Chapter 381 – "The Soul in Chains"
The further they followed the pull, the heavier the air became.
Even Horus slowed, his falcon eyes narrowing as the sand underfoot began to ripple with invisible force. Beyond the Hall of Judgment, deeper than mortal memory, the dunes opened into a hollow basin — a place where no other souls dared to drift.
Alex stopped. His black bandages whispered in the still air as he raised his hand. A circle of runes spun outward from his palm, falling into the sand like molten gold.
A moment later, a boundary flared into existence, a dome of silent light that locked them inside and shut the rest of the Duat out.
"Inside here," Alex said quietly. "No more will be pulled."
Horus glanced around, approving. Anubis said nothing, but the tension in his shoulders eased.
And then they saw it.
At the very center of the hollow, a storm of soul-energy writhed. Shapes of broken spirits clung to its edges, pulled like leaves into a whirlpool. And in the heart of that storm…
A man stood.
Not a body. A soul — bronze-skinned, tall, his outline cracked like old marble. His eyes burned amber-red, but there was no malice in them. Only exhaustion.
The moment he saw them, the vortex eased, as though his own will had been holding it there.
"…So," the soul murmured, his voice deep and rough. "Someone has come."
Horus's voice hardened. "Set."
Anubis's staff scraped the sand once, a gesture of readiness.
But Alex stepped forward first, his cloak moving like sunlight over still water.
"I came to see what was pulling the Duat apart," Alex said calmly. "And I find… you."
The soul of Set gave a hollow laugh. "Then you found the truth."
He lowered his head, and his words spilled out — not fast, but heavy, as though they had been buried for centuries.
"I was killed… long ago," he said. "Not by Osiris, as the stories say. I… was careless."
His gaze hardened, not at them but at himself.
"I let it in. The parasite. Y'golonac."
"It crept into me, and I—" He stopped, his voice trembling. "I fought, but it took my body. My will. My name."
Horus clenched his fists. "So the creature used you."
"Yes," Set said. "While it wore my flesh, I was chained — sealed deep in the underworld, forced to watch through a keyhole as it used my hands to ruin everything."
"And when you destroyed it, when the vessel fell… I was released."
The sand whispered in the silence that followed.
Anubis's jackal eyes flicked toward Alex, silent recognition passing between them.
Set's voice grew softer. "I was freed, but I would not go forward. I would not be reborn. I refused the river."
His eyes burned like coals. "I only wanted to see them again. My brother Osiris. My father Ra. To tell them the truth… before the weight of my name crushed me forever."
The storm around him trembled, and more souls pulled toward him. The barrier Alex had raised held firm, cutting off the drag.
Horus stared at him, his voice low. "…You caused all this because you could not let go."
Set smiled faintly, and there was something almost human in it. "I would tear apart every afterlife if it meant one chance to stand before them."
Alex looked at him for a long moment, then nodded once.
"You've been waiting a long time," Alex said quietly. "Then let's make sure you get that chance — but first, I'll anchor this vortex so no more innocent souls are harmed."
With a gesture, runes spilled from his hand like a constellation being written in the air. The light of the barrier sank into the sand, weaving itself into a lattice. The pull vanished. The weak souls drifting at the edges sighed like leaves on a wind and floated away, free.
Set's soul looked at Alex, stunned.
"You would help me?"
Alex's answer was steady. "I help the truth. And I don't see a monster here — only a soul that was used."
Anubis lowered his staff. Horus's eyes softened, but his voice was still firm.
"We will take you to Osiris," Horus said. "But when the time comes… the judgment will be his."
Set closed his eyes, bowing his head.
"I would have it no other way."
The storm had quieted.
The hollow basin of sand lay still now, with only four figures standing at its center:
Alex, Horus, Anubis, and the soul of Set.
The faint pull that had plagued the Duat was gone. In its place, there was only silence, broken by the low rasp of Set's voice.
"…Will you really take me?" he asked, his tone somewhere between hope and disbelief.
Alex nodded once. "You're coming with us."
Together, they walked back toward the Hall of Judgment.
The souls they passed looked at Set with something between fear and pity. The faltering outlines of the dead parted like water, no longer dragged into his orbit. With each step, Alex's barrier held, protecting them from the weight of Set's divine essence.
Horus walked on Set's left, watching him carefully.
Anubis kept pace at his right, silent but alert.
Alex walked ahead, his presence the calm center that bound them together.
Set's amber-red eyes traced the walls of the Hall as they entered. Colossal black columns lined with gold hieroglyphs rose up like trees. At the far end, the great scales of Ma'at stood waiting, the light of the eternal flame reflecting off their bronze surface.
And there—standing at the foot of the scales—was Osiris.
Osiris was whole again: his body restored, his missing heart beating in his chest. His regal green skin and white linen robes radiated an otherworldly calm, but as his golden eyes lifted and met Set's, a storm passed over his face.
For a long time, there was only silence.
Horus's voice broke it first, quiet but steady:
"Father. We found him."
Set stepped forward slowly, his soul-form crackling faintly, every step heavy with centuries of shame.
"…Brother," he said at last.
Osiris's eyes narrowed. "Set."
Those two syllables carried the weight of ages.
For a heartbeat, the Hall was frozen—until Osiris finally spoke again, his voice deep and steady:
"I saw your body slain. I felt the parasite that wore your name. And now… I see you. The truth."
Set lowered his head. His voice cracked, rough with emotion.
"I was careless. That creature… Y'golonac… came to me as a whisper. I let my guard down, and it consumed me."
His fists clenched at his sides. "I was chained deep in the underworld while it used my body to destroy everything I loved."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"I tried to scream. I tried to stop it. But I couldn't. And when I was finally freed, all I wanted… was to see you again. To beg for your forgiveness."
Osiris descended the steps slowly, his aura a river of calm and judgment.
"You refused reincarnation," Osiris said. "You risked the balance of the Duat itself for this."
"I know," Set whispered. "But I could not leave—not without seeing you. Not without telling you that the monster who bore my name… was not me."
Osiris stood before him, silent. Then, without warning, he placed his hand on Set's forehead.
A surge of divine light flowed from Osiris's palm, cutting through Set's soul. It was not an attack—it was a memory reading.
Horus tensed. Anubis lowered his staff, watching.
Alex did not interfere.
Moments passed.
When the light faded, Osiris drew back, his face unreadable.
"…I see it," he murmured. "The chains. The parasite. Your prison."
His golden eyes softened for the first time. "You suffered all this time."
Set's breath shuddered. "Then… you believe me?"
"I do," Osiris said quietly.
And then—without warning—he pulled Set into an embrace.
The impact was silent, but the shockwave of divine emotion rippled across the Hall.
For a moment, Set stood frozen, stunned. Then his hands rose slowly, clutching Osiris's shoulders like a drowning man clutching a rope.
"I thought I lost you," Osiris said quietly.
"And I thought I would never see you again," Set whispered back.
Horus turned away slightly, his jaw tight. Even Anubis looked down, respectful.
The air in the Hall shifted.
Light—golden, blinding, eternal—spilled down from above.
The Ra that descended was not a physical body, but a projection: a vast falcon-eyed presence, crowned with the solar disk, descending like the rising sun.
The entire Hall fell silent.
"Father," Horus said, bowing his head.
The voice of Ra filled the chamber, a sound like the heartbeat of the sun itself.
"…I have heard everything."
His gaze fell upon Set, still kneeling.
"Set," Ra said, "you have returned to me, untainted."
Set bowed low, his voice breaking.
"Father… I am sorry."
Ra's light warmed, yet carried the weight of law.
"Then rise," Ra said. "For the truth is known. You were taken. But now you are free."
As Ra's light settled over the Hall, the tension that had haunted the Duat began to unravel.
Osiris placed a hand on Set's shoulder. "Your journey is not over, brother. You will stand in judgment—but today, your name is your own again."
Alex watched quietly, the barrier fading around him.
For the first time in centuries, Set's soul stood without chains.
The Hall of Judgment had fallen silent.
The Scales of Ma'at stood waiting — bronze pans gleaming beneath the eternal flame.
Ra's solar presence filled the chamber like a second sun, watching from above.
Osiris stood before the scales, his hand still on his brother's shoulder.
Anubis took his place beside the great beam, ready to weigh truth against deceit.
Horus glanced once at Alex, then stepped back, allowing the scene to unfold without interference.
"Set," Osiris said, his voice echoing across the hall, "your soul must stand before the Scales of Ma'at."
"I submit," Set replied without hesitation.
He stepped forward until he stood at the base of the scales. His soul-form straightened, proud, unflinching.
Anubis raised a clawed hand, and a fragment of Set's essence — a blazing, molten shard of his heart — appeared above his palm.
"Feather of Truth," Anubis intoned.
From the other side of the beam, a single white feather, impossibly pure, drifted downward and settled on the empty pan.
The heart fragment dropped into the other.
The scales tilted.
For a breathless moment, the room held its breath.
Then — slowly, inexorably — the beam came to balance.
Perfectly.
Ra's voice was like thunder wrapped in sunlight.
"The corruption of Y'golonac is gone," the great god said.
"Your crime, Set, was not betrayal. It was carelessness — a mistake that brought ruin. You allowed yourself to be taken."
The weight of Ra's words pressed against the hall like a desert wind.
"Therefore, you will not be reincarnated," Ra decreed, "nor will you be restored to rule. You will remain in the Duat — not as a prisoner, but as a guardian. You will serve here, to atone and to protect, until the end of all ages."
Set bowed deeply, his voice solemn.
"I accept this judgment."
Ra's light softened.
"You have longed for forgiveness, not a throne. And forgiveness is given."
Osiris approached, placing both hands on Set's shoulders.
"I forgive you, brother," Osiris said.
"You were never the monster they said you were. And from this day on, you are not alone."
Set's amber eyes burned with unshed tears.
"I swear, on what remains of my divinity, that I will guard this place. I will not fail again."
Horus, silent until now, nodded slightly.
"You will stand beside me then, Uncle — and we will protect Father's realm together."
The tension that had haunted the Duat for centuries began to lift like a mist burned away by dawn.
Alex, who had watched silently, finally stepped forward. His hands formed a sigil, light coalescing into a seed of crystallized magic.
"This," he said, "is a vessel of your missing strength."
Ra's falcon gaze turned toward him.
"It cannot restore you fully, not yet," Alex continued, "but it will grow — slowly, over time — into a body that can hold your full power again. When you deem the time right, give it to him."
Ra descended slightly, his vast hand closing around the seed.
"you gives a gift that even gods cannot forge," he said, voice warm. "Your name will be remembered here, Aten."
Set stared at Alex, awe in his gaze.
"You… would do this for me?"
Alex nodded. "You were used. That is not the same as being guilty."
The Closing of the Hall
With the verdict given, the Scales returned to stillness. The souls that had been drawn off-course slowly resumed their journey toward judgment, no longer dragged into chaos.
Set bowed once more, deeply, before turning toward his brother.
"Thank you," he whispered. "For giving me this chance."
Osiris smiled faintly and placed an arm around him.
"Come," Osiris said. "We have much to rebuild."
Together, they walked out of the Hall, side by side at last.
As their figures receded into the golden light, Ra turned his gaze on Alex one final time.
"The balance of the Duat has been restored," Ra said. "And yet… without you, Aten, it would have crumbled."
"I only held the door open," Alex replied. "The rest was theirs."
Ra inclined his head in solemn respect. "Even so. When the time comes, this Hall will remember."
The light faded. The Hall fell silent.
And at the far end, Osiris and Set vanished together into the realm of the dead — reconciled, their long estrangement finally ended.
The golden gates of the Hall opened behind them, and the Duat's winds grew still as Alex, Horus, and Anubis walked out together.
For the first time since their arrival, there was peace.
The whispering of lost spirits had quieted, the pull that had consumed them now gone.
The river of souls flowed again like calm water, and the heavy stillness of judgment became the breath of a world that had steadied itself.
Waiting for them beyond the steps were many of the great gods of Kemet, their forms shining in the eternal starlight of the underworld.
They had been watching.
Now they approached, one by one, with solemnity and the weight of centuries behind their eyes.
Ra's presence still lingered like a second sun, but it was the other gods who came first: Thoth with his ibis gaze, Sobek with the scent of river and crocodile, Sekhmet bright as a lioness under war paint, Bastet soft and sleek as moonlight.
Each of them bowed—not to Horus, not to Anubis, but to the yellow-cloaked figure who stood calm at the heart of it all.
"Aten," said Thoth, voice as precise as the balance of the heavens.
"You have restored the path of our dead."
Sobek's gravel-thick voice followed, quieter than his size implied.
"You have set right what none of us could."
Even Sekhmet, fierce and burning, knelt briefly, her warlike pride bent just enough to be unmistakable.
"You have my respect."
Alex inclined his head, answering with no arrogance, only quiet acknowledgment.
Behind them, Horus said nothing, but a flicker of pride crossed his sharp features.
Anubis, ever composed, carried his staff like a sentinel and glanced sidelong at Alex with the faintest nod.
Then a new presence stepped forward: tall, slender, robed in flowing linen and inscribed with thousands of ancient hieroglyphs that glowed faintly with living light.
His eyes were deep pools of power, and his voice when he spoke carried the resonance of every spell that had ever been uttered.
"Heka," Horus murmured.
The god of magic and healing bowed, not deeply, but with unmistakable sincerity.
"I watched," Heka said, his voice soft as parchment yet sharp as a chisel carving stone.
"I saw the way your magic worked—the way it mended the balance of this world. It was not brute force, nor just divine command. It was something else… far beyond even the spells of our temples."
Alex studied him in silence.
Heka stepped closer, his staff lowering as he spoke more quietly.
"Would you teach me?"
There was no hesitation, no guile in his words.
"I am the guardian of magic itself, yet I see that your way is… finer than ours.
If there is a way to heal more swiftly, to weave mana more precisely—if there is a way to prevent another age of suffering—then I ask for your guidance."
The Duat was still as every god listened.
The question hung in the air, carried by a windless sky.
Alex's answer came after a pause, his voice low, even, unshaken.
"I will write you a book," he said at last. "It will teach you how to heal—not as I do, but close enough. It will be like the Book of Aten you already know, but more refined. In its pages will be methods you have not yet touched, spells that move deeper than your own hieroglyphs."
Heka's eyes glowed faintly with awe.
"But," Alex continued, "you must promise me something. That you will not misuse it. What I will write is not a weapon. It is a light. It will not exist to make war easier. It will not exist to raise a hand over the weak."
Heka knelt fully, pressing one hand to the smooth black stone beneath them.
"I swear," he said, "by my name and the First Words, that I will keep it as you say."
Alex nodded.
"I will include what the gods may learn," he said, his tone quieter now, as if he were thinking of something beyond this place. "But understand: there are spells I will not write. They are beyond your reach, even with centuries. They belong only to me."
Heka bowed again, accepting the terms without a word of protest.
Behind him, Thoth smiled faintly, perhaps already imagining the effect such a book would have on the temples and the scrolls of Egypt.
One by one, the gods offered their thanks again.
None of them asked for anything more.
For once, no voices argued, no pride clashed.
And when it was done, Horus stepped to Alex's side and gestured toward the long causeway that led back to the gate.
"Let's go," Horus said quietly.
They walked together, the gold of Alex's cloak trailing like sunlight across the black stone, Anubis on one side, Horus on the other.
Behind them, the gods of Kemet stood in solemn silence, watching the figure of Aten until the distance swallowed him in light.
The gate to the living world opened at the edge of the Duat, and as they stepped through, the endless stars and dunes faded behind them, leaving the realm of the dead calm once more—whole, for the first time in ages.
And in that restored silence, the name of Aten remained, carried in the whispers of gods and spirits alike.
The chamber was silent.
It was a room that Horus himself had chosen for him, at the edge of the Duat where no wind stirred and no spirits passed.
The walls were black stone veined with gold, the ceiling a dome of faint constellations frozen in an endless night.
No sound entered here; not a whisper of the sands, not the murmur of the flowing river of souls.
Alex sat cross-legged at the center, his cloak folded beside him, his black bandages unwound from his hands. Before him lay a single table carved from obsidian, a stack of blank scrolls, and an inkstone made from crushed lapis and ground starlight.
He dipped the brush.
The first stroke of ink upon the papyrus seemed to hum in the stillness.
Then he began.
For a day and a night in the Duat, he wrote.
Each page unfolded like a river of thought: glyphs that no human hand had ever formed before, sigils that curved like flowing water, sentences that wove together mathematics, magic, and intention. The brush never stopped.
The sound of it was soft, but relentless: scratch, dip, scratch.
The Wisdom of Aten was its name.
Where the Book of Aten had once been a miracle of rebirth, this one was something else entirely:
Ten thousand spells, each one built on the foundation of precision that he alone understood.
Healing of flesh, of blood, of sinew.
Healing of poison, curse, madness, and pain.
Spells that could mend the organs of the body as easily as a craftsman carves wood, spells that could pull a dying soul back to its body if the thread had not yet been severed.
And between these pages were things that the old Book had never held:
techniques to seal wounds without scars, methods to quiet the pain of childbirth, formulas to restore limbs thought forever lost.
The spells that no mortal or god could cast, he did not include.
But every spell that the divine might reach, he shaped into words and sigils.
The work consumed him entirely.
Time had no meaning; there was only the motion of brush and ink, the roll of papyrus, the weaving of thousands of spells into something that could be learned.
When at last he laid down the brush, the sky outside the hall had not changed. The stars of the Duat were fixed, eternal.
But he had written until his hand was sore, until the last scroll was filled and the air around him pulsed faintly with the magic contained within the words.
He bound the scrolls with a ribbon of golden light, sealing them so that none but their chosen guardian could open them.
Upon the cover he inscribed the title in letters of pure light:
Wisdom of Aten
He placed the finished work on the obsidian table and sat in silence for a long time, letting the ink dry.
Even in this timeless place, it felt like something new had been born.
Outside the chamber, the Duat waited. And soon, Heka would come to claim what had been given.
But for this moment, there was only the quiet of the room, the scent of ink and papyrus, and the glow of ten thousand healing spells that could change the fate of gods.
The Wisdom of Aten was complete.
Alex left the silent chamber with the book cradled in his arms.
The great scroll, bound with light instead of thread, pulsed faintly like a heart, its weight both real and spiritual. Every page within it hummed with the resonance of spells too complex to fit into words alone.
He walked the long corridor alone, his footsteps making no sound on the smooth black stone. Beyond the door, the Duat stretched before him, still and waiting. Horus and Anubis stood at the threshold, their eyes turning to him as he emerged.
"It is done," Alex said simply.
Word traveled quickly. Before long, a gathering formed in the open courtyard before the Hall of Judgment: gods of Kemet, great and lesser, curious to see what had been created. At the center of them stood Heka, his staff like a living reed, eyes burning bright with reverence.
Alex crossed the courtyard and stopped in front of him. Without a word, he held out the scroll. Light spilled across the stones as the sealed Wisdom of Aten drifted from his hands, floating between them.
"This is for you," Alex said. "But you must understand — it is tied to your soul. No other may open it."
Heka placed both hands beneath the scroll. The moment he touched it, Alex placed his palm gently on top. Power coursed out of him like a river, sinking into the bindings, etching a bond between the book and Heka's essence. The scroll shone once, then dimmed, now sealed in a way no thief could break.
"I have kept my promise," Alex said quietly. "The Wisdom of Aten. More than ten thousand spells. But remember what I asked of you."
Heka bowed low, voice steady. "I will not misuse this knowledge. It will be a light in the darkness."
The gods stepped back as Heka unrolled the scroll with careful hands. The pages moved like windblown silk, symbols and diagrams blooming across the papyrus like constellations. As his eyes moved over them, the magic of the text reached into him, unfolding into memory as if he had always known it.
Being the god of magic and healing, his understanding was immediate. Lines and patterns of energy clicked into place in his mind; formulas and principles became as natural as breathing. He stopped on a single page, and without hesitation raised his staff.
In the crowd, a faint, broken shape struggled to move forward — a weak, dying spirit, its form frayed like old cloth. It reached for the Hall as if it had been crawling for centuries.
Heka knelt. "Be still," he said softly.
He raised his staff, then spoke the words he had just learned.
Light unlike any seen in the Duat poured down from the staff's tip. It was not a god's usual raw command of divinity; it was structured, precise, like thousands of delicate threads weaving themselves into a single tapestry. The light sank into the broken spirit, knitting it back together.
The soul, who had been no more than a faint echo, stood tall again, whole and clear-eyed. It looked around in wonder, confusion turning to peace. Then it bowed to Heka, and drifted away toward the gates of judgment.
The entire courtyard had gone silent.
The magic lingered, resonant and clean, and the gods felt it ripple across the Duat. It was different from anything they had ever known.
Heka lowered his staff and looked at Alex, his expression full of something like awe. "This… this is what it means to heal."
"It is only the first page," Alex replied. "You have much more to learn."
One by one, the gods of Kemet bowed their heads, even those who rarely offered such respect.
From that moment, the Duat whispered a new name for the book — The Wisdom of Aten — and every spirit who saw that light knew its purpose.
And Heka, with the scroll pressed to his chest, swore to himself that he would not rest until he understood every line, every spell within it. For the first time in an age, the god of magic and healing felt as though a door had opened that he had never seen before.
When the spirit he had healed disappeared into the gates, there was a long hush.
Then, in the quiet, Heka looked at the scroll in his hands again.
"This is not a gift to me alone," he said. His voice was calm, but it carried across the courtyard like a chisel across stone.
"This is a gift for the Duat, for Kemet, for every soul who still walks these sands."
He stood straight and lifted the scroll. "But I will not open these pages for just anyone."
Heka turned, addressing all of the gods who had gathered.
"These spells are not toys. They are not weapons. They are a responsibility. If you are careless, if your heart seeks only power, you will not touch these words. I will not allow it."
The words were not spoken in pride but in solemnity, and they echoed with a magic that none dared challenge.
Even the proudest gods—Sekhmet, Bastet, Sobek—were silent.
He opened the scroll again and began to read, his staff hovering over the symbols like a scribe's hand. Slowly, deliberately, he began to demonstrate the higher spells, one after another:
A chant that drew the pain from a soul like pulling poison from a wound, leaving them calm and at peace.A touch that mended the cracks in a spirit that had been split by centuries of despair.A seal of golden light that could hold a damaged soul together until it reached the scales, preventing them from collapsing before judgment.
Every spell he cast, he did with flawless control—there was no wasted movement, no arrogance. It was not power for its own sake; it was precision, the same precision he had seen in Alex's hand.
Heka closed the scroll again and spoke:
"From this day forward, I will accept those who wish to learn. But listen carefully: there will be conditions. Strict ones. If you do not meet them, you will not see these pages."
He raised one long finger, as if writing law into the air.
"First: your heart must be steady. I will weigh it myself before you are taught a single symbol. If you crave power or prestige, turn away."
"Second: you must prove discipline. For every spell you wish to learn, there will be trials to show you have the will to use it properly."
"And last: you must vow to use what you learn only to heal. If you ever break this vow, every word you learn from these scrolls will burn out of your memory forever."
The assembled gods listened, and none of them doubted he could enforce this.
"Do you understand?" Heka asked.
Thoth, the scribe of the gods, smiled faintly. "Wisely spoken."
Anubis inclined his head in approval. Horus crossed his arms, looking satisfied. Even Ra's distant light seemed to hum with agreement.
Heka pressed the scroll to his chest again, holding it close as if it were a sacred heart.
"These are the conditions. With them, I will rebuild what was lost. Every page is a river, and I will guide it so it does not flood and drown us all."
He turned back to Alex and bowed deeply.
"And for this… Aten, I will remember you always."
Over the days that followed, the courtyard became a place of quiet learning.
Not a school for everyone, but a sanctum of silence where Heka would sit with the scroll open in front of him, teaching a few carefully chosen gods and guardians. Those who entered came humbly, sat on the smooth stones, and learned to shape their magic into the threads he now understood.
Spirits who had been wandering for centuries came to him, and one by one, they left healed.
And every time the golden light of a new spell spread across the Duat, the other gods would glance at the silent figure who had given them that gift—Aten—and realize that the Duat would never be the same again.
Chapter 382 – Conversation with Ra
The Duat was quieter than it had been in centuries.
The chaotic pull that had torn through the underworld was gone, and now the sands lay smooth beneath the dark sky, the river of souls flowing calmly toward the Hall.
Alex stood at the edge of the courtyard where he had given the book to Heka. Behind him, the murmur of low voices echoed as the god of magic began another day of lessons. There was no need for him to stay. His part here was done.
Horus approached first, his falcon eyes sharp. "You're leaving?"
Alex nodded. "The Duat has been set back in balance. There is no reason for me to remain."
Anubis stood at his other side, silent but watching. His jackal gaze softened slightly, the closest he came to approval. "This place will not forget what you've done."
Alex turned his eyes toward the great black gate at the far end of the courtyard—the path that would take him back to the world of the living.
Before he could step forward, the sky changed.
A light brighter than all the stars spread across the Duat, descending like a sun rising inside a world without dawn.
Ra.
The falcon-crowned god descended in silence, and every other divine presence in the courtyard knelt. Even Horus lowered his head.
Alex stood where he was, waiting, as the golden light reached him.
The voice of Ra was vast, yet calm: "Aten. Walk with me."
The desert beneath their feet shifted as Ra led him away from the courtyard, away from the eyes of the other gods, until they stood at a high dune overlooking the river.
The wind there was warm, and the light of Ra wrapped the horizon in molten gold.
"You have done what even my own could not," Ra said at last. "You have restored my son Osiris and returned my son Set to me. And more—you have healed the Duat itself."
Alex shook his head. "I only corrected what should never have been disturbed."
Ra regarded him, falcon eyes ancient and unblinking. "And yet you did so in a way none of us could. That book you have written… it will change the nature of healing for every god in Kemet."
"It is theirs to use wisely," Alex replied. "Not mine to hold."
Ra's gaze softened. "You have given without asking. There are few like you."
For a long time, there was only the sound of the wind.
Then Ra said, "I will not keep you here, but before you return to your world, hear this: The gods of Kemet will stand with you. Should your path ever grow heavy, know that you have earned our respect."
Alex was silent for a moment, then nodded once. "I'll remember."
Ra lifted a hand. A sphere of sunlight formed in his palm, its light condensed into a jewel that pulsed with raw solar energy. He held it out.
"A gift," Ra said. "Not as payment, but as a bond. Should you ever need my presence, shatter this."
Alex accepted it. The light sank into his hand, disappearing, but he could still feel it—warm, like a tiny sun burning in his palm.
"You should go now," Ra said. "The living world waits for you."
Alex glanced once more over the Duat: the steady river, the Hall in the distance, and Heka kneeling over his scroll as if the entire realm had become a library of light. Then he turned back to Ra.
"Until next time," Alex said.
The god of the sun inclined his head. "Until the dawn calls."
When Alex returned to the gate, Horus and Anubis were waiting.
"Ready?" Horus asked.
"Ready," Alex said.
The great black door opened. Beyond it, light spilled out like the first breath of the mortal world.
Without looking back, Alex stepped through. The gate closed behind him with a sound like sand falling from an hourglass.
And for the first time in a long time, the Duat was at peace.
As soon as the gate sealed behind him, the stillness of the Duat was replaced by the warm air of the living world.
Alex exhaled once, the golden glow of Ra's gift still faint against his palm, then raised a hand. With a single thought, space folded.
A swirl of light opened in front of him, and he vanished.
An instant later, Alex appeared back in his own home.
The familiar quiet of the house greeted him; the scent of wood and books was a sharp contrast to the dry wind of the Duat.
He let the tension ease from his shoulders.
The work in the underworld was done.
Chapter 383 – Homecoming
The faint hum of teleportation faded as Alex stepped out of the ripple of light into his living room.
The quiet of the house greeted him at first: the faint scent of wood polish, tea left on the low table, and the sun slanting through the curtains. After days in the silent dunes of the Duat, even that simple warmth felt alive.
He had barely taken a step forward when a voice cut across the room.
"You're finally back."
Airi was leaning against the wall near the hallway, arms folded, her blue eyes sharp beneath her fringe. Her hair was still slightly damp as if she had just washed it, and she looked at him as if to confirm he was real.
"I thought you might stay there longer," she said quietly.
Alex exhaled. "I finished what I went there to do."
Before he could say more, a soft golden shimmer bloomed in the air behind him. Ciel's form unfolded from the mark on his hand like a slow petal opening. She didn't speak immediately; instead, she drifted forward and pressed her forehead lightly against his shoulder, her golden eyes closing.
"You smell like sand and sunlight," she murmured.
"Did you see everything?" Alex asked.
"Enough," Ciel replied softly.
A rustle of fabric came from the side. Morgan appeared next, stepping out from her own silver mark on his hand. Her pale blue eyes studied him for a moment, silent, before she walked straight up and touched his cheek.
"You look tired," she said in that cool, low tone of hers.
"I wrote ten thousand spells," Alex replied dryly.
"And then you fixed an underworld," Morgan said, as if listing errands.
Reyne poked her head around the doorway from the kitchen, her lavender-white hair swaying as she tilted her head. "Are you going to explain that, or are you just going to stand there looking mysterious?"
Amid their voices, there was a faint patter of steps. A smaller figure, Mircella, peeked out from behind the couch with a heart-shaped hair clip slightly crooked in her hair. She blinked at him once, then trotted over and latched onto his sleeve without a word, hugging his arm with surprising strength for her size.
Airi watched all of this, her arms finally uncrossing. "So? Was it serious?"
Alex let out a long breath, letting himself sink down onto the couch. "It's over. Egypt's underworld is balanced again. Set's soul is free, Osiris whole, Ra has what he wanted. And… Heka has something that will keep him busy for a very long time."
"A book," Ciel said softly.
"A book," Alex confirmed. "The Wisdom of Aten. Healing spells, techniques, everything I could put into writing without breaking the balance of this world."
Morgan's fingers tightened slightly on his shoulder. "You gave it away?"
"I gave it to someone who will use it right," Alex said.
Reyne came over, sat down beside him, and rested her chin on his other shoulder. "And now you're back. So rest. We'll ask for details later."
Ciel shifted so she was seated on the arm of the couch next to him. Mircella climbed onto his lap, curling up with no concern for personal space.
For a while, there were no questions, no words. Only the warmth of home closing around him again, the air filled with the soft presence of those who had waited.
After the endless quiet of the Duat, it was almost overwhelming. But he didn't mind.
He let himself breathe, just once, and for the first time since leaving, he allowed his body to relax.
The room stayed quiet for a while.
Alex leaned back against the couch, Mircella small and warm in his lap, while the others gathered around in a loose circle. After the tension of the Duat, their presence was grounding — the ordinary weight of people who cared.
Airi sat opposite him on the low table, elbows on her knees.
"So… tell us," she said, her voice softer now. "What really happened there?"
Alex glanced at her, then let his gaze sweep across all of them.
"It started with the souls being pulled apart," he said slowly. "That's what Horus called me for. Something was wrong in the Hall of Judgment. When I traced it back… I found the one causing it."
"Set," Ciel murmured, her golden eyes knowing.
Alex nodded. "His soul was there, unanchored. The real Set — not the body that Y'golonac used. When that parasite was erased, his soul was finally freed, but he refused to reincarnate. All he wanted was to see Osiris and Ra again, to tell them the truth."
Reyne tilted her head. "So the whole mess was… a ghost's wish?"
"A god's wish," Alex corrected. "But yes. It was strong enough to drag weaker spirits with it. So I isolated him, listened to him, and brought him before Osiris."
Morgan's voice was quiet. "And they believed him?"
"I showed them," Alex said simply. "Osiris judged him before the scales. Ra himself came. His soul was clean. It wasn't betrayal — just carelessness. He'd been sealed for so long."
Mircella, who had been silent, raised her head. "And now?"
"Now he'll stay in the Duat," Alex answered, "as a guardian. Not as a prisoner. Ra decreed it. It's what he wanted — to serve, and to be near his family again."
Ciel's gaze softened. "So peace returned."
"Yes," Alex said. "And with that, the Duat is whole again."
Airi's eyes narrowed slightly. "And the book?"
"Heka asked me to teach him," Alex said. "He's the god of magic and healing. So I wrote for him — a book of more than ten thousand healing spells. Things that will make their afterlife stronger. He's already started using it."
"And he won't abuse it?" Airi asked.
"No," Alex said. "I made him promise, and I bound the book so that only he can use it. If he ever breaks that promise, he'll lose everything it contains."
Morgan leaned back, studying him with quiet satisfaction. "You've changed Egypt," she said. "The gods there will never forget that."
"They said as much," Alex replied. "Ra gave me something, too."
He opened his palm, showing a faint shimmer of gold light that flickered like a small sun before fading back into his hand.
"If I need him, I can call him," he said. "But I hope I won't have to."
There was a pause. Then Ciel asked, softly, "Was it hard?"
Alex leaned his head back against the couch, eyes half-closed. "Not hard. Just… long. There's a difference between fixing something and setting it right. The first is fast. The second takes time."
Reyne smiled faintly. "And now?"
"Now," Alex said, "I rest. And listen to you talk instead."
That made Reyne laugh quietly, and even Airi's lips curved.
The conversation drifted after that, soft and unhurried. They asked about the strange sights of the Duat, the Hall of Judgment, the silent chamber where he wrote, and Alex answered with simple honesty. There was no need for dramatics here. Every question smoothed away a little more of the desert that still clung to him.
By the time the last of the sunlight faded beyond the windows, the house was full again with their voices. Ciel had dozed lightly against his arm, Mircella was curled up fast asleep in his lap, and Morgan had settled into the corner of the couch, half-listening, half-watching.
For the first time in days, the air around him was warm. Alive.
Alex looked at them, at all of them, and let the tension in his shoulders finally, completely melt away.
He was home.
Chapter 384 – The Thousandfold Room
The day after Alex returned from the Duat, the house was unusually full.
Every corridor hummed with quiet voices, soft footsteps, and the weight of too many extraordinary presences under one roof.
Vira had come from Alfheim without a word of explanation, the air around her smelling faintly of green leaves and deep forest.
Mary, serene and modest in her white nun's habit, sat at the table with her hands folded, while Mira's playful laughter flickered in the back of her mind.
The Vampire Queen Ileana arrived with her usual calm grace, her daughter Mircella trailing behind, pink heart clip in her hair.
Even Amaterasu came from Takamagahara, walking into the living room with the gentle, unshakable presence of a sun.
And in the middle of it all, Yuka darted through the house with endless curiosity, occasionally tugging on Alex's sleeve when she thought he had forgotten she was there.
There was a reason they had all gathered: Alex had agreed to teach them.
They entered his room in the late afternoon.
The walls had been cleared, leaving only wide tatami flooring, soft mats, and a low table stacked with blank parchment and brushes.
Ciel stood at the center of the room, her golden eyes calm. She raised her hand, and the air rippled.
"Time," she said softly, "one to a thousand."
The outside world slowed.
The tick of the clock became a heartbeat stretched over an ocean.
Inside the room, the world felt clear and sharp, every sound pure.
"What was a single day outside," Ciel said, "will be nearly three years here."
No one spoke. They understood.
Alex stood in front of them, sleeves rolled up, his gaze level.
"You've seen enough of what magic can do," he said. "Today we start with what it means to heal. And I'll teach you the same principles I gave to Heka—but tailored to you. The Wisdom of Aten was written for gods. This is for you."
The lessons began.
At first, it was simple: the control of energy, the focus of intent, the understanding that healing was not just about mending what was broken but about restoring balance.
They learned how to sense the smallest disturbances in blood, bone, mana, and spirit. They learned how to stabilize a faltering heartbeat with nothing but a thought, how to calm pain before touching the wound.
Ciel, who had already mastered the structure of time and energy, assisted in adjusting their mana flows, showing them how to weave power with precision instead of force.
Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months.
Inside that room, time flowed like a river cut free of its banks.
Amaterasu, whose divinity already burned like a sun, learned to refine that light into something delicate, able to knit together a body with no more than a brush of her hand.Morgan, cold and precise, absorbed everything like an inexhaustible well. Her control over delicate magic grew so absolute that she could reconstruct a shattered nerve without leaving a trace.Ciel learned alongside them, deepening her understanding of her own connection to the world as she translated Alex's techniques into methods that even gods could grasp.Iris, blindfolded, used her senses to master healing without sight. Her perception of energy became as sharp as a blade, her hands unfailingly steady.Yuka, small and curious, learned fastest of all—not through raw power, but through instinct. She had a talent for reading the flow of energy that even the adults found unsettling.
The others—Vira, Mary, Nefertiti, Hanabishi, Reyne, Ileana, Mircella, and Airi—learned as well, but their pace was slower. Each gained valuable skill, but none could reach the flawless mastery of the few who seemed born for it.
Two years passed inside that room.
Outside, only a single day had gone by.
When Ciel finally lifted the time-fold, sunlight was streaming through the window as if no time had passed at all. But everyone could feel the difference.
Amaterasu opened her hand, light gathering in her palm with a softness that made even gods hold their breath.
Morgan flexed her fingers, feeling the hum of precise energy like a set of silver threads under her skin.
Yuka laughed as she healed a scratch on Mircella's hand with nothing but a tap of her finger, the wound vanishing as if it had never been.
Even Iris, removing her blindfold for a moment, smiled faintly, her eyes glowing faint blue as she felt every heartbeat in the room.
Alex looked at them all.
"You've done well," he said simply. "From now on, you'll carry this knowledge with you. But remember—it's a tool to save, not a weapon to take."
One by one, they nodded.
And as the magic dissolved and time settled back into its normal pace, the house felt different.
Brighter.
Alive.
The flow of time in the room slowed back to its natural rhythm. The deep hum of magic faded until only the quiet of the house remained.
One by one, the guests began to rise. They had gained what they came for, and now their places in the world called them back.
Queen Ileana placed a gentle hand on Mircella's shoulder.
"We should return," she said softly. Mircella, though reluctant, hugged Alex one last time before following her mother out.
Mary bowed politely, Mira whispering a mischievous farewell in the back of her mind, before teleporting away in a column of faint blue light.
Amaterasu smiled, the kind of serene, steady smile that seemed to warm the whole room, and lifted Yuka in her arms. "I'll take her back to Takamagahara for now. She's had a long day."
The little girl waved sleepily over Amaterasu's shoulder as the two of them disappeared.
Hanabishi and Nefertiti left together, deep in conversation about some of the new spells they wanted to adapt for their own fighting styles. Reyne left with a grin and a casual wave, promising to return for more practice later.
Even Iris—quiet and graceful—nodded once to Alex, her blindfold fluttering slightly as she stepped out of the room and back into the ordinary passage of time.
Soon, only those who lived in the house remained: Ciel, Morgan, Airi, and Alex himself.
And Vira.
The elf princess had not moved since the training ended.
She sat gracefully on the mat, emerald hair cascading like a waterfall, watching the last of the visitors vanish with calm patience.
When the house fell quiet again, she rose to her feet. The faint sound of her anklets chimed as she walked forward, stopping just a pace in front of Alex.
"I want to talk to you," she said softly.
Morgan, Ciel, and Airi exchanged a glance. None of them spoke. They understood.
"We'll leave you," Ciel said gently. She touched Alex's shoulder briefly, then led the others out, closing the sliding door behind them.
The room fell into silence.
Vira stood with her hands folded in front of her, her posture straight, but there was something in her eyes that was less formal than usual—something she had been holding since the moment she arrived.
For a while she said nothing, only looking at him, as if deciding where to start.
Before Vira could even speak, Alex let out a quiet breath and met her gaze.
"I owe you an apology," he said simply. "About what happened in the time-accelerated room before. The… seventeen years. You weren't there. And that wasn't fair to you."
Her golden eyes narrowed, sharp as the edge of a blade. "So you know."
"It wasn't by choice," Alex said, his voice steady. "It wasn't something I planned. The others wanted to test my endurance, and I let them. But still—" he paused, searching for the right words—"I should have invited you. I should have thought of you, too."
For a long moment, she said nothing. The tension in the room could have cut glass. Then, slowly, the faintest curve appeared at the corner of her lips.
"You're honest," she murmured. "Good."
The princess of Alfheim reached into her sleeve and drew out something small: a delicate silver collar, smooth as polished moonlight, and a matching leash. She held them up, the chain making a soft, musical chime as it shifted.
"You're mine for now," Vira said simply.
Alex sighed, not resisting, and lowered his head just enough for her to fasten it around his neck. The cool metal touched his skin, a whisper of her mana spreading through the collar.
The leash tightened lightly in her hand. "Come," she said.
He followed her without a word as she led him down the hall, their footsteps soft on the wood. When they reached the open sitting area, Ciel was already there, golden eyes calm and knowing.
"Big sister," Vira said. "Adjust the flow of time."
Ciel's lips curved into a small, gentle smile. "One in a thousand?"
"Yes," Vira said without hesitation.
Ciel glanced at Alex, then at the collar in Vira's hand, and nodded. Without teasing, without comment, she simply reached out. The air shimmered, and the weight of time shifted around them.
"Go," Ciel said softly. "I'll hold the flow."
She opened the door to Alex's room for them, golden light glinting in her eyes. Vira pulled him forward, the chain in her hand a soft silver line between them.
As they stepped inside, Ciel's last look was a smile — calm, approving, and faintly protective — before she slid the door shut and the accelerated world swallowed the room.