The chamber lay deep within the ruins, its walls etched with symbols too ancient for most to comprehend. Shadows stretched long and twisted in the flickering torchlight, distorting the already grotesque carvings. Thoth stood at the center, his eyes unfocused, distant. The air around him seemed to hum with unseen energy, thick with the promise of something vast—something far beyond mortal or even divine understanding.
Anubis watched him from the edge of the room, his eyes narrowed, hands resting casually at his sides. The god of the dead was still, unnervingly so, but beneath the surface, he was alert, his senses attuned to the growing strangeness that had begun to cling to Thoth like a second skin. Thoth, who once saw the universe as a vast puzzle to be solved, was now seeing more than he ever had before—and perhaps more than he should.
“It’s… different here,” Thoth murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as though speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile balance of what he saw. His eyes gleamed with the spark of something new, something powerful. "The boundaries are thinner. The future… the past… they blur together."
Anubis stepped forward, his shadow merging with Thoth’s. “What do you see?”
Thoth’s eyes snapped into focus, meeting Anubis’ gaze. “Possibilities,” he said, his voice taking on an eerie calm. “Futures unformed, paths untaken. I see what could be.”
(It was in moments like these that Thoth walked the most dangerous line—one between curiosity and obsession. He had always been the seeker, the recorder, the one who pursued knowledge no matter the cost. But now, the knowledge he sought whispered to him, tempted him, calling him toward a future that might not exist. Or perhaps, one that should never exist.)
Seshat's voice seemed to drift through the room, though neither god acknowledged her. The ancient force that lingered in the chamber had begun to weave its tendrils around Thoth’s mind, showing him visions of worlds only half-formed, shadows of what might come to pass if he reached out and took the power that waited just beyond his grasp.
Thoth closed his eyes, and the visions began again. In one, he stood atop a great tower, taller than any mountain, looking down upon a world that bowed before him. Mortals and gods alike knelt at his feet, their eyes hollow and their wills broken. With a mere thought, he commanded time itself, bending it to his will, reshaping reality as he saw fit. The past, the present, the future—all were his to control, to mold as he wished. There was no resistance. No opposition. Only him, standing as the ultimate power in existence.
Another vision flickered into being—one where life and death were his to manipulate. He saw himself standing over Anubis, the god of death himself crumpled to the ground, his power stripped away, his very essence held in the palm of Thoth’s hand. The souls of the dead swirled around him, trapped in an endless cycle of suffering, bound to his will for eternity.
And then, there was a vision of time itself unraveling, collapsing and reforming at Thoth’s whim. He watched as entire civilizations rose and fell within seconds, their histories rewritten and undone with a mere gesture. The gods who had once ruled alongside him were nothing more than dust, their names forgotten, their power consumed by the force that now coursed through him.
Thoth’s breath quickened. He could feel the power of these futures. It was real, tangible, as if all he had to do was reach out and take it.
(Power was the ultimate temptation. Thoth had always been able to resist its pull, to keep himself at a distance from the allure of control. But now, with the visions flooding his mind, he was no longer so certain. What if this was what he was meant for? What if this was his purpose?)
Seshat’s voice came again, softer this time, but with an edge of warning.
(The ancient force was clever. It knew how to seduce those who sought knowledge, offering them glimpses of power so vast that it became impossible to look away. Thoth, despite all his wisdom, was not immune to this. And that was what made him vulnerable.)
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Anubis sensed the shift in the air. He could feel the force growing stronger, its influence weaving itself into Thoth’s thoughts. His sharp eyes focused on Thoth, watching the slight twitch of his fingers, the way his breath hitched, as though he were teetering on the edge of something dangerous.
“Thoth,” Anubis said, his voice low and commanding. “You see what could be, but what should be is another matter.”
Thoth’s eyes snapped open, and for a moment, there was a strange light in them—something far darker than the calm, measured intellect that usually resided there. “What is ‘should’ but a limitation imposed by those without the power to change it?” he said, his voice distant, almost as though he were speaking to himself.
Anubis took a step closer, his presence a heavy, tangible force in the room. “That power,” he said, “does not belong to any god. Not even to you.”
Thoth’s eyes flickered toward Anubis, and for a brief moment, it looked as though he might argue. But then the moment passed, and his gaze softened—if only slightly. He exhaled slowly, grounding himself, pulling his mind back from the precipice of the visions.
(Anubis had always been a force of balance. Where others sought power, he sought control—but not in the way that Thoth did. Anubis understood death. He knew that power was fleeting, that all things—even gods—were subject to its ultimate grasp. He was cruel, yes, but his cruelty had a purpose. It was calculated, measured. Thoth, in contrast, stood on the brink of something far more dangerous: the desire for limitless control.)
Seshat’s words lingered as Thoth turned his gaze back to the ruined symbols on the walls, his mind still swirling with the remnants of the visions. He could still feel the pull of the ancient force, the way it tried to coax him, to lure him into its grasp. It was insidious—showing him only what he desired, never what the true cost of that desire might be.
“I see the possibilities,” Thoth said quietly, his voice more controlled now. “But I also see the dangers.”
Anubis nodded, though his eyes remained wary. “The force you’re glimpsing—it’s not showing you the future. It’s showing you its future. One where it controls you.”
Thoth considered this for a moment, his mind racing. “Perhaps,” he said finally. “But control works both ways.”
Anubis stepped closer, his voice dropping to a near growl. “You cannot control what you don’t understand. And that force, whatever it is—it doesn’t play by the rules we know.”
(Thoth had always believed that knowledge was the key to understanding the universe. He had built his existence around that belief, cataloging the secrets of time, space, life, and death. But the ancient force he now faced was something different. It was not a puzzle to be solved or a secret to be uncovered. It was a power that defied comprehension, and it was calling to him.)
Seshat’s voice grew quieter as if the force itself were trying to drown her out.
Thoth’s hands twitched at his sides, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the symbols before him. “There’s something more here,” he muttered, stepping closer to the wall. His fingers traced the ancient carvings, their meaning slipping just beyond his grasp. “These aren’t just remnants of the past… they’re instructions.”
Anubis watched him carefully. “Instructions for what?”
Thoth’s eyes gleamed with sudden clarity, and he turned to face Anubis. “To harness it.”
Anubis’ expression darkened. “You cannot be serious.”
Thoth smiled—a small, cold smile. “I am always serious, Anubis.”
(It was moments like this that made Thoth so dangerous. He was not reckless, like many gods before him, but methodical. Where others might rush forward blindly, Thoth would study every angle, every possibility. And when he finally moved, it was with purpose. But that purpose, now, was clouded by the visions that had taken root in his mind.)
Seshat’s warning came sharper now, more insistent.
(Knowledge, when corrupted by desire, becomes a tool of destruction. Thoth knew this, but knowledge was his purpose. And the line between seeking understanding and seeking control was thinner than even he realized.)
Thoth’s eyes gleamed, his mind alight with the possibilities before him. The force had shown him glimpses of what could be—and now, standing in this ancient chamber, surrounded by the remnants of gods long dead, he wondered if perhaps those visions were not simply manipulations, but glimpses of what was possible if only he could grasp it.
“I will not be manipulated,” Thoth said, his voice steady, yet tinged with something darker. “But I will not turn away from knowledge.”
Anubis stood silent for a moment, his gaze piercing. “Knowledge at what cost, Thoth?”
Thoth did not answer immediately. Instead, he turned back to the wall, his fingers tracing the final symbol in the sequence. He could feel the force resonating beneath his skin, humming with power, eager to be unleashed.
Behind him, Anubis' voice was cold. “Do not forget,” Anubis said, stepping closer, his presence looming. “We are not here to claim power. We are here to understand it. The moment you try to wield it, you become its servant.”
Thoth paused, his hand hovering over the last of the carvings. The weight of Anubis’ words hung in the air, thick with tension.
(In Thoth’s pursuit of knowledge, he had always skirted the edge of control, always sought to master what others feared. But this force—this ancient, unknowable power—was different. And even Thoth, for all his wisdom, could not fully grasp its nature.)
Seshat’s voice echoed through the room one last time, her warning now undeniable.
(To seek knowledge is one thing. To bend it to your will is another. And Thoth was on the verge of crossing a line that even he might not return from.)
Thoth exhaled, his hand dropping to his side. For now, he would heed the warnings, but his mind was still restless. The visions, the power—they were too tempting to ignore forever. He stepped back from the wall, and the room seemed to release its hold on him, the tension in the air easing.
Anubis watched him carefully, his eyes never leaving Thoth’s face. “The ancient force will consume you if you let it,” Anubis said quietly. “Remember that.”
Thoth nodded, though a shadow of doubt lingered in his mind. They turned and left the chamber, the weight of the visions still heavy on Thoth’s shoulders. As they walked away from the ruins, the force whispered once more, a promise of what could be—and the shadow of what would be if Thoth ever gave in.