All the children, along with the general, descended into the arena. The general lined them up in neat rows while the Pharaoh settled onto his throne of carved stone and gold.
"That concludes the fights," the Pharaoh declared. "Now hear the final squads: Squad One—Magnolia, Emma, Kibo, Matthew, Valentina, and Amelia. Squad Two—Ren, Abraham, Sous, Poison, Luna, and Sofia."
Magnolia stared ahead, stunned. This is my team? How did I end up here, so far from Father?
Emma glanced nervously at her companions. He's on my team?
The children shifted with mixed feelings—confusion, relief, resentment. Poison scowled openly.
"Damn it. I wanted to fight alongside Magnolia."
The general cut in sharply. "At least you and your squadmates will train more efficiently than Squad One."
He paused, letting the words settle. "Now it is time to reveal what you call your 'powers.' They are contracts."
"There are two kinds," he continued. "The first, a 'Gain,' where I or another grants you a god's power directly. The second, an 'Awakening,' where dire peril awakens a god's strength within you forever. But both carry risk, the stronger the god, the greater the chance of death."
"You said a serious peril triggers an Awakening?" one child asked.
"What sort of peril?" another pressed.
The Pharaoh rose from his throne and appeared in the arena's center with a flash of light.
"The peril of death," he said. "When you or one close to you faces the brink. All but Sous, Amelia, and Poison received Gains. They awakened theirs."
"Can one hold more than one contract?" Magnolia asked.
"No," the Pharaoh replied curtly. "Only one per soul."
"Go now. Test your gifts among yourselves, alone or together. But first, know the gods you serve. From least to greatest."
He began.
"Kibo, yours is Harpocrates, god of hope."
"Matthew, Hathor, goddess of gifts."
"Poison, Serket, goddess of venom."
"Amelia, Isis, goddess of healing."
"Ren, Nut, goddess of the sky."
"Sous, Tomayet, god of judgment."
"Emma, Amun, god of air."
"Abraham, Thoth, god of wisdom."
"Luna, Osiris, lord of life and the underworld."
"Valentina, Sobek, god of strength."
"Sofia, Ammit, devourer of souls."
"And Magnolia, you serve Ra, the sun god."
Ren sneered. "This weakling serves Ra?"
He strode forward, seized Magnolia by the collar, and lifted him off the ground.
"You're lucky to bear the mightiest god… pity he's dead. And soon you will be too."
Ren dropped him and stormed from the arena.
The general sighed. "I'll speak with him. Children, practice your contracts. Work as you will."
As the general pursued Ren and the children scattered to train, one man-a man granted power to reshape the world-stood alone, questioning why.
The desert wind blew hot and fierce, the sands soft yet searing beneath weary feet. A man pressed on, his large frame marked by a torn shirt stained with dried blood. His brown hair clung to his sweat-drenched brow, but his steps never faltered.
He had walked hours… days… time blurred into torment. Only one thought drove him: his stolen son.
Parched and hollow-cheeked, he wiped his face again. Then, in the haze, a shape appeared on the horizon. Hallucination? He cared not. Anything broke this endless waste.
At last he reached it, an ancient temple, long forsaken. With a laborer's strength, he forced the heavy doors aside.
Cool air washed over him, sharp against the sun's fire. He ventured deeper, passing grand reliefs carved into the walls.
One showed the Battle of Dog and Falcon, their endless clashes. The falcon triumphed at last, crowned in white and red, ruling a mighty kingdom while the dog slunk into shadow.
The next panel told a darker tale: the falcon's blood soaked his realm, the dog looming victorious over his broken form.
In the chamber's heart stood a massive stone, dust-veiled. Isamu brushed it clear and read the inscription aloud, voice hoarse.
"Here lies the foolish falcon, the dupe who embraced lies as truth. Here lies Horus the undying…"
He stepped back. This was no temple. It was a tomb.
"Why have you come?" a deep voice rumbled, laced with venom.
"To pray? Or mock the god of fools?" It laughed bitterly.
"God?" Isamu scanned the shadows, eyes falling on the tomb.
"You'll find only a fool's husk within. Not for mortal eyes."
Horus emerged from the gloom. His hawk head bore disheveled white-and-blue feathers, his pale brown skin scarred and sallow. A vast white sash hung at his waist, its gold thread faded.
"What do you seek, mortal?"
Horus eyed the man's bloodied rags and gaunt face, then flicked a hand. Food and water appeared.
Isamu dropped to his knees and devoured them.
Horus turned to vanish into the depths. Isamu rose, eyes fixed on the fading god, and followed.
More reliefs lined the passage: mortals basking in divine radiance, then kneeling as Horus bestowed his golden light upon them.
The god's voice cut through, annoyed. "I gave you sustenance. Why linger?"
Isamu met his gaze. "I would know your tale, the champion of gods, once Egypt's king."
"Bold words for a mortal. The walls told enough. In truth, I saw the lies but denied them. That blindness was my end."
Horus studied him. "And you? Bloodied, starved, desperate."
Isamu looked down, memories surging. "My son… taken from me. I was too weak to fight."
Their eyes locked.
"Your heart speaks otherwise," Horus said. "I was betrayed by truth once. Now I see it plainly. No lie escapes me, however cherished."
"I don't know what you mean. I'll heed your words and go."
Isamu turned away. Horus's voice sharpened.
"Truth and denial, we are twin faces of the same coin. We know what is real but reject it. The one you seek to save is the one you truly despise."
Isamu froze.
"You hate what you and she made. Do you truly wish to save that boy?"
Isamu whirled, face twisted in fury.
"You flee reality for false comfort."
"Don't you?" Horus asked, not his eyes, but his soul.