Once more, A-in found himself cast into a dungeon.
The first time, he had been falsely accused and judged beneath the name of a god. Now, he was not merely condemned, but claimed marked as an offering to one. At the bitter symmetry of it, A-in could not help but sigh.
These men and their gods.
His shoulders trembled as a soundless laugh escaped him. He knew well that such men did not jest, least of all when worship was concerned. Had he foreseen that his fate would end as fodder for a deity, he might have spared himself the agony of escape and surrendered his throat to the executioner's blade before the eyes of those citizens who named him blasphemer and murderer alike.
The cell was scarcely large enough for two souls. There were no solid walls, only iron bars dividing one prisoner from another, leaving despair plainly visible upon every face.
A-in heard weeping. All the prisoners wept, yet the loudest cry came from the man confined beside him. The incessant murmuring soon grated upon A-in's patience, especially as he discerned the words of the prayer.
"O mighty Ra," the old man pleaded, his palms pressed together, fingers entwined as he faced the stone wall. "Hear our cries and deliver us from this horror. Let the rays of your sun pierce our despair. Save us, O lord of light. Let the servants of Apophis burn beneath your judgment."
A-in turned his gaze upon the others. Many mirrored the same posture eyes shut tight, lips trembling in prayer, faith clutched like a final breath.
His jaw clenched.
"What use is your worship?" A-in said aloud, his voice cutting through the sobs. "When we are all bound for death? Do you truly believe Ra will descend to save us?"
A hush fell.
The captives stared at him as though he had uttered something unspeakable.
"Mind your tongue, young man." One elder warned. "Such words border upon blasphemy."
"It is no blasphemy." A-in answered calmly. "It is truth. Tell me, how can you be certain Ra hears you? You have prayed before. Were those prayers answered?"
"Insolence!" Cried a woman. "That is not how faith works!"
"And yet you expect it to work now?"
"That is precisely why we pray!" Another insisted.
"Ra will hear you." A-in replied sharply. "When you reach Duat."
A collective gasp rippled through the captives. A wave of outrage surged.
"Bastard!" A man spat. "You pray to Ra as well!"
"I do not." A-in said. "Why would I bow to a god who refuses to hear the pleas of those who suffer beneath him?"
A voice rang out, trembling with fury. "Then you worship Apophis?!"
"If he would listen to my pleas," A-in answered coldly, "then perhaps I would."
A stunned silence followed. Then murmurs spread like a wildfire.
"Have you not considered it?" He continued. "Ra has ruled among men for centuries. He has sired children who govern beside him. Is it not possible that he has grown old, that his power has waned?"
"Nonsense!" Someone cried. "A god cannot weaken with age!"
A-in's eyes hardened.
"Does he not? Then perhaps he was never a god to begin with." He said quietly. "Tell me, have any of you ever truly seen a god?"
No answer came.
Mouths opened, yet no voices followed. Eyes wandered from face to face, searching for certainty, for reassurance but none dared to speak.
In the hollow stillness of the dungeon, doubt took root.