Life and Death are Lovers on a Coffee Date

Chapter 1

 The light of the sun peeped through the morning air, revealing the morning dust, scattered and roaming freely as if fishes on the sea, the Tindall effect cast free. The shades of the see-through curtains gently wail as the gales of winds danced amongst them, welcoming the early morning sunrise, carefully lighting the comfortable darkness.

As the flaxen-coloured sun stood rising, carefully awakening the slumber with the tired eyes of The Curator of the Sands.

The man of pure unknown walked away from his floor, leaving the dust to follow his every step like his own living shadow. In the hallway, the unlit torches were designed. Ancient relics and undecipherable runes were styled on the hallways floor. The sound of silence was loud in the unbothered rooms. Making his way to the entrance of the temple, the blaze of the sun grew stronger, radiating incredible heat that not many men can withstand under normal circumstances, that is unless you lived and adapted under the presence of the sun. He kneeled down, eyes gazing on the floor before slowly reaching the sand on his palm open and raising it upwards. The grain of sand slowly retreated back to its place.

"This sand has many of its kind, but what is there for me...?" he threw back the sand to the ground and used his war axe to guide him back up. The sand was everywhere he made his way, and the jackal hybrid sat down, ignoring the sunlight as it covered his eyes to look up.

"This axe has a lost purpose, then what is left for me?"

The pearly white clouds always mesmerize one man alone; they alone have feelings and express them in each way, cloudy, stormy, or sunny... but sometimes the clouds can be lonely, they cry as they feel alone, sad or angry, but the clouds never feel alone with me as he talked to them every day. Never once did they become alone, never once did they become sad, and never once were they angry at him.

But once in a while, they are away, so instead, he talks to the sky. The skies are so beautiful but good at hiding pain away, the sky is always alone even when the people adore the sky, he still feels lonely, he only wants his parents.

The sun and moon were the happiest couple you could ever see, even the stars rejoiced with them, but they hated the fact that night and day are different, they threatened the sun to cut loose with the moon without her knowing, that way, they will never be one again and of course, the sun resisted without hesitation, the humans called upon the gods to help them, at first the gods were conflicted in not separating them, but since the humans became more violent, turning sides to ruthless and inhumane acts, the gods had no choice so they separated the sun along with its pain and moon with her stars, leaving their son, the sky.

The curator laid down his head on the floor, landing with his hand at the back of his head, his other hand caressing the green torn-up handkerchief tied on his neck. He had nothing else better to do than wait for trouble, wait for eternity.

"Waiting for what exactly? Who was I again?"

Before long, his memories were eradicated, tinge of pain coursed through his head each time he tries to recall his memories, what were those memories, and why were they so important? Why did they leave scars in his heart? And why does a handkerchief feel so much more important than his life? Trying to get his memories straight, he traced back to when he woke up in deep slumber, awoken by kind travellers and when asked who he was, he had no records of his past. He travelled from sand to sand, gaining the title of a well-known adventurer as he ventured out for his memories. He knew his weapon and loyalty had served a purpose, for the person he once served, and the person he seeks to serve yet once again.

Following the waves of the sands, he had found what seemed to be a relic resembling the sun, soon a tinge of pain coursed through his head, the sense of familiarity, the voice of an emperor. Travelling through the unknown, days of travels and sand weaving, his journey led him to a ghosted empire struck into ruins, volume speaks nothing and the buildings razed leaving amuck an ancient piece of mystery unknown to those who will discover. But he knew this is where his loyalty once lies. With curiosity and adrenaline, he ran straight to the streets, even without his memories, his body led him to the one and only place. Soon he landed on the threshold of what once was the throne room filled with banners, representing power, prosper and Shurima, well trained guards guarding the existence of the almighty emperor, his knees weakened as it met the floor, he found home, but something is missing, where is his real home? And why isn't it Shurima?

Until then, with his loyalty, he waited, and waited, and waited for his lost emperor to come home.

"Until the day of his arrival, I will welcome him home," he said, still stroking the piece of torn green garment.

"It's time" a thunderous voice echoed as loud as the hurling winds, as loud as the roaring seas. He was stunned as his eyes opened and in front of him was the definition of awe. The sky ripped open followed by holy anthems that are so ancient, so pleasing, so... angelic. The man had to cover his eyes as the blinding light illuminated even the brightest suns.

"Is it my time?"

The light soon started to faintly fade. The Anubis stood his ground as his eyes finally started to adjust to the normal scorching sun's lighting. A man stood so gracefully in front of him, gold and white colours roamed his armour as he unmounted around the lux horse. The angel with the aura of light and the halo of gold, the angel landed on the ground lowering his clean white wings.

"Hello, Guardian of the tomb or should I say, harbinger of Set's power."

"Shurima, the old prosperous and independent desert, an oasis with few fertile land across its coast"