Ruthor
I wasn't supposed to be in the 'Duat.
Gods don't just walk into the Land of the Dead. We send our dead. We pray to the one who rules it. We do not knock on his door.
But my sister had died.
Not a god. Mortal. A priestess of Hathor in Thebes. Fever took her in three days. And my parents, Horus and Hathor, were busy with war in the north. So I went.
To bring her 'ba' home.
The gates of the 'Duat' were black obsidian and twice the height of Karnak. No guards. Just the weight of silence. The air smelled of myrrh and cold water. The ground was pale sand that did not shift under my feet. Above, the sky was not a sky. It was stars without end.
And at the center of it all stood a temple. Not gold. Not marble. Black stone, carved with jackals and scales and feathers.
The 'House of Anubis'.
I had studied him. Everyone had. Lord of Mummification. Guide of Souls. Son of Nephthys and Osiris. The one who weighed hearts against the Feather of Ma'at.
