son?" "Yes."
"You hesitated."
"I did not."
"You did."
Isamu's expression hardened. "I said yes."
"And yet your heart answered differently."
Horus raised one hand, golden light gathering around his fingers before disappearing almost as quickly as it had appeared.
"Truth."
The light vanished.
"Acceptance."
Horus looked toward the enormous doors at the end of the tomb.
"You and I are two sides of the same gold coin."
Isamu stared at him.
"We both knew the truth."
Horus turned away. "We simply hated what the truth demanded from us."
Isamu's breathing stopped.
"The boy you wish to save…"
Horus paused. "…is the boy you truly hate."
"I don't."
"You do."
"I DON'T."
The sound echoed throughout the tomb.
Horus didn't move. "You hate what you and she created."
Isamu froze and his memories returned.
Magnolia, his birth, the circumstances surrounding him, and the things Isamu had tried to forget.
The moments when he had looked at the child and seen something he couldn't accept, something that reminded him of everything he hated, something that reminded him of himself.
Horus continued. "You tell yourself you're searching for your son."
Isamu's eyes began trembling.
"But perhaps you're searching for an excuse to destroy the thing you blame for your suffering."
"No."
"Don't you?"
Isamu dropped to his knees, his hands pressing against the cold stone floor as tears began falling from his face.
One, then another, he couldn't stop them.
The realization wasn't painful because Horus had told him something he didn't know. It was painful because Horus had spoken something Isamu already knew, something buried beneath years of anger and desperation, something that had revealed itself in the smallest moment of hesitation when the General had questioned him.
For one brief moment, Isamu had considered letting Magnolia die.
Not because he didn't care.
Because a part of him believed death would erase the problem.
His problem, his hatred, his guilt, and his failure. All because of his son.
Isamu covered his face. "I was going to let him die."
Horus remained silent.
"I was going to…"
His voice broke. "I was going to let my own son die."
Horus finally approached.
Isamu looked upward, tears continuing to fall as he struggled to breathe through the weight of what he had finally admitted.
"How do I accept it?"
Horus extended his hand and Golden radiance filled the chamber.
"You already began."
Isamu stared at the god's hand.
"Acceptance doesn't mean forgiveness."
Horus' expression softened. "It means looking at the truth without turning away."
The light grew brighter.
"You cannot change what happened."
Isamu slowly reached toward him.
"You cannot erase what you felt."
Their hands touched.
"But you can choose what you do next."
The golden light surrounded Isamu's body, and his wounds began closing as his exhaustion disappeared, but something deeper was happening beneath the physical transformation because Isamu could feel the memories he had spent years avoiding returning one after another.
Horus spoke.
"Accept my trial of truth."
Isamu's body trembled.
"Embrace what you are."
The golden radiance intensified.
"Walk out of my tomb of foolishness."
Isamu stood.
"And return to the temple of wisdom."
Horus looked toward the massive doors.
"For if the light of the sun cannot warm your skin…"
The doors began opening.
"…then you will remain among the countless sinners who seek forgiveness from the dead."
Isamu stared at the sunlight beyond the entrance before stepping forward.
One step, then another, the heat struck him immediately, yet he didn't retreat.
For the first time in days, he felt the desert against his skin without experiencing it as an enemy, and when he looked upward, the sun burned brightly above him without forcing him to lower his gaze.
Horus remained behind.
Isamu turned around.
The god stood within the doorway.
Their eyes met.
"You were foolish," Isamu said.
Horus smiled.
"I know."
"But you weren't wrong."
The god's smile disappeared.
Isamu turned toward the horizon.
"I'll come for him."
The golden light behind him intensified.
Horus spoke one final time.
"Then go."
Isamu clenched his fist.
"I will come for you."
He walked into the desert.
The light followed him.
For a moment, the golden radiance seemed to surround his entire body, and within that radiance, something new appeared upon his skin, a series of golden markings forming beneath his fingers and spreading across his arms like an ancient language being written directly onto his body.
The markings disappeared almost immediately.
But the connection remained.
Horus watched from the entrance of his tomb.
For the first time in centuries…
The god smiled.
…
Far away from the desert, beneath a completely different sky, a man walked through a long hallway illuminated by small blue lights embedded within the walls, moving with
such confidence that every security mechanism recognized him before he even reached the doors, and when he finally arrived at the end of the corridor, he placed one hand against a security panel and waited as the system scanned his palm.
A soft chime sounded.
The doors opened.
The man entered.
The room beyond was enormous. At its center stood a circular red table carved with intricate images depicting battles between divine beings, with several throne-like chairs surrounding its edges.
The man walked toward one of the chairs.
He rested his arm against its back.
Then the room changed.
White holographic figures appeared above the table.
One.
Two.
Three.
Then several more.
Each figure wore a different mask.
None revealed their faces.
One of the holograms spoke.
"I take it you've found yours?"
The man looked toward the figures.
His expression remained calm.
"Yes."
Another hologram shifted.
"Did he accept?"
The man smiled.
"Eventually."
Silence filled the chamber.
Then another figure spoke.
"And the god?"
The man's eyes narrowed.
"Horus has chosen him."
A murmur spread throughout the room.
One of the figures leaned forward.
"Then the contracts have begun moving again."
The man looked toward the empty throne at the opposite end of the table.
"Not simply the contracts."
He sat down.
"The pieces."
Another figure asked:
"And what do you intend to do?"
The man looked at the holographic map appearing above the table.
Egypt.
Greece.
Babylon.
Jerusalem.
Several locations appeared across it.
Some were marked in red.
Others in gold.
One remained completely black.
The man stared at the black mark for several seconds before speaking.
"Let them fight."
The room became silent.
"Let them awaken."
His fingers tapped against the table.
"Let the gods choose their vessels."
The holograms remained still.
"And when enough of them have chosen…"
The man smiled.
"…we begin."
A final hologram appeared.
Its mask was different from the others.
Older.
Cracked.
The figure spoke.
"You understand what happens if the Pharaoh discovers us."
The man's smile disappeared.
"He won't."
"And if he does?"
The man looked toward the enormous map.
"Then Egypt burns."
No one answered.
Outside the room, somewhere beyond the walls, machinery continued operating while thousands of people remained completely unaware of what was being planned beneath their civilization.
The man leaned backward in his chair.
"Let the conflict begin."