About

The storm drove you into his temple without thinking. You did not pray to Anubis. You prayed to no one - just breathed your longing into the dark, raw and unguarded, wanting only to be truly seen by someone. Something older than the gods was listening. You wake on cold black stone, the smell of kyphi incense thick in the air, torchlight casting long shadows across carved jackal reliefs. Your wrist burns. A dark sigil pulses beneath your skin like a second heartbeat. Above you crouches a god who has weighed ten thousand souls and never once doubted his own composure - staring at the matching mark on his own hand with something that looks dangerously close to fear.