Archive of Our Own

It’s quite the moving tale. The long-lost secret son of Osiris, raised among the slums of the humans, now chosen by the gods to be their glorious savior. A blessed and beloved hero, carrying the hopes and dreams of millions on his wings, destined to take back his rightful sovereign throne. So young, so brave, a true hero.

As for Seth’s first impression, he didn’t think much of Horus at all. At first glance, he didn’t even appear to be a god. Just an odd human with a bird beak on his head.

If he wished to play the hero, then Seth intended to reap the benefits of being the villain. He wasn't about to meekly roll over for Osiris’s son, of all people. There’s some fleeting fun to be had throughout their trials, batting Horus around like a plaything, though that second trial really pissed him off.

Osiris’s son wasn’t worth killing, or at least Seth thought so, at first. After that one night, he wondered if he should just pour sand down his throat and be done with it, trials and Ennead and Isis be damned.

But through pure chance, or maybe his own luck, Horus lives to face him in the final trial.

Horus was strange, on the last day. A slowness in his blows, a pause to his strikes. Even more bizarre is what he says, and what he pleads.

I do not wish to defeat you, he says nonsensically, lying on the sand.

Really.

At the time, Seth almost couldn’t believe it. What a cowardly liar! Trying to beg for Seth’s surrender, asking all sorts of weird questions, and using Anubis as collateral. He was just too scared to try to beat him in a fight, wasn’t he?

And yet, after Seth is caught in the jaws of Osiris’s beast, he thought he heard someone calling out for him.

They’re arguing back and forth, but Seth can’t hear the words, until Ra shouts again, voice booming through the chamber.

Have him testify about the events of that night! she exclaims, golden eyes and red-lipped smile eerily piercing through the dim light.

Her command echoes through the air, until it sinks in for Seth.

Nephthys was here, she was right across from him—the entire Ennead, all of Egypt's gods were here—

A tipped goblet of wine, the winding, twisting, thorns. A box of canopic jars. Osiris staring down at him, face impassive, the disgusting squelch as he thrust inside him, directly and painfully, awful and disgusting.

My desert, my sand, my Seth...

He wouldn’t testify, he couldn’t testify, he’d rather chop off all their heads and plugs their ears, he’d rather die— the point of it all, the purpose, it didn’t matter, it didn’t matter, nothing mattered!

“If you don’t kill me, I’ll just kill myself!” he screams, cackling mixed in with his words. He destroys the restraints with a snap of his wrists; the residual magic burns are startlingly painful. The pyramid bursts open, and the other gods panic.

Good, Seth thinks, it’ll be their heads next.

Horus flies in, yelling something Seth doesn’t register, and tries to grab him.

"Damn son of Osiris..." he snarls. "This is all your fault, you bastard. I'm going to kill off everyone here one by one until you kill me!"

"Seth, no!” One voice rings through the chaos. “Don't commit any more crimes than you already have!"

Nephthys.

She’s there, pale-faced and slumped, staring directly at him.

His wrist tingles, and there’s something black and inky spreading across it. Horus grabs it, his iron-tight, despite the torn skin and dribbling blood.

And suddenly, he’s right there, close enough to feel his breath. “Uncle, I won’t kill you,” he shouts, voice almost drowned amidst the noise. “Nor will I let them interrogate you!”

Seth stares, as Horus's other hand briefly caresses his cheek, before hooking around his shoulder. “Nobody will ever hear about what happened that night. If you wish to keep it a secret, I’ll make sure it stays that way!”

What?

Their faces are so close, noses almost touching, and just underneath the falcon mask, Seth sees his eyes.

It’s the first time he’s ever gotten a proper look at them.

Then, Horus punches him.

Horus had saved him.

He wondered back then, and wonders still now, why. The simplest answer he could come up with was that Horus was protecting Osiris’s reputation, but then what was the point of saying such things to Seth?

It takes days, weeks, to accept it. That the son of Osiris and Isis, one who he hated the most, and the other who hated him the most, had saved him, from humiliation, from the dissolution of his soul. Seth would have killed him earlier that day if it weren’t for outside interference. It didn’t make any sense.

If you wish to keep it a secret, he had sworn, I’ll make sure it stays that way!

With what authority, with what power? Oaths—even informal ones—were sacred, especially to gods. He wasn’t even a god. This runt of a child, this weakling of a demigod, had so much audacity to say such words—but not once did he hesitate.

And why, for some reason, when he asked Seth to play along, Seth listened without question?

Nephthys’s plea? Dumb instinct? Desperation?

Ahhh, it didn’t matter anyway. Since he couldn’t understand at all, it would be a waste of time to dwell on it. It was just because that falcon reminded him of Horus, sometimes. He never got a close glimpse of it, but he could sense its presence tailing him, watching him. A symbol of Nut’s power—as for who it belonged to, he couldn’t say.

It was bothersome, knowing he was being watched, but it was otherwise unintrusive, so he let it be.

I do not wish to defeat you, the words linger in his mind.

A fight, and then a mutiny, breaks out amidst the caravan. A power struggle between Kuentamen and a group of rowdy caravan members. One thing leads to another, and the situation spirals rapidly. The Greek bastard runs off, and it’s Horus who comes to his aid. All that’s left is a pile of bloodied corpses, and the two of them.

The blue-eyed falcon flutters over to Horus, and lands on his shoulder.

“I thought it might be you," Seth says.

“Yes,” Horus says. He taps the falcon on the head, and it dissolves into a gust of wind, leaving behind a single peregrine feather.

"So this entire time, you were watching me."

"I was."

"If Isis wanted to keep tabs on me, there's more convenient magic to do so."

Horus holds the feather in his hand, thumb stroking the stem. "It was my own decision,” he says, tucking it back into his wings. “Mother didn't have anything to do with it."

He looks towards the horizon. “It’ll be dawn soon. The caravan’s backup should be arriving soon. We can’t stay here long."

Seth shrugs. “Fine,” he says, and they move.

He expects Horus to leave in a few hours. Or by nightfall. Instead, Horus stays for another day. The day turns into two, and then three, and then four.

“When are you going back?” Seth finally asks, as they trek the path back over the sand dunes. They're traveling light, but on foot, the journey is slow. Horus is choosing to walk beside him instead of fly, for some reason.

"Huh?"

“To Heliopolis.”

Horus keeps his head dipped low, gaze on the ground. He’s put on a cloak, wrapped loosely over his headdress.

“Do you want me to go back?” he finally replies.

After the caravan and that two-faced Greek, Seth’s had enough of so-called 'companionship'. Yes, he’s about to reply, before glancing at Horus again.

At first glance, his face is calm, but he’s holding his breath, his shoulders and face tensed, his hands curled into fists.

Seth had a feeling that driving him away may prove to be a bigger hassle than it’s worth.

“...forget it,” he mutters.

They first started walking to put some distance between themselves and the caravan, but now seem to be wandering with no destination in mind. Horus readily answers any questions when asked.

He had come of his own accord, apparently, to restrain that Greek god, and tells a condensed version of said god’s background, something about gaining power and having questionable dealings with Isis in order to do it.

“If you’re taking him back to Heliopolis, he ran off in the opposite direction, you know.”

“It’s best if I stay here with you,” Horus replies immediately, and doesn’t elaborate.

Seth doesn’t know what he’s expecting, exactly. Perhaps for Horus to eventually drop the pretense and make his demands, or try to kill him, or whatever else. He gets the feeling that Horus is testing him, expecting him to lose his temper, waiting patiently for the snare to catch.

Seth resists the bait until a day later.

They’re making their way through a narrow mountain pass right in the thick of bandit territory.

“Uncle!” is all Horus says before he lunges at Seth. An arrow whistles through the air and pierces through Horus’s shoulder, right where Seth’s neck was a moment before, thick and heavy enough to root itself almost up to the fletching.

Seth rips it out and hurls it back to its source. A shrill scream, gurgling, and then silence, is all he needs to hear. He grabs Horus—-ignoring Horus’s wince— and yanks him away. They run briefly, until they escape under the cover of a grove of trees.

Horus is breathing heavily, and clutching his wound. His flesh torn is open, and blood dribbles through his fingers. “Are you alright?” and it’s him asking Seth.

Seth sees red.

He slams him against a tree trunk, hard enough to splinter the wood, unsheathing and raising his khopesh against his throat.

“What the fuck do you want from me?! Why did you say you didn’t want to defeat me? Why did you help me at the trial?!” his grip tightens on Horus's collar. “And just now—that too—why did you push me out of the way?! Just what do you want?"

Horus's Adam's apple bobs. “I—”

“You want to help me,” Seth sneers, “Is that it? How touching. What would the son of Osiris want from me, anyways. Controlling the caravan? Stealing my divinity?”

He recalls something else, and his lips curl. “Or back to finish what you started in bed?” he sneers. “Do you hate me so much, you’d come chase me all the way out here?”

“No!” Horus blurts, flecks of blood flying as he shakes his head. “It’s not—it’s not that. Never.”

Seth inches the khopesh closer. “Then tell.”

Under the cowl, Seth can catch a glimpse of his eyes again. Blue, like Isis’s. An eternity seems to pass, only punctuated by Horus’s harsh breathing, as he strains to find the words.

“That night, the one that you mentioned...when you came to my room..." Horus finally speaks, softly and quietly. "Do you remember what you said to me back then?”

A wave of disgust rises in Seth’s chest. He ought to kill him, just for mentioning it.

“Why do you ask.”

“You told me…” Horus takes a deep breath. “That you don’t hold a grudge against me. That my only mistake was being born as Osiris's son.”

He raises his head, and looks Seth in the eye. “The same goes for me too. I don’t hate you either, Uncle. I never have.”

Seth frowns. He doesn’t press the blade in any further, but he can feel the weight of it his hand, the throbbing of Horus’s pulse against his skin. “You’re still Isis’s son.”

Horus shook his head as much as he was able to. “I’ve said it before, but everything that took place between you and my mother and the other gods all happened before I was born. I care for my mother, but her grudges are not my own. I bear no resentment against you.”

Just like the third trial, the brat was appealing to him with cheap sentimentality again. Seth narrows his eyes. "I doubt it.”

“I’m only telling you the truth.” Horus nudges Seth’s khopesh-wielding arm away, standing up straight to rotate his shoulder. “Test me any way you see fit.”

“You still haven’t answered my question yet. What do you want?”

“I want to understand you.”

Seth blinked.

He didn’t expect any sort of confession, but at least something that could serve as a hint to Horus’s true intentions. Like wanting Seth to return to Heliopolis, in order to intimidate the other gods into respecting Isis’s kingship, or using Seth as a figurehead to force the remaining caravans into docility.

I want to understand you? What the hell was that supposed to mean?

“It...It sounds absurd, I know.” Horus swallows. “But I can explain, if you’re willing to listen.”

Piece by piece, as they trudge further into the woods, finding a place to settle down, he tells Seth his story.

How he grew up with Isis always telling him about his duty to defeat Seth, that she would reclaim everything his uncle took from them. That becoming king was his right, and Seth was their greatest enemy.

He knew what Seth had done. But he barely knew Seth himself; to him, Seth was a shadow—looming, ominous, yet blurry. The paths he took, Isis dictated. The bladework he practiced, the temples he studied at, were of his will, but guided by others, for the purpose of defeating Seth.

“I only heard about my mother’s plan to flood the Nile and ally with the Greek god the night before the last trial,” Horus winds a cloth around his wound, the flesh now swelling and turning red. “She never bothered to tell me beforehand, and even afterwards, she didn’t mention it until months later.

I have my duty to my mother, and to Egypt, but I don’t want to be someone with no awareness of anything around him. The trials made me realize that if I’m to become king, I should at least be able to control my own circumstances.”

Horus takes a deep breath, the flickers of the fire casting shadows beneath his headdress. "That’s why I’ve come to you.”

Seth’s arms are crossed, as he scrutinizes the demigod in front of him.

In theory, Horus’s explanation vaguely made sense. He carried the solemn air of someone restrained since birth, and any typical young man would want their independence. Although Isis had a softness for children, Seth didn’t doubt that she could be strict—even overbearing—when necessary. But it was too convenient, far too simple and innocent a reason to justify Horus trekking miles across Egypt, just to find him.

Horus cuts the cloth on his bandage with a small knife, staying quiet, either not noticing or patiently waiting through Seth’s silence.

“...so you want...guidance?” he manages to say. “Guidance—concerning your mother, and Egypt.”

Horus puts the knife down. He takes a cloth and wets it, then dabs away at some of the blood that had dried on his elbow. “Yes.”

“And the other gods are either unapproachable, unreliable, or sided with your mother or Ra, so you set your sights on me.”

Horus nods. “The caravans and the imbalance of souls are pressing issues. Whether or not I’m with you, they’re part of my responsibilities to the throne. Thus, I propose an exchange.”

“Okay.” Seth crosses his arms and leans back. “Go on.”

Horus lifts his head, looking directly at him. “Let me accompany you.” He leans in closer to Seth, blue eyes visible from beneath his headdress. “I’ll help you collect the remaining lost souls, and in exchange, you can share with me your insight. What my mother and the other gods haven’t told me.”

Seth raises an eyebrow. “Share my...insight?”

Horus nods. “You won’t have to do so immediately. That way, I won’t be able to abandon or betray you before you restore Egypt’s souls.”

Seth is more than incredulous. “Who offers their services for information. Can’t you go harass Thoth or something?”

“Thoth doesn’t have the same perspectives as you do, and he’s preoccupied, anyways. Apart from that, both of our goals are also aligned. We both want to restore Egypt. Although you’ve been restricted by Maat, you’re still the God of the Desert, and I have Nut’s blessings. We’d be able to work together.”

Seth frowns. Perhaps if Horus thought Seth was harboring some secret knowledge, he might be planning to discover how to restore Egypt, then take all the credit for himself.

“Your proposal is one-sided,” Seth says testily. “My so-called ‘knowledge’ might not satisfy you.”

“In that case, that would be my own fault. I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

Seth scoffs. “Then what if you’re a burden?”

Horus smiles. “Not possible.”

“How cocky of you.”

“Regardless, you’re still the son of Osiris.” He leans in closer, arms crossed. “What would you do if I betrayed you?”

Horus inches forward, until their faces are nearly touching. “Maat’s conditions forbid ‘committing treason against the throne.’ If uncle was truly planning on it, you wouldn’t have asked that question.”

“Maat’s conditions won’t necessarily stop me.”

“Then in that case, as I said, it would be my own fault.”

Seth stares up at him, Horus’s demeanor as placid as the Nile.

He supposes that whatever Horus was planning, it doesn’t seem like he’s going away anytime soon. How would he question him further? Flatter him? Insult him? Be subtle?

In the end, he gives up. He shrugs, and turns away. “Fine. Just do what you want.”

Horus’s face splits into an ear-wide grin.

“I won’t disappoint you, Uncle,” he says cheerily.

...how utterly bizarre, this nephew of his.

Seth would never say it out loud, but as strange as he was, Horus wasn’t a terrible companion.

They traverse through towns and provinces, cloaked in hoods and veils, evading the eyes of the caravans, much to Seth's chagrin. He feels like a rat, scurrying around on the sidelines—but Horus slips into the shadows, navigating the human world with a familiarity that could only come with practice.

At the very least, he knew his way in the world, and true to this word, he didn’t slow Seth down. Best of all, he was quiet. He didn’t slink around scheming or trying to flatter Seth, like that Greek bastard. Most of their time together is spent in relative silence, only occasionally broken up by tidbits of conversation.

Although sometimes, he is absolutely irritating.

“Stay quiet, Uncle,” he’d caution, when passing by fat, gloating priests, who kept depicting the God of War as some sort of ugly donkey creature.

“Don’t kill them, Uncle,” he’d say, grabbing Seth’s wrist, as he is about to slice the heads off of a pack of robbers.

“Calm down, Uncle,” he’d repeat several times over, when they would see humans with hair that barely passed for red, dragged off to be executed in the public square. “We’ll deal with this without drawing attention.”

Uncle don’t do this, Uncle don’t do that, by the sun of Ra, who did Horus think he was? Was he a naggy old woman? Just because he possessed Seth’s mother’s blessings didn’t mean he had to play her role.

The first few times, Seth ignored him. When Horus persisted, they would start fighting, either verbally or physically. When it came to the former, Horus never lost, while with the latter, Seth always won, but it never left him feeling better, since apparently, on top of being a nag, Horus proved to be ridiculously stubborn, and never let the beatdown deter him from chiding Seth until next time.

(Not unlike his mother.)

Eventually, they come to an unspoken compromise, where Seth doesn’t automatically reject his advice as a first reaction, and Horus only steps in to curtail him when necessary.

The human world was ugly and dirty. Stained with disparity and greed, where the weak shriveled away under the feet of the cruel. The world modeled by the former god supreme’s example, the tattered legacy of the god of war.

Horus trods the roads without blinking an eye, admonishes its misery but does not dwell in it. His nonchalance doesn’t suit his naivete.

“You’re used to this, aren’t you.” he mutters, as they pass by another row of humans, plagued and sick from the toxins of the land. “Living on the run like this.”

“It’s fairly decent here,” Horus comments, stepping over the prone body of a wheezing man. “I’ve seen much worse.”

“...how much do you know? About what it was like before.”

“Mother told me stories. But not very many.”

I went from ruling as a god, to crawling in the dirt, Isis had shouted at him, rage incarnate.

Do you have any idea how much I’ve suffered?

And all that time, Horus had been with her, hadn’t he?

Seth glances at Horus's indifferent profile. He had lived his entire life in this world Seth had created. The other gods were disgusted with the present Egypt, and even Anubis longed for the peace that came before. It was only Horus who had no past to compare it to.

Seth looks down at the ground, past the dried hills surrounding the town.

“...this area used to be a lake.”

Horus lifts his head, casting his gaze over the borders of the dunes in the distance. “Did it? That’s a bit hard to believe.”

“It was. The fish here would grow twice the height of a man’s body. For a while, I’d make a game out of using them for spearing practice. After a while, that became boring, so I found that if I timed it right, I could spear half a dozen in a row…”

“So Uncle was making godly fish skewers?” There’s a slight smile tugging at Horus’s lips. “I’d like to hear more.”

The first several stories were stilted at best. Seth didn’t run his mouth too often—just whenever they came across something, or whenever he dredged up a random old memory. It might as well somewhat serve as a commitment to their agreement. After some time, he got used to it, and he just talked whenever he pleased. When the silence occasionally stretched out too long, Horus would bring up old anecdotes, or occasionally ask questions. Sometimes Seth would comply, sometimes he wouldn’t. At the very least, Horus was a decent listener.

One day, they stopped to take a break, to eat some food, and get some sleep. Horus always insisted on it, whenever the moon was high in the sky. Seth, at first, refused.

“I told you already—don’t see the point in doing this every night.” Seth rubbed at his eyes, body swaying a little. “I’ll just sleep when I'm tired. Two or three hours is already enough.”

Horus frowned, glancing from Seth's feet upwards. “Maat transformed many aspects of your body to resemble a human’s. It’s better if you rest longer.”

“I will. When I feel like it.”

“...”

The following few days, Horus tries to convince him again, and Seth mostly ignores him.

Until one night, Horus doesn’t ask again. But he starts rubbing his eyes, and swaying back and forth, and yawning.

The following night after that, Horus randomly brings up food in one of their conversations, and then surreptitiously glances at Seth.

The third night, after Horus yawned for the fifth time in an hour, Seth finally stopped.

“If you need to rest so badly, just say so."

“I really don’t need to. I’m perfectly fine.”

This brat.

Seth slings off his pack and dumps it on the ground. “I grabbed a few things in the last village. Eat them.”

“...are you sure?”

Seth grabbed his shoulders and pushed him down. “Just do it."

Horus frowned. Underneath his headdress, he was probably blinking, but he nodded. Seth took it as confirmation and trodded off to find some flat ground.

He was reminded of Anubis—except whenever Anubis wanted something, he normally just asked for it, like a good, sensible child. Who told Horus to be such a mute?

(The moment he turned his back, Horus grins triumphantly.)

After a while, they had to start sharing meals together, since Horus could never seem to finish their food on his own before it went bad. Soon, resting and eating became a habit.

Admittedly, Seth didn’t hate it. His eyes and feet and stomach didn’t ache so much anymore, and they made up for lost time by going faster during the daytime. Horus had a good sense of direction, and could quickly grasp the layout and terrain of areas completely new to him, so they were rarely lost. They could cover a good distance—so as long as they didn’t run into trouble along the way.

It’s not as though Seth goes out of his way to fight people—really, when it came to humans, why bother going through the trouble of having a prolonged fight, when he could kill them quickly and easily?

But of course—killing attracted human disapproval, and attention. Horus had an uncanny knack for knowing what and when to say to get them out of situations; he had an unexpectedly silver tongue, for someone so quiet, so fights were rare. On the occasions that they did fight, Seth could observe Horus in action.

They had fought before, during the contendings. Horus was far stronger than any human; he had quick reflexes, immense strength, and ample dexterity—but he was far from a god. From his movements, it was obvious that he was sufficiently trained, but only sufficiently. His footwork was shoddy, and his motions too stiff. There was always a split moment’s pause in the way he fought. Too much time spent calculating, and not enough moving.

Horus’s fighting skill was exemplary for an ordinary human, and fairly good for a god. But as Seth’s own nephew, and Egypt’s future king, Horus couldn’t just be good.

Therefore.

“Hey,” was the only warning Seth gave, before he topples Horus over with a sweeping low kick.

Horus stumbles and manages to catch himself on his hands. “Uncle??”

“Get up.” Seth snaps his walking stick in two and throws the other half to him. “We’re sparring.”

The ensuing fight takes longer than Seth expected, but nevertheless by the end, Horus is left bruised and defeated and panting on the ground.

He looks up at Seth, and Seth catches a glimpse of a smile, lips pushing up into a small V. “I enjoyed that,” he said, in-between pants. “Thank you.”

Seth raises an eyebrow. The first time he taught Anubis swordplay, Anubis’s arms were so sore he wouldn’t quit sulking about it. Was Horus a masochist?

“There’ll be more tomorrow. Get ready.”

Horus blinks, and cocks his head—not unlike a pigeon.

Then he beams. Lifting his chin up, grinning ear-to-ear. Even beneath the shadow of his cowl, Seth catches a glimpse of his eyes, squeezed into a crescent, aimed directly at him.

There’s something caught in Seth’s throat. He swallows, and turns his face away.

In-between trekking across Egypt, restoring souls, telling old stories, and eating and sleeping excessively, Seth teaches him what he knows.

It turns out the majority of Horus’s education was training from the warriors and guards from the temple of Nut, so there’s a lot he doesn’t know. Plus he’s only fully experienced with the sword, so they filch a variety of weapons along the way so Seth can show him how to use them.

Horus seems to know exactly when to dodge, where to strike, how to move—so as long as Seth attacks at a slower speed, he can counter perfectly.

Seth never held back, nor did he go out of his way to come up with any lessons or lectures. He attacked Horus at random, and would speak a few words that made sense to him. Miraculously, Horus automatically seemed to grasp the meaning behind his hasty lessons.

Sometimes they’d spar all the way until sunset, till both their bodies were littered with scrapes and bruises, and Seth would slumber all the way until noon the next day.

Seth always had to be gentle with Anubis—but since Horus was already full-grown and had already tasted the worst of Seth’s wrath, he never had to hold back. It was probably a small blessing that Seth didn’t have his godhood, or Horus would have ended up half-dead otherwise.

Anubis loved training time with Seth, but would pout once he started to feel weary. On the contrary, Horus never complained. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it.

“Don’t you ever get—” Seth swung his fist, smacking Horus in the gut. “—tired?!”

Horus grins, despite the purplish bruise forming on his cheek. “Nope~”

One day, after a particularly grueling spar where Seth elbowed Horus too hard in the face and gave him a bloody nose, Horus asked Seth a question.

“Did you train Anubis like you're training me?”

Despite all their conversations up to this point, Horus had never asked about Anubis before.

“...I was planning to.” he says. “When he grew up.”

Horus presses a different corner of the cloth to his nose. “Oh.”

Seth looks at him.

He’s hunched over, elbow on his knee, like how Anubis used to do whenever he was sulking.

If Anubis ever fully grew up...would he look similar to Horus? Would he be as tall? Seth hadn’t thought about it much—but come to think of it—since they were technically half-brothers, Horus might even have resembled Anubis as a child. Just bigger, and darker-skinned.

“...if we ever come across a chariot, I’ll show you how to steer it. Flying with your wings is probably easier, but it never hurts to know.”

Horus wipes a spot of blood off his chin. “Then will you make me winged beasts from sand as mounts?”

“Sure. I’ll feed you to them, too.”

Horus’s chuckle is soft, yet deep. “I’ll look forward to it, then,” he says.

There’s a hint of a dimple on his cheek.

In a sense of deja vu, something uncoils in Seth’s stomach again.

The pack of jackals came back. They triple in number, a big swarming mass of rotting flesh and glowing eyes and feral snarls.

Seth hadn’t given much thought as to where these undead beasts came from or who they might belong to. Probably the work of a random minor deity with a grudge. Lately, their encounters were growing more frequent, and greater in number.

Their foul stench reeked for miles. Both Seth and Horus were careful enough in traversing terrain that could put them in an unfavorable position, so it was a matter of tenacity and raw speed, rather than stealth.

And since the jackals were already dead—neither exhaustion nor hunger would stop them.

“If worse comes to worst, just pick me up and fly.” Seth dug his ankle into a crevice on the rocky wall, and propelled his other leg upwards. The hounds snarled and snapped and clawed towards him, their glowing eyes a sea of red down below. “Ugh, disgusting—they reek even from up here...”

Horus was perched on the ledge above him. “I should just carry you after all,” he said, helping Seth up with an extended hand.

“Don’t you dare.”

They escape the gorge, the snarls of the jackals growing fainter and fainter, but when it seems like they're in the clear, Horus suddenly goes stiff, and he grabs Seth’s upper arm, staring straight ahead.

Having lost his divinity, Seth can only assume it’s a male god, waiting in front of them. The details aren’t too clear in the night, apart from a black canine-shaped headdress that blends in with the darkness, and the glint of a was-scepter in his left. He’s leaning, seemingly leisurely, against a pillar of rock, gaze fixated directly on Seth.

He smelled like death. Not that he stank, per se—just a feeling of coldness emanating from him.

“Who the hell are you?” Seth steps forward, despite Horus’s fingers digging into his skin.

The god hoists his scepter, and takes a step forward.

“Uncle,” Horus says. “Stay away from him.”

The god tilts his head, tips it forward. There’s a golden ankh on the snout of his headdress. “Seth,” he says, and his voice sounds younger than what Seth expected, but unsettles him anyway. He steps closer. “Don’t you recognize me?”

Seth stares at him, trying to see better in the darkness.

Seth never cared much for familiarizing himself with the other gods of Egypt, but he more or less could recognize their symbols and regalias. He had never heard of a jackal-themed god before.

“Am I supposed to?”

“...I suppose it doesn’t really matter anymore.”

Seth stares at him through the darkness. He’s pale-skinned. The eyes in his headdress are red, surrounded by gold accents. His voice sounded young—and unnervingly familiar...

“Uncle, don’t speak to him.”

Seth ignores Horus.“You didn’t answer my question.” He takes another step closer—they’re around ten paces apart. “What do you want—to kill me?”

The god’s laugh is mirthless and flat. “Killing you would be doing Egypt a favor. But no, it’s not my jurisdiction.

He takes his scepter in both hands, and points it at Seth.

“Osiris awaits you in Duat,” he says. “There, you’ll be brought to justice.”

Seth's blood runs cold.

“Come with me, and repent for your sins—”

Seth doesn’t hear what he says next, because Horus’s arms seize around him, and in the blink of an eye, they’re several hundred feet in the air.

“”Horus!” The unknown god was already a black speck on the ground. Another gust of wind swept past them, and Seth saw the black speck sent flying and bouncing off the ground.

“Hey!! We were talking just now—put me down!”

Horus is already swooping away, the wind battering both of them.

“Horus!” Seth punched one of Horus’s arms wrapped around his waist. “Let go—”

Horus’s mouth is set in a thin line. “We’re leaving.”

“You bastard, what’s the meaning of this?”

“Hey, talk to me, can you even hear me right now? Did you go deaf or something!”

“Horus!”

Horus says nothing, only remaining eerily grim.

They flew through the night, all the way until dawn, until Horus finally saw it fit to land. Shoulders slumping, he let go of Seth, withdrawing his wings.

Seth seized him by the arm. Horus was weary—and even quieter than usual—but Seth had shown more than enough patience for today.

“What the fuck was that?”

“He was dangerous. We had to leave, right away.”

“And who’s ‘he’?”

“He was definitely the one controlling the jackals, and we can presume his powers have to do with either beasts or death. We both know he’s been trying to hunt you down for months...he’s certainly not an ally. As for who he is…”

Horus looks down. Purses his lips. “I don’t know.”

“He mentioned Duat,” Seth mutters, and Horus visibly tenses. “I assume Osiris found himself a lackey to come after me. A new god, perhaps.” He looks up at Horus. “You’re being weirdly jumpy. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“No, Uncle. It’s just…”

“Don’t tell me you have an overwhelming phobia of dogs, or something.”

“No, it’s not that either, I…”

He looks away, shoulders slumping, as if guilty.

...Ah.

Did Horus think Seth would get angry at him for this? Because he was Osiris’s son? Or because that god’s presence, the mention of Osiris, was a reminder that Osiris would forever be Seth’s most hated enemy. Horus might have thought that Seth would turn on him, or blame him for the jackals.

Or, perhaps it was the reminder that their current truce was only temporary. In the end, Osiris’s existence stuck an irreparable rift between them.

Seth didn’t like that thought. He clears his throat.

“What goes on between me and Osiris is none of your business. The jackals were hunting me from the beginning, anyways. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

Horus still seems agitated, but he nods.

“But seriously, that new god was strange. Osiris has never had some dog-based bastard as his lackey before. He must be new. I feel like I should recognize him somehow. Would you happen to know who it is?”

Horus tenses up all over again. It’s the most uncomposed Seth has seen him.

“I...suppose I can inquire back at Heliopolis,” he grits out.

Where Isis is.

“Compose yourself.” Seth buries his own tensity, leaning forward to smack Horus lightly on the shoulder. “If you don’t know, you don’t know. A nobody working for Osiris is still a nobody. Who cares about those small fries anyway.”

Horus still looks tense, but he nods again.

“Yes, Uncle.”

Inevitably, with the appearance of the jackal-god, Osiris once again comes to mind.

A long time ago, Seth loved him.

He was his one and only brother, his king. Only a few days older, but he was always so wise, so implacable. His presence was a constant, a guiding beacon throughout the years. Unlike Isis, he never lost patience or grew angry with Seth, no matter what, and unlike Nephthys, never allowed his emotions to override his reason.

Osiris knew Seth—understood Seth—so thoroughly. He would always lend a listening ear, and always supply Seth with a supporting voice, assuring in a way that no one else ever could be.

Seth went to war for him, fought and bled for him. The constant turmoil of innocent souls, the physical strain that could beleaguer even a god, the sleepless nights and long, seemingly never-ending days of sieges and ambushes and clashes—Seth had endured it for centuries on end. But it wasn’t a burden. It was his duty.

“No one else can do this, except you,” Osiris had once said, and Seth had felt proud.

He never said it out loud—but Osiris understood, didn’t he? That they were brothers, and if Osiris wished it, Seth would conquer the world for him. That he loved him.

So...then why?

It’s frustrating, not knowing the exact identity of their pursuer. Seth didn’t want to be kept in the dark like he had with that Greek bastard—but since said pursuer had already proclaimed he was acting on behalf of Osiris, there wasn’t much cause for stewing on it for too long.

Only…

“Seth, don’t you recognize me?”

The attacker was probably one of the countless gods whose temples he ransacked. As for who, Seth didn't have the slightest idea. Yet, he couldn’t get him out of his head.

Horus, uncharacteristically, was in no way helpful. Seth always thought of him as the quiet type before, but for the days following the encounter, he’s practically reverted to being a wordless golem. No matter how much Seth prods or tries to get a rise out of him, Horus just remains aloof, responding only with one-word answers. Although he never left Seth’s side, he seemed dazed and lost in thought, and not even sparring could lift his mood. Seth even goes out of his way to spare him a couple more comforting words, but either Horus is inconsolable or Seth is incredibly inept at consoling, because it has no use.

“I’m just anxious, regarding my father hunting us down. We have to stay on our guard, uncle,” he would say, when questioned, and leave it at that.

Eventually, after several days or so, Horus reverts back to normal, and Seth forgets there was a problem in the first place.

They happen across a village, in which the area’s wealthy older men force young farmer girls to be their brides. Through psychological coercion (Horus) or violence (Seth), they eliminate the problem at hand, and carry on their way. Naturally, in the aftermath of their departure, the topic of marriage arises. Seth, feeling cheeky, can’t help but tease and prod a little.

From childhood up until now, Horus never paid much attention to the opposite sex. He does admit, however, with some trepidation, that Hathor proposed to him, but he turned her down.

“Hathor? That Hathor? Daughter of Ra? And you rejected her?” Seth laughed uproariously. “You little brat, you’ve got some high standards, don’t you!”

“No, she’s very beautiful and gentle, it’s just…” he glanced away.

“Oh? Someone else on your mind?” It could be a trick of the light, but it almost seemed like Horus was blushing. Seth leaned in further. “Another goddess, or even a human woman? Come on, tell me.”

Horus’s mouth twitches, as if recalling an awkward memory. “……something like that.”

“Whoever it is, just court her.” Horus may be reserved, but Seth didn’t believe there was a single person alive who would reject his affections. It was just a matter of youthful shyness. “Have you confessed yet?”

“No.” Horus’s mouth twitches again, and he leans away as Seth leans closer.

“Well, then nothing’s stopping you.” Seth says, arms crossed, trying to fight the smile creeping on his face. “Come on, at least tell me who it is.”

“It’s not very important.”

“Have I met her? How long have you known her?”

“...you wouldn’t believe me.”

Seth frowns, and is about to say more, when Horus replies—

“They’re married.”

Seth freezes.

“………..oh.”

Horus steps away entirely, and looks at the ground.

“They’re married, but…” Horus keeps his head still. He speaks softly, resolutely, without looking up. “But I’m not giving up entirely. It’s just that now’s not the time. I’ll wait as long as it takes. Even, in the end, If they still wish to remain with their current spouse, I can accept it. Just being with them is enough.”

Seth bit his lip. Clearly, whoever Horus loved, was more than just a passing interest. His first love, maybe? To think he would treat his love so earnestly. Someone who was married, no less. Was it a human whose spouse Horus hoped to outlive? Or one of the goddesses?

Horus keeps on not looking at Seth.

A beautiful goddess, who was married, who Horus had interacted with…

A sense of horror strikes him. “It’s not Nephthys, is it.”

Horus’s head whips up. “No!”

“Are you sure?”

“Never!” Horus is standing ramrod straight, nostrils flared, positively indignant. “Absolutely not!”

“And you won’t go sniffing around her in the future?”

“No, of course n--Uncle, what the hell are you saying?!”

“I’m making sure! If anyone else so much as looked at Nephthys, I’d kill them!”

Horus opens his mouth, but doesn’t respond. His shoulders slump, and he glances away.

The next time Horus speaks, it’s quiet, and strangely somber.

“...you still care for her?”

Seth hadn’t planned on his outburst, but he saw no reason to deny it. He shrugged. “She’s my wife.”

“But…” Horus shuts his mouth, but the inquiry is obvious, hanging awkwardly in the air.

He had heard Nephthys’ confession at the trial too, but probably never knew her much beyond that.

“You’re wondering why, after she betrayed me.”

“...Yes.”

Seth would have killed anyone else for merely implying anything about his own marriage. But Horus didn’t seem mocking or disdainful towards the matter, only curious. And in a way, Nephthys was his own aunt, after all. He probably interacted with and knew about her the least.

Brushing Horus off would be too sudden, but he didn’t feel like giving a convoluted explanation either. In the end, he shrugs. “We were talking about you, not about me. Come on, Horus, who do you like? Just say who it is. Give me a hint, at least.”

Horus looks at Seth again, and for a moment, Seth feels raw and exposed.

“What?” he snaps. “Is there a problem?”

“...nothing.” Horus glances towards the darkening sky, the indigo of twilight cast against Nut’s backdrop. “Tell me about this area. Has Uncle passed through here before?”

“Ah.” Seth glances around. “Just a couple of times..”

They don’t mention Nephthys for the rest of the night.

A memory, from ages ago.

Many years ago, the young god of sand was hunched over in a dusty corner of the palace.

“Seth!”

He did not answer.

“Seth!”

The young man did not hear. Lost in concentration, the tip of his tongue poked out of his lips, as he stared at something in his hands.

Isis came over, and lightly nudged him with her foot. “What’s that?”

Seth jumped, and immediately hid it in the crook of his elbow. “It’s not for you to see!”

Naturally, Isis became incredibly curious. She switched back and forth between hounding and teasing and bickering, until her little brother finally gave in.

He had woven a wreath of flowers. The colors were beautiful, but the petals were slightly crushed, and the stems lopsided.

“What’s this?” She laughs. “My little brother, suddenly taking an interest in the arts? Ugh, it’s so sloppy, did you use too much force? Here, let me fix that for you.”

Seth snatched it back. “No. I’m finishing it myself.”

“Oh?” Isis’s eyes widened. “Are you giving it to someone?”

“No!”

“Who is it then, is it someone I know?”

“No! You’re so nosy.”

“So I do know them!”

“Isis? Seth? Where are you?” Nephthys’s voice called. “Oh!”

Seeing them, she walked over. “Osiris said you two were here,” her gaze dropped, looking at Seth. “And what pretty flowers…”

Seth shot up from his seat. “Do you like them?”

“Of course!” Nephthys reaches out to pat the wreath, and Seth lets her. “It’s so rare to see you with things like these…”

Seth’s cheeks flush slightly pink. “Well…”

Nephthys took the wreath, and placed it on his head.

“They suit you,” she said, grinning. “Don’t you think so too, Isis?”

Isis wore a very satisfied, enlightened smile. “Oh yes.”

“I’m taking it off,” Seth grumbled, reaching up to pull it off his head.

“No, don’t! It matches your hair too well!” Nephthys giggles, and stands on her tiptoes to nudge it back on. Her slender hand covers his, for a moment. “That’s an order from your big sister!”

Seth’s blush deepened, to the point where Nephthys notices and laughs.

“Osiris is calling for all of us in the main hall,” she grabbed his hand, slender fingers winding around his. “It won’t be fair if he’s the only one who doesn’t get to see you like this!”

Seth huffed, but didn’t try to remove the wreath again. His fingers wrap around Nephthys’ palm, as he glances to the side at Isis.

Shut up, he mouths, as she tries to keep from snorting.

When she agreed to marry him, did she feel like she couldn’t say no?

His kind, beautiful, and gentle wife. The harmony to his desert, the peace to his war, his caring older sister that had been with him all his life.

Both she and Isis chose Osiris over him.

What was it that he lacked?

In their marriage, it was always Seth pursuing her—but—except—that was just Nephthys's restrained nature. She had never rejected Seth, never turned him away. She did love him back, she had to. She was his partner, his beloved wife. He loved her, and she loved him. They were the only ones for each other.

And she thought the same.

Right?

So back then; when Sekhmet told him the truth.

That Anubis was Osiris's son, that Nephthys was lying to him all this time—

He couldn’t accept it. Such utter lies, what bullshit.

Nephthys had stepped out to bring back refreshments—as a sacred goddess, she didn’t have to—but her kind, humble self insisted. She would never have lied to him, like Sekhmet said she did. Surely, as soon as she came back—she would deny it.

But instead, when Nephthys returned, she put her hands to her mouth, shaking like a leaf. Those eyes he had always gazed into these past hundreds of years, a soft, light hazel, were filled with tears.

In them, he saw the truth.

"Wouldn't you say she wanted to bear my child, and not yours?"

He never sought her out, after that night. He knew where she was—in the dungeons of the palace—where she had placed herself willingly.

As soon as the curtain was torn away, it remained discarded on the floor. She never denied or refuted what she had done, or tried to lie further to cover it up. Nor did she ever tell him: “I’ve changed my mind—it’s you who I love, not Osiris.”

What would he have done—if one day, she had crawled back after him, weeping and begging. "Seth, Seth, I love you, I want you."

Would he turn her away?

Or nod, and hold her hands, and tell her that he forgave her, that they could start over?

(There was no point in wondering, because the day never came.)

Seth has a problem with Horus.

It’s his training—he’s learning far too fast.

Anubis loved to spend time with Seth and underwent combat training obediently, but greatly preferred cooking or literature as opposed to hunting. And Seth was strict with his training—but never excessive. Gods had infinite time, didn’t they? He could always refine Anubis’s training later.

In contrast, Horus learns voraciously.

So fast that in some aspects—despite Seth being in denial, he even manages to outmatch Seth. In all fairness, Seth was at a disadvantage due to his missing divinity—but still.

The few first times he knocked Seth to the ground, they were both thoroughly surprised, Horus’s mouth widened in a small little ‘o’. He doesn’t really seem to be able to understand, at first—that tying with or defeating Seth wasn’t a fluke or a matter of luck.

Afterwards, however…

He became downright cocky.

Now that the outcomes of their matches were no longer set in stone, his usual thirst for sparring was now accompanied with an eager competitiveness. It annoyed Seth, how sometimes it was no longer Seth initiating fights out of the blue—but Horus impulsively challenging him.

It was irritating, how he lifts his chin and tilts his head with this arrogant little smirk that makes Seth feel unsettled and queasy. It was bothersome, that even if he practically bashes his nephew’s body in two, he just seems unflappably happy about it anyways—as though winning or losing didn’t matter to him.

However, as soon as Horus noticed Seth’s displeasure, he stopped immediately. He would pause and stop his smile, avert his eyes to hide his pleasure.

And that just made Seth angry.

Looking down on him? Sparing his feelings? As if Seth was a fragile maiden who had to be accommodated ?

“Watching you act is sickening,” he finally snaps, one day. “Smile. Brag. Just do what you want.”

Horus blinks.

Afterwards, he doesn’t exactly return to his former arrogance, but he doesn’t seem to be holding back either.

Since Horus didn’t seem to care as to who was the victor or loser, Seth also stopped giving so much of a damn.

Only that, when he sees Horus panting, his chest heaving, dark skin shiny with sweat, managing to smile at Seth nevertheless, so pleased and brash and proud, he can’t help but stare. Horus would grin at him, tilt his head in a way that suggested that Seth was directly responsible.

“Uncle,” he’d say, with that ridiculous grin and soft, yet deep cadence. “Do you think I’d be able to surpass you next time?”

The sight pains his eyes. He turns away, his face strangely hot.

How infuriating.

In hindsight, Seth should have noticed earlier. At first, he chalked it up to perhaps a luck-based blessing, but soon, as the weeks went on, he couldn’t help but notice Horus’s predilection for sometimes just knowing things. It was never in advance—always a spur-of-the-moment kind of instinct.

Just small things—but crucial. When people were lying. Directions. Locations, timing, the exact right things to say and do. An unnaturally keen instinct, tailor-made to living on the run.

“It’s almost as if you can read minds,” Seth quips.

“I just have sharp senses.”

Seth first files away the comment as a random remark, until one day, during training, he decides to test it out for himself.

When he moves in, slow and calculated, Horus can match each strike. But when he lets instinct guide his hand, and let attacking come to him naturally, Horus does even better by countering his blows tenaciously, albeit with a little less grace.

After he inquires further, Horus tells him about his intuition. How that ever since he was a child, he could feel the flow of the world. A honed sense of guidance, that had never once proved him wrong.

It was surprising. Shocking, even. While every god had their own unique abilities, the same rule didn’t necessarily apply to their children. Anubis never had any powers of his own. Horus’s upbringing may have forcibly awoken his latent powers, out of the sheer need of survival.

At that last thought, Seth’s guts twist.

“So that was why I could never find Isis. As I thought—she did have the protection of a god, just one I didn’t know about.”

“...I’m not a god yet.”

“But you already have your own unique power. Like Thoth’s prophecies, or Maat’s truth, or my sand. You’re so close to achieving godhood, Horus. You’ll attain it, any day now.“ Another question came to light. “How come you and Isis couldn’t wait until you were a god to challenge me?”

Horus’s shoulders hunch over.

“I won’t become a god anytime soon.” he says, not meeting Seth’s gaze. “Because I don’t want to.”

Seth stares at him.

What?

“You don’t...want to be a god? Not because you can’t—you just don’t want to.”

“Yes.”

Seth can’t believe it. “Are you insane? Is this something Isis told you?”

“When you become a god, you let go of everything to become the perfect being.” Horus says, low and somber. “All your desires, wants, and weaknesses. You’d lose your sense of self entirely.”

He stares into the distance, the countenance of one who has trodden this train of thought many times over. “Forgetting everything, letting go of my desires—I’m not strong enough for it. If I ascend and become replaced with the godly version of myself—what happens to the me of now? Wouldn’t it be like death, only the self I am in the present won’t even have an afterlife to go to? That terrifies me more than anything.”

“I’m weak, Uncle.” He smiles at Seth, with a hint of apology. “Don’t tell my mother, okay?”

They never speak about godhood again. But Seth replays his words over and over, after that.

If Seth was in his shoes, he’d strive for godhood as soon as possible. What use was there in clinging to your current self, if you could be stronger in your next incarnation, free from the burdens of the past? What would possibly motivate Horus to hold onto this life, his harsh upbringing and weak demigod status?

Seth could only imagine that Horus’s lingering attachment would be to Isis—but it wasn’t as though she would disappear once he ascended. On the contrary, she wanted Horus to become a god, and would likely continue to support his reign.

That anonymous woman he liked, maybe? No, that reason was too frivolous, and Horus was anything but.

Horus was a young man. A young man who kept his feelings and thoughts hidden, already bearing traces of weariness from centuries of struggle, but a young man nonetheless. Prone to his own bouts of boyish pride and mischief and impulsiveness, slipping through the folds of the mask he had woven around himself.

Although Seth was somewhat more familiar with Horus now, he still couldn’t understand him. Even now, it was still entirely possible he was plotting in the dark, hiding secret schemes beneath a facade—and yet, Seth let him stay anyways.

But at the very least, he was his nephew, and even just temporarily, he was also his ally. Seth didn’t want to see him come to harm.

Not become a god? How ridiculous.

In the end, after thinking and wondering and running circles in his head, Seth concluded that Horus was simply an idiot who needed additional guidance in the future, and left it at that.

The next time the jackal-god catches up to them, he spares no time for chitchat.

He wields a wider array of powers this time—Osiris’s magic. Beneath their feet, withered husks and buried corpses revive, amassing in a conglomeration of the dead to pursue them. No longer jackals—just formless, twisting husks, stretching out their tendrils.

Horus doesn’t waste a second standing idly by. He charges at Osiris’s lackey directly, blade against scepter, almost frenzied in his haste.

“Horus!” Seth yells. “Get back here!”

Horus either ignores him or doesn’t hear him, gritting his teeth as he dodges a clawed fist next to his face. Between the speed of their fight and the surrounding undead jackals, Seth has no opportunity to jump into the fray. He can only grit his teeth and bare his claws as he rips through another dozen of the rotting horde, keeping Horus in his peripheral vision, when it happens.

The jackal god plunges his arm into the left side Horus’s chest, sinking in his claws up to the wrist.

Horus cries out. Some sort of black, ashy magic seeps in from the god’s claws, and Horus’s body goes limp.

Seth’s spine goes cold.

He grabs Horus’s sword and hurls it at the jackal god. It spears him in the abdomen, and he keels over.

Something in his shoulder pops, pain flaring, but he ignores it as he slings Horus haphazardly onto his back, and runs.

How he manages to get away, he doesn’t know. He only runs until his feet blister and knees are unable to bend, far, far away, to a dense, shaded grove.

They take refuge in a dirt pit, in the depths of the woods. Horus is only half-conscious, body shaking, torso streaked with blood, the veins around his wound dyed black.

Seth stares at the gouged flesh and skin, only an inch away from Horus’s heart.

He was never a healer. Medical care was for humans and the weak. A god of war, composed of sand, had no business to know such things. And those black veins—what were they? A curse? This was all Isis’s territory. What could he do? Ripping off a piece of his cloak, he could only dumbly and clumsily staunch the bleeding.

Horus stirs. He blinks, and holds Seth’s fingers weakly. “I’ll be alright, Uncle,” he croaks. “It’s not life-threatening, I can sense it…”

“Shut up.” Seth presses harder on his chest. Horus grimaces.

“I’ll live,” he mutters again. “I’ll be fine.”

There’s something in Seth’s throat. He doesn’t dare to meet Horus’s gaze.

“I said shut up.” The piece of cloth is already soaked in blood. He shakes Horus’s fingers off and opts for bunching up the entire cloak and using it against him. “One more word and I’ll hit you.”

Horus tries to smile. “You’d hit a dying patient?” It looks more like a grimace.

The corners of Seth’s eyes ache. He folds the cloak into a thick layer, and lays it over the wound before pushing down. “You just said you weren’t dying,” he retorts, far too quietly.

“Haha. Okay, don’t hit me too hard.”

Seth could only clear out some of the debris and lay Horus down in it, then dig into the earth to form more of a cave. There was still a vial of Isis’s medicine remaining, filched from the Greek bastard, and Seth uses all of it. He does what he feels should be common sense: keeping the wound bandaged and clean, having Horus eat and drink, and forcing him to sleep most of the time.

They remain there until dawn, accompanying each other with nothing more than labored breathing.

When Horus sleeps, Seth watches over him.

He listens to his staggered breathing. Stares at the black veins.

If it had been Seth who had been injured, he could have withstood it. Seth may be weakened, but he was older, stronger, and a god. Horus? Horus was just the child of a god, he had never reached divinity, and there was no guarantee as to what would happen to him if he went to Duat.

I’m weak, Uncle. Don’t tell my mother, okay?

Horus still had his headdress on, so he stares at the uncovered lower half of his face too, and thinks of Isis. Come to think of it, he almost killed Horus during their trials, but Isis was there to heal him right afterwards.

Did she and Horus ever go through situations like this? No—even if weakened or in disguise, she could cure any possible injury or ailment her son could have. Seth knew her—she would have never willingly let any child of hers come to unnecessary harm.

If she could see her son now, how would she feel? Going off Horus’s words, she knew nothing of his accompaniment to Seth, so it would come as a complete shock. Her only son she raised for the throne, bleeding out in a hole in the dirt, having been wounded for the sake of the man she hated.

She wouldn’t cry, but rage. Although she was slower to anger, her temper was just as bad as Seth’s. She’d yell at him, definitely, and hit him. She might even curse him again.

Anubis, bearing divine blood, never fell sick, but occasionally might scrape his elbow or bruise his knee. Seth would cart him off to Isis, who would simply chide him to be more careful, then wave the pain away.

As for what she’d do regarding Horus, Seth had no idea. Even if he had his divinity, the best he could do was form a bandage with his sand. If only she was here now.

The first couple of days, Horus drifted in-between fitful sleep and delirium. His face twisted and sweated, his pants labored and stressed. He would mutter occasionally, a string of soundless words.

Sometimes, he’d look straight up at Seth, and say things that made absolutely no sense.

“Oh,” he’d say breathlessly, “I’ve finally found you. I wanted to see you again.” Or: “Can I stay with you? Please?”

Delirious and vulnerable, he seemed younger than ever, and Seth was once again reminded that in comparison, he was hundreds upon hundreds of years older than his nephew. In a sense, he was practically still a child.

Not knowing what to do, he would simply nod, and awkwardly pat Horus on the head.

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” he’d say, using the tone of voice once only reserved for an infant Anubis. “Just sleep. I’ll be watching over you.”

He didn’t know if Horus could even understand him, but upon hearing such words, he would become obedient, and close his eyes without a fuss.

It was a little odd, but Seth dismissed the ramblings as random. Anubis and even Nephthys liked to talk nonsense in their sleep sometimes, so he could tolerate Horus for now.

Many years ago, amidst the haze of alcohol and incense, Seth had dreamed a dream.

In the dream, Anubis came to see him. It must have been a dream for there was no scar where Seth had hit him. Only his son, quiet and pliant before him, features hazy and obscure, but his son nonetheless.

He had cried in front of him, begged him for forgiveness. Kissed his face and hands over and over, letting the words pour out.

Anubis clung to him, shoulders shaking. He seemed afraid to speak, only nodding over and over, arms wrapped around Seth’s neck.

Seth hadn’t held him in so, so, long. To the point where he had almost forgotten what it felt like. Tears dripped off his chin, as he tucked Anubis closer to him. Was he always so thin?

“Be my son forever,” he pleaded.

“I’ll protect you,” he said.

Anubis nodded, and held his hand, and he wept. Out of joy, out of despair, he didn’t know why. There was something in the simplicity of it. Having Anubis there, doing nothing else except accompanying him, but it was all he needed. There was no Osiris, or gods, or mortals or humans or lies. Just Seth and his son, and their quiet, tiny world.

Then, he woke up.

For several days, Horus sleeps soundly, only occasionally waking up to blink at Seth and ask for some water. The black veins seemed to be receding with time, albeit slowly. Eventually, he’s well enough to sit up.

“Osiris wouldn’t have killed me,” he eventually croaks, fingers tracing the perimeter of the wound. “He wouldn’t dare. The magic was for paralysis, not for killing. After all, I’m still his son.”

The jackal god’s spell was probably for capturing Seth alive. Seth sighs through his nose.
“Osiris wouldn’t spare you on account of being his son. Had it been a lethal curse, you’d be dead. Don’t be stupid next time. Don’t get yourself killed on account of something small.”

“That goes for you too, Uncle.” Horus glanced at the calloused soles of Seth’s feet. “You should have saved some of Mother’s medicine for yourself.”

“What? I’m not as frail as you.” Seth shifts the way he sits. “You don’t understand the severity of this situation. Never take Osiris lightly.”

“I do understand.” For a moment, he leans forward and rubs his shoulder, and Seth catches a glimpse of Isis, in his profile.

“You don’t.” Seth crouches down, stares him in the eye. “From now on, you stay close to me. Don’t wander off. Understand?”

Horus smiles. “I should be asking that of you.”

Seth rolls his eyes. “Brat,” he says.

Relief, fragile and cool, pools in his stomach.

He’s happy, he thinks. That Horus is alive.

Before he knows he’s doing it, he leans down and briefly presses his lips against Horus’s forehead.

Horus’s breath hitches.

Seth pulls away. The touch was only for less than half a second, but he can feel the warmth lingering on his lips.

Horus stares up at him, mouth partially open, blinking rapidly. It’s inconceivably funny, and Seth resists the urge to pinch him by the nose.

“Get up, Horus,” he says, extending his hand to help him up. “We’ve got places to go.”