𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 ☽ 𝙢𝙤𝙤𝙣 𝙠𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩

22

Stepping into the pyramid of Giza invoked a rush of memories. Charles, as an archeologist, was privileged to be part of the few who had been able to venture inside to behalf its secrets as Horus' avatar. Before it was breathtakingly beautiful, now it lays in ruins, all decorated with hieroglyphs and images of Egypt many years ago crumbled and the one-majestic statues of the gods of the Ennead had been reduced into stumps and mere fragments.

Charles couldn't shake the unsettling feeling of his two daughters embarking on a situation to the point that they would possibly end up fighting each other to the death. He thought perhaps that if he were there, he could stop it from happening. He already lost his wife, there was no way in hell he was going to lose his daughters.

So Charles used the last of his savings to get a plane ticket to Cairo.

He navigated through the debris with caution before he eventually reached the heart of the chamber, where the accused had once stood for their trials. A startled gasp escaped his lips when he spotted an arm near his feet, causing him to recoil.

He froze, his eyes involuntarily following the arm's path to its attached body before rising to meet the face. His stomach churned as he gazed at the lifeless eyes of the Avatar of Isis, starting back at him with her expression frozen in time.

Seeing her triggered something within him, causing his breathing to quicken, each inhale was a laborious struggle. His hands began to tremble and cold sweat formed in his brow.

The memories rushed in and suddenly, he was back to the night his camp was infiltrated by mercenaries. He was the only one who had the gall to fight them, spurred on by the fact that he was the avatar of Horus. He believed he could do anything that he forgot Horus was withheld by their rule. In the end, it cost him greatly.

He remembered vividly how he was dragged away from his group after he was hit on the back of his head with a gun. He was disoriented and barely able to keep himself conscious while his hands were being tied behind his back. But he is conscious enough to be forced to watch his group, including his wife, get killed.

He was sure he was next but for some reason, he was still here. Alive.

His heart pounded as he relived the chaos, the fear, and the overwhelming sense of helplessness. Tears welled up in his eyes while he clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. Their voices resonated in his mind, the screams and the pleas that fell on deaf ears haunted him for months.

He believed he was getting better, he was coupling to the treatment yet the weight of the guilt always finds its way back, the burden of surviving when others hadn't.

He didn't even know if the boy who helped him was still alive or if he too had died.

Charles needed to ground himself, to bring himself back to the situation at hand but it felt impossible. He couldn't tear his gaze off the lifeless body in front of him even if he wanted to.