Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 123065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
I’m thankful they waited until Cleo was out of sight.
They typically wait when it comes to outsiders, but some are forgetful, especially the younger ones who don’t really even know their own history—just that they have to respect the old immortals, specifically the ones that are actively in their human trials like myself.
Lights flicker as I walk toward the restroom area and the final hallway that leads to the manager’s office.
Cleo is leaning as close as she can to the wall, intently examining the wood and frowning. She shakes her head, then grabs her phone from her back pocket and begins typing furiously on it like the phone personally offended her in some way. “No, no, that can’t be right.”
“What can’t?” I casually lean against the opposing wall.
She jumps a foot, nearly dropping her phone to the floor before tapping the screen again. “You scared the hell out of me.”
She still doesn’t look up but points at the wall in frustration. “Is this a joke?”
I take a step toward her. “That depends. Is it funny?”
“Laughable, actually.” She seems pissed. “I mean this is your place, right? And you’re the CEO of Raaiden, it doesn’t make sense that you’d put this up here.”
Ah, so it’s going to go that way. Of course.
She taps her finger against the wall as if I can’t see it. “This isn’t accurate. Why would everything be accurate in the decorations but this?”
“And the ‘this’ you’re referring to?” I play dumb and walk closer until I’m a foot away from her pointed stare and palpable annoyance.
She points at the wall again. “Osiris was good, faithful. He saved his people—and Ra, well Ra basically did nothing but get chased by Chaos. If anything, Ra just looked down on humanity and watched after fighting off the end of the world over and over again. The— the—”
What’s this feeling in my chest? Mild annoyance? Is this what getting insulted by a human feels like? I’m trying not to get irritated but the more she talks about the “myths” and what she “knows,” the angrier I become, the more I want to take her back to the house and shove her into the mouth of the cave where she belongs. Let her learn her lessons in real time, with real monsters and heroes and see how she reacts. History does, after all, repeat itself, and quite often people are too stupid to listen every single time it does. Myths? Sure, I’ll let her get away with saying that for today. It will make the ending so much sweeter. They say that the more you terrify people, the more you can control them; fear, after all is the greatest power some have—and I have enough to give for an eternity. A blessing? Absolutely. A curse? Naturally. I nod my head as she keeps talking as if I give a rat’s ass that she’s upset over something she knows little to nothing about. I calm the rage within and draw in a deep breath.
“…and Ra didn’t save the world. He went to the underworld to keep the serpent from making sure the sun didn’t rise. It was a made-up story for people to be able to understand the sun and the moon. Basically, out of all the stories I’ve read here, the one that seems the least realistic is the story of Ra. Osiris I can understand, Apollo and Mars? Sure.”
“Ah, are you Egyptian then?” I snap, interrupting her. “That you would know so much about our history.”
Cleo winces. “Let me guess…you’re, um…”
“Egyptian.” I snap. “So, before you start putting down the silliest stories of them all,” I lean in and tap her on the temple. “Use what the gods you disrespect gave you.”
She hangs her head. “Sorry, I got caught up, maybe it’s because it pisses me off more than it should, when gods get glorified for nature or when they get praise. The moon causes gravity, right? And yet we have a God of the Moon, a God of the Sun. It’s science, so while I love reading stories it’s escapism to me, nothing more and I think it’s cruel.”
“Cruel?”
“To offer hope to people who have none.”
“Can you touch hope?” I ask. “Can you touch trust? Faith? Is it tangible? Can you taste it, Cleo?” I corner her against the wall. “And yet people still cling to it as if they can dig their hands through it not knowing that at the end of the day, the sand will eventually slip through the cracks, but that doesn’t mean it was never there to begin with, does it? Hope is just like that sand that slips, it existed even if at the end of the way—it is lost.” “Who, I wonder…” I touch the old picture of me shoving a spear through Apep’s heart. The picture depicts my last and final attempt at trying to save the world. Arrogant, yes, so very young and arrogant. If only the world knew. We are both slaves to each other, slaves to the power we seek. Both are slaves to their own blood—in order to stay strong.