Masika Aarahm

The sky wasn't how she remembered it.

It was darker than she had ever seen it. An abyss of charcoal that Masika swore she would fall into if she looked up at it long enough. For a moment, she wondered where she was. There was nothing, just blackness that surrounded her.

What happened to the sky? She wondered. Her footfalls slowly paced forward with a gentle tap on the invisible floor. She wasn't walking anywhere just into more shadows, Nut, are you there? Masika hugged her arms to her chest as she kept walking through. She thought that if she walked far enough then she would get somewhere. What if all the Gods have been taken?

Fear knotted and unknotted itself inside her stomach. She didn't know it was possible but if the Gods didn't exist then there was nothing – no sky, no sun, no animals and no light. The world would cease to exist, much like it did now.

If she stared long enough, Masika could see different shades of black but it was simply her mind playing cruel games. It was like visual tinnitus – her vision was buzzing and blurring from the plain colour. Bright colours would dance before her vision before fading away as soon as her eyes began to chase them.

Eventually, Masika could no longer hear her own rhythmic footfalls instead she heard a gentle sound that mimicked the soft vibration of a fly's wings. It was driving her insane. She was insane enough to try and scream with no sound emerging from her lips. She was insane enough to jump up and down in frustration until she was unaware of the fact that there was a ground – was she falling? It was hard to tell if she was. Her world became complete nonsense. But, in darkness, there must always be light.

Music.

Masika opened her eyes and sat bolt upright. She checked her hands and feet, touching each body part as though it were some sort of miracle. Her clothes were still on her body, her hands could still feel and if she rested her hand on her chest she could feel her soft heart beat beating in time with the harp.

Everything came flooding back to her – the spirit, the fire and the boat. Yet she was fearful to know how she got in the room.

"Hello?" her voice echoed in the lifeless room as she looked around. She stood on the marble floor of a completely white building. It was pristine and everything perfectly arranged. The golden harp in the corner tat played music with an invisible composer and the table decorated with fruits and precious wine. A plush bed with golden embroidery on each cushion centred on a platform under a skylight which was too bright to look at.

How is that thing playing? She stared at the harp for a moment before her eyes landed on the food. Without a second thought she ran forward and stuffed her mouth full of sweet, succulent grapes. She relished the taste with each bite. She grabbed another handful before running to the bed and jumping on it in a round of laughter. She had never been on a real bed before.

Masika, for one small moment, recalled that she was supposed to be doing something but the grapes sweet flavour was all she could think about. The music filled her ears and warmed her heart and, naturally Masika began to dance.

Her body turned elegantly in tune with the slow and gentle music. Yet, there was a sort of harshness to her movement, like she was older and in more control than she actually was. She fell in love with the music. The familiar coating of warmth and the butterflies in her stomach returned. Her heartbeat was growing steadily with the music. Her breathing was perfectly in sync with the movements of her body. She traced her pointed toe around her body in a delicate twirl before pushing off and spinning faster than the wind had ever blown. Her fingers resting carefully in front of her hips as she rotated on the tip of her toes. Gracefully, she extended her arms out and increasing the momentum she lifted her leg high up until she matched a statue. She began to slow and bounded across the marble, leaping up into the air and landing in a soft crouch. Masika's body extended up as she imagined the audience waiting for her to lead the way. She showed courage in where she was and what she was doing. Masika adapted quickly to the changes made by her own two feet as she trusted them to land without slipping on the polished floor – trusting her instincts and her movement until there was no ground beneath her but an extension of her body that she controlled. She savoured the moment of awe from the invisible audience, taking care and time to complete each move before moving onto the next as though her mother was watching and judging her. Slowly, she embellishes her steps, with a wave of her frail arm or a toss of her head, she demanded to be seen and heard more than the music itself.

She bounded back up to the bed knowing that her own breath had been taken away from the dance as the music suddenly stopped.

This place can't be real, her breathing and her exhaustion made Masika think clearly. She remembered the dangers of the Underworld and thoughtfully tuned her ears to listen for another voice.

"You must leave, my child, before the doors trap your body," the familiar powerful voice was right beside her, "The time quickens as does the wind,"

Masika felt the presence disappear. She wished her mother had seen her. The power in her moves, the respect demanded from the onlookers and the rush of exhilaration in her bones. Everything was coming together inside of her. The humans were powerful too – just as much as the Gods.

The food and bed no longer tempted her. The music did not sway her determination. She marched towards the door with her long dancer's legs with force. She could hear wails behind her calling her back but she kept going forward.

If Ra couldn't be save, the world would be nothing. It would be the blackness that Masika hated. It would be the Underworld's temptation that stripped people of their souls. The Gods may need humans but the humans needed Gods. It was balance. Masika had never understood balance, perhaps only in her dance did her mind think clearly. It wasn't swayed by shadowy nightmares of no sky or delicious luxuries that yearned for her to stay. It wasn't swayed by expectations or pain. It was fuelled power the power inside her body and the power of her dance was far more than any God could ever give her.

The doors of the House of Rest would not close on her. They couldn't trap her – not when she was already outside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nour Tahir

Nour Tahir was grateful for the ship's landing - he did not think he wanted to be on a boat ever again.

He stumbled off the boat, still nearly smoking, tripping over his own feet as he found himself on blessed stable ground.

"Thank you," he whispered at the sky - hopefully, some god would hear it, and perhaps take pity on him.

The sand scratched his feet, and it took a second for Nour to regain his bearings on land - he had somehow gotten used to the pitching of the boat. Even so, he took no time exploring his surroundings, although most of his curiosity was focused on the large, sandstone-columned building in front of him.

It was huge, as tall as the pyramids, and made of the same hard, eternal material that would withstand anything - though, after his fiery bath, Nour had a feeling that the Underworld had far worse storms than he'd ever encountered in his palace life. Even so, the building seemed to shine with a light that came from the inside, unlike anything he'd seen before - a light that seemed to emanate from the heavens itself, warm and welcoming, beckoning him forwards.

Nour did not try to resist.

He had been a servant of the palace for years - he had seen firsthand the opulence of the pharaoh. He had slept for years on beds that were better than most, and he had grown, admittedly, accustomed to the luxury of his life. A few hours of the day spent serving others were worth their grand leftovers.

The pharaoh's palace, though, did not compare to this magnificent manor of milk and honey. The palace he was standing in seemed an endless hallway of sumptuous banquet tables filled with mouthwatering foods and equally splendid lounges that looks cloudlike in their softness, and Nour ached to lie on one and just sleep. Even the floor was elegant, and seemed to cushion his pained, tired feet and guide his steps to the first table, which held nothing but pitchers of clear, sparkling water.

Nour did not bother with a glass - he was not accustomed to using one in his servants' quarters. Instead, he drank deeply from the pitcher, spilling water over the sides, but making no mess - he would not have cared, either way. The water tasted like the freshest of rivers, like it was healing him, making him younger just by touching his tongue with its godly drops. The elixir of life would not have tasted half so good.

Nour knew, though, that he would choke himself on water if he drank too much - there was a thing as too much grandeur, and he had not eaten for what felt like a lifetime. There was food - delicious, glorious food - calling to him.

The wind did not blow in the palace, but he felt a breeze pass his ear, a whisper.

Be cautious, Nour. Remember yourself.

He did not heed its warning as he should have.

The first thing he reached was a bowl of figs, plump and sweating slightly with juices, bursting at the seams with seeds. They exploded on his tongue, and although he would have eaten the whole bowl in a bite, he slowed, savored each delectable bite, knowing that he was tasting heaven in the Underworld.

Juicy melons flooded his mouth with flavor - cloudlike bread was nearly too light to taste, but still more filling than any of the palace fare had been. Sweet cakes drizzled with honey crumbled at his touch, but he shoveled the crumbs into his mouth, barely aware of the mess he was making.

Someone else would clean it. For once, Nour was being served first.

Remember yourself, Nour.

The voice came again as he was swallowing a plum, the juice dribbling out of his mouth and splashing onto the floor. Perhaps he would not have realized if the voice hadn't spoken, but the puddle around him was growing, the proof of his gluttony, and Nour remembered nights he had spent cleaning up the results of a royal banquet - hours spent on his hands and knees, barely returning to bed before daylight.

He was a servant first, above all, and he had not come to the Underworld to feast on delights. He had come to save Ra, to help Shu, to serve his masters.

Perhaps he had not learned from his flaming bath - he was still doing wrong, going against the wishes of the gods.

Still, he was only human, and the least he could do was try.

He swallowed finally, and grabbed a napkin, mopping up the juice, sweeping the crumbs he had dropped into a pile, soaking up the spilt water from the floor. He could try to make it easier for the god who had to clean - the god that he should have known, as a cleaner himself.

Nour, though, was flawed. He did not know all the gods he should have - he could not restrain himself as he should have been able to.

"I'm sorry, my lord," he murmured. "I am trying."

The wind blew again across his back, cooling him, calming him.

I know.

Nour stood, with one last glance at the table, and kept walking, passing the opulent lounges with a twinge of hurt. One hour of sleep would surely not hurt - one moment of rest?

Still, he knew he was serving. He knew what it was like to work for hours - he had done it before.

He would do it again.

He glanced at the couches and made a promise. I will be back, but only once my duty is done will I rest.

Humans have a knack for breaking their promises, but Nour would not break his.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ife Lerato

I was a mother once, when there was a sweetness to my days...

Ife Lerato has lived her life in the lap of luxury: in the pharaoh's palace, she has seen everything from the most ornate of jewels to the most masterfully woven of tapestries. She has seen banquets that lasted for seven nights during harvest festivals and masks made of the most elegant gold. She has seen everything.

But she has never experienced it before.

She has never tasted the succulence of tangy fish cooked by the most talented of chests, or touched silk imported straight from China. She has seen it – she has even seen children enjoy it – but she has never been its direct benefactor. Now, however, the entire world has been given to her on a plate. And she doesn't intend on wasting it.

She watches the people ahead of her, bemused by the awestruck expressions on their faces. She was them, once. She still remembers coming into the pharaoh's home, shaken by the loss of a child, and being floored by all the luxury that surrounded him. She remembers, too – though she cannot say when it happened – how it began to grew commonplace to her. How beauty loses its value when one sees it every day. How she grew to think of it as her home.

But it was never hers the way it is now.

She is a hero. Doesn't she deserve this? After all she has suffered – after all she has done. She can finally rest and be in peace. The words seem like strangers to her – how long has it been since she has had a moment to herself? As a child, she belonged to her father; then, for a brief time, to the man who would have been her husband; then to the pharaoh. Always to Isis. But never to herself.

Ife.

Yes, my lady?

Remember.

Remember what?

But she doesn't need to be told. Ife Lerato remembers – how could she not? She knows the feeling of pure and unadulterated joy she gets when she reads Atem a story. The amusement she gets when Hotep goes off on another one of his fits. They are not her children, and yet she is their mother in all but title. Ife Lerato lost a child, but Isis saw fit her to grant two more. She granted her the joys of a motherhood she thought she had lost forever.

How could she ever forget?

And then, as they did back in the pharaoh's home, the luxuries and beauties begin to fade. She has better ones waiting for her at home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Angelus Karthai

A house–the House of Rest to be precise, loomed in front of the travellers. The flaming embers still eating at their scarred ship. As they approached the building, the ship that had gone through so much finally broke. It's final string of life, burnt to ashes.

Thankfully, all of the remaining people on board managed to get ashore safely, right in front of the House of Rest. Angelus walked into the large, luxurious looking building, and his black opal eyes shone with admiration. Inside looked like the most beautiful palace the 17 year old boy had ever seen. It contained every single luxury and want Angelus could ever want or have.

Angelus, you must cross through the House of Rest to get to the next area down the river. Do not get distracted.

Angelus tried, he tried to just walk through the house all the lavishness that was around him were nothing. But soon, he could no longer contain himself. The gem-studded furniture, the delectable food, and just the overall opulent vibe of the place attracted every single one of his senses. Angelus found himself wanting to hold everything in his hand. The shimmering pieces of jewellery, the stunning pottery. His eyes shone with a new light, a light not so pleasant. His eyes shone with greed.

Shuffling towards one of the many platters of food laid out on the tables, Angelus took a piece of warm fluffy bread into his two hands. The warmth spread from his fingertips to the tips of his sandal-wearing feet. Tentatively, Angelus took a bite, savouring its crunchy shell and warm buttery inside. After all, how much could one piece of bread really hurt?

That one piece of warm bread quickly turned into bunches of figs and grapes. The juicy bombs of sweetness exploded in his mouth with a simple crunch, leaving his mouth watering for more.

Slowly, as he felt his stomach growing full, his eyes turned towards all of the riches and valuables decorating the room that he was in. Angelus couldn't care less about where he was now. For all his clouded mind could think about now, he was in heaven. Gravitating towards a jewellery display, Angelus couldn't help but admire the shimmering and shining stones.

All of a sudden, Angelus felt a bit light-headed. Glancing around, he found a comfortable looking white couch, only wishing to lay down and rest for a bit. He walked towards the couch fit for a king. Sitting onto it felt like he was sitting on clouds. Angelus was in the lap of luxury, and all he wanted was to take a nap in its warmth.

Looking at the extravagance around him, he slowly drifted...

Do not get distracted.

The woman's voice rang clear as a bell through his fuzzy mind, instantaneously waking Angelus from his slumber. With a yell of desperation and a flame of perseverance, Angelus jumped out from what had to be the most comfortable couch ever. Knowing what he would do if he stayed in that room any longer, Angelus ran. Resisting one of his most guttural urges, Angelus dashed out of the room. He sprinted until he was out of the House of Rest all together, not allowing himself to be tempted any longer.

Greed. One day, greed would be the death of Angelus. Luckily that day has yet to come. Scampering down along the river, Angelus let out a sigh of relief. Gems and jewels could no longer control him, he felt good... he felt free.

Angelus was a complete stranger to the word freedom, maybe now was finally the time to learn. For now, in his happy innocence and unknowing, Angelus could finally say he had had his first taste of freedom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ramia Gamal

Ramia Gamal was no stranger to luxury. She had spent just as many days living within golden rooms, as she had in shiveringly cold alleyways. She knew wine wines just as easily as she knew lice crawling on the dark background of her skin. She knew gilded trinkets and shining idols just was well as she knew empty hands and starving stomachs. Ramia Gamal had a firm understanding on what luxury meant, but the House of Rest was like nothing she'd witnessed before.

When the group had stepped through the doors of the great palace, her breath was pulled from her lips. Each step she took into the swirling, gold-flecked marble floors made the room seem filthy; the shimmer of the golden walls between archways was enough to transport her into the life of a pharaoh. Each pillar that held up the room was carved with extreme detail, inset with silver and turquoise until they glittered. Domed ceilings covered in mosaics spiraled upwards into the heavens, detailing the creation of the universe in sparkling stones. Exorbitant items carved of gold and jewels cast beams of pure wealth into every corner of the room, silken cloths wove in the deepest, richest colors begged to have the touch of human hands once more. I want it, she thought as she slowly wandered through the room, I want all of it. A toxic greed and a vicious desire blossomed in her heart and left her with the taste for more.

A comforting warmth swept through the air as she walked further, eyes opened in a look of immense awe. The gasps of delight and amazement from the others could not reach her ears. A dizzying daze swept over her, senses flooded with all that was offered. "Have you ever seen anything like it?" a hushed voice called from across the expanse of the room. Although the words were not meant for her, Ramia shook her head in response just the same. Her lips parted, eyes drinking in the sweet nectar of the room as she tried to ready her bearings. There are others nearby, Ramia, she scolded, would you really let them see you in this state?

Just as she managed to free her eyes from the walls, however, there was another cry: one of a delight paralleled by nothing but the unrestrained delight of a child. Her feet seemed to glide across the floor as she turned, scanning the sea of faces for the one that had made such a sound. Two men were pulling open a set of heavy, wooden doors on the south side of the hall, something inside causing a great anticipation to the group. Ramia came to the edges, of the crowd, lingering behind her companion as the doors opened.

"Is this what the pharaoh's home is like?" she asked, keeping her voice low enough that only the two of them could hear.

The woman shook her head, eyes darting back and forth between Ramia and the opening doors. "No, Amisi,"she replied, "this is too grand even for the pharaoh. This is the palace of gods."As the doors were opened fully, propped with heavy furniture from within the room, her friend's voice grew more firm. "Therefore we should treat everything with respect."

Whatever warning her companion wished to issue, however, was torn to ribbons the moment Ramias eyes caught the treasures that waited in the next room.

The great hall was covered in tables carved out of the darkest wood. On them, trays upon trays of the most delicious food and drinks that Ramia could ever imagine. Delicacies lined every wall, meals she could never have imagined with smells that made her mouth water in anticipation. Whole roasted animals lay on spits, spices threaded through their skin and overflowing with aroma. Fruits were piled like mountains, a rainbow of colors that spread a sweetness through the air and a longing that could not be satisfied. Each new sight made her stomach rumble with desire. Sausages hung strung together, bursting from their casings. Breads dripping with honey lay crisp beside loaves decorated with rich nuts and seeds, warm to the touch still. Countless soups sat steaming in silver bowls, each a new delight to the senses, wines made from any fruit waited in goblets cut from gold, desperate to pass the lips. There was so much Ramia knew and so much more she had never seen before. It was more bountiful than any palace feast, more plentiful than the table of even the Roman emperors. Even the pharaoh himself, she thought, has never seen such splendor.

Archways led out of the great room and onto new pleasures. A spring beckoned them close from behind one, its warm water hissing in the air and promising nothing but relaxation. From behind a beaded curtain, the glint of dark eyes and bare skin ornamented with strings of beads waited with a giggle and a flashing smile, drawing in those with a taste for passion. "They seem to have taken a liking to you." She felt the nudge against her arm, followed by the humored face of her companion. Ramia's eyes darted back and forth between the women behind the curtain and her friend. Still, they giggled, large eyes fixated on the heat that climbed up her neck.

Ramia cleared her throat stiffly, trying to flatten her expression. At last, her eyes focused solely on the older woman beside her. "No," Ramia denied with a shake of her head, "but they-- they surely know when another like them is near."

"Oh?" There was a lightness to her tone, an amusement filled with loaded questions. "You sought work in pleasure?" she asked. Ramia's eyes flickered to somewhere else in the room, trying to avoid the way her companion studied her. "I have a hard time picturing you in beads." The scoff that left her throat was less condescending as it was embarrassed. "It's a noble profession," he friend quickly added, "my goddess would look favorably on it."

The whisper of a laugh caught her ears and she cast a lingering glance back to the beaded curtain, where one of the other champions had fallen under the spell of the beauty that lie within. She watched as they tugged on his wrists, pulling him closer with flicking tongues and lustful promises. "Your goddess and mine," Ramia stated plainly, "have differing views on what is noble." Turning around to fully face her companion, Ramia attempted to drown out the scene that played on behind her. "I don't know your name." The words came out more flush with breath than she'd anticipated. "You know mine."

The knowing smile that seemed to fill her friend's expression only widened. "Ife," she answered. Ramia searched her eyes for any sign of a lie and found them truthful. The pinch of guilt deepened in her chest. So cynical, Ramia. How long do you expect her to believe that Amisi is really what they call you? She is a clever woman. She must know.

"Ife." Ramia let the name roll across her tongue, practicing its syllables. She stepped around the woman, gingerly placing her hand on her shoulder. "Why don't we have something to eat? The contact, the words, they all felt as if a foreigner had taken over her body. Ife saw it too, Ramia knew by the way her brow deepened and her lips pursed. "We'll need strength," she urged. Ife looked between her and the banquet skeptically, but did not protest when Ramia took her by the wrist and pulled her along.

Every taste, every smell, was a new excitement and Ramia was eager to try them all-- yet she put very little into her mouth. Perhaps a bite of the tender flesh of a fruit, or a small taste of bread, but nothing overwhelming. Ife ate even less as they wandered between the tables. The restraint that she felt was not foreign, however it was enough to crease her face with confusion. Why do I not indulge? she asked herself, but there seemed to be no answer. Together, they stopped at a table where whole roasted animals lay waiting to be torn into, yet the illness in her stomach made it impossible to take any at all. Something is the matter here. Ramia forced her eyes from the food, trying to look at the other people who populated the room. It was only then that her head cleared from its daze and she could fully see what was happening around her.

Ramia was no stranger to hunger. She had known it at its worst. When it was present from dawn until dusk, gnawing at the flesh of the body only to fill the thoughts with dreams of a better meal. Ramia had known days where even sacred animals and poisonous plants looked desirable to her palate. It didn't matter on taste or age as it could stave off the pains for only a while longer. There was nothing more humbling, nothing better to clean the soul of vanities, than hunger that left you crippled in agony. Ramia Gamal knew hunger, knew what it was to make every movement count because energy was so scarce. Others around her surely knew it too, but they did not eat as if they were hungry. They ate as if greed had overtaken their hearts, they ate purely for the sake of eating.

She watched as a man gorged himself like a wasp at the table of fruit. If he could have opened his mouth any wider, the apple in his hands would have been gone in a single bite. With a disgusted crinkle of her nose, she watched as he swallowed it hard. He dragged the poor fruit down with a large douse of wine, attacking what remained without even a pause of breath. Without tasting, without feeling, without stopping. This house is not ours, a chill shivered up and down her spine. We have no right to anything inside of it.

Now the gods are angry. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lucius Horatius

RAN WITH SCISSORS

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hotep Bonami

Ira lurked;

Death had loomed, too close a skin

Had it not been their lack of sins.

Superbia growled;

It seemed almost that Ra was home

Maybe just a moment on the throne?

Invidia prowled;

To be a god or so it seemed

The challenge it was not to be deemed.

Gula smirked;

A deity's cuisine in all its air

Feasts and fares could not compare.

Acedia lingered;

On artful cradles of silken chains

Permanent slumber could not abstain.

Luxuria beckoned;

A life of bliss had not known

The dying sun that had not shone.

Avaritia reigned;

The palace known, the House of Rest

Could never be a house for guests.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eadric Paavo

The boat had already been fixed once and it had also been in the middle of a blazing fire so I wasn't surprised when the boat crumpled into a heap as we stopped at The House of the Rest. Everyone around looked at each other before walking out of the boat that was now in pieces so I guess they were just stepping out of the rubble.

"We must go by land now, through the House of the Rest. I will warn you, though, be careful. Some things may be tempting." All of those around me nodded. I knew no matter the warnings that we got, there would still be people who would be tempted with whatever it is he was warning us about.

When I entered the house, I had no idea that there would be so many expensive, luxury items. It was like we were walking through a house made of gold. I was only in the entry but before me were many different items such as the leather lounge with pillows on it that were covered in an expensive looking, grey fur. I wasn't the only one who was staring at it. The looks from the other around me were that of temptation, it was the same look that I knew I more than likely wore. As much as I wanted to sit down, I continued to walk, fearful that I may never leave if I did.

The next room was even better. There was a TV that was the size of the TV's you would watch from at a cinema which was something that I had never been to, I had only heard about it, so really, I couldn't compare this TV to a cinema TV because I didn't even know if this was grander, I was just guessing. It reached from one end of the wall to another, showing the picture-perfect picture across the screen. I wondered what was playing. When I looked away from the TV I saw another luxurious lounge. It looked the same as the one in the entrance, but somehow it managed to be much grander and much more tempting. I decided to take a seat. It would only be for a minute.

When I sat in the lounge, the comfort of it surpassed what I expected. I sunk into the lounge and stared at the TV but before I could even realise what was showing I felt my eyes grow heavy. I never wanted to leave. Before I was completely engulfed in the darkness of sleep I remembered the words that I had heard before walking into the house and found my eyes snapping open with full alertness.

I was one of the lucky ones. There were about five others who were all sitting on the lounge either watching the TV or asleep as I had almost been. I shivered before walking out of the room and this time I ended up walking into the luxurious bathroom. It was quite large with a bath that was something I couldn't describe it; it was so lovely and expensive looking. It was almost like it had real crystals on it as did the shower rod. The tiles that I stood on were the shiniest tiles I had ever seen. They were a dusty grey in colour, and like the bath, it appears there were tiny shards of real crystals dusted underneath the shiny layer of the tile. The walls around me were a plain white and were the least extravagant part of the entire bathroom. Even the toilet looked grander than anything I had ever laid my eyes on.

I was the only one in the room which I assumed that meant that all the others that I had been with had either gotten tempted or were in a different part of the house to me. As I scanned the room once more I noticed where the door was to the next room was but then I quickly noticed it said exit. Was this some weird way out of the house or a trick? I decided to go through the door. No matter how amazing this house was, all I wanted to do was leave so that I would no longer be tempted to stay in this house forever.

Through the door, the first thing I saw was that I wasn't in another room and I could also see the river beside the bank of grass I was now standing on. I had made it out. Although I had been tempted, I was here. That caused a smile to spread across my face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Khalid Masud

The ship creaked over the slightest shift in the wind.

Blackened floorboards bent beneath Khalid's feet and he began to worry that they would soon snap completely. Whatever pain he had experienced beneath the surface of that lake's waters had done even heavier damage to the boat they had ridden through it. He leaned against the railing near the head of the ship, and was watching the water below lap against the charred exterior. It wasn't a pretty sight, but it was certainly calming considering he felt like his leg could've collapsed under him at any second. Just up and down, up and down, the same blue waters keeping such a small vessel afloat in such a large river.

"Do any of you see that?" the question came from Ramia, who despite have having gone through the lake just like the rest of them, looked even more confident than before.

"The palace? Yes, I'm fairly sure it would be hard to miss," commented Lucius, in his usual self-assured voice.

Reluctantly, Khalid cast a glance away from the breaking waves beneath him. The two stood a fair ways behind him, an interesting pair together to be sure. In fact, Khalid was fairly surprised they hadn't butted heads more often on the trip so far. Lucius was a muscle-bound soldier, who issued orders and dealt with the consequences second by the looks of it. Ramia, while she didn't seem much nicer, was more of a thinker, and didn't jump in randomly unless perhaps someone as pure as Masika was in trouble. Yet Neith had seen something in both of them, no matter how different they seemed. Khalid thought of this for a long moment and then dismissed it. It was a poor idea to question the gods when they were just about the only beings that could keep them from dying down here.

Letting out a deep sigh, Khalid turned to examine the horizon. He had to brush black hair out of his vision and blink several times before he was willing to admit he wasn't hallucinating. Saying it was a palace was an understatement, not that Khalid could come up with a better term. The walls were colossal. The outside was the color of gold and carved with symbol upon symbol. It was gorgeous, to say the least, a kind of perfection meant for Ra himself.

If Khalid could just get in there for a single moment. His mouth watered at the thought. The riches those walls must have held would make it so he would never have to steal again. It was one of those naive thoughts you got as a kid when you were first out on the street. He was sure other people had grown up planning to live in such a gorgeous palace, but he had grown up dreaming of robbing one.

The thought got knocked from his head as the ship lurched forward. Before Khalid could even question what happened, there was a great tremble through the ship. It let out a moan in protest and then a crack split across the center. Once again Khalid watched as the water lapped at the burnt wood, but it was no longer below him. As the deck quickly began to fill with the clear, blue liquid, Khalid rushed to the other side of the boat. Several of the others had already gathered there, and when he peered down he could see why. Thy had struck ground.

"Well clearly this ship is sunk," a small boy named Angelus muttered somewhat sarcastically.

He then slipped onto the railing and jumped down onto the sandbank below. Khalid watched a few of the older champions exchange looks but didn't bother to wait for a verdict. The ship was flooding too fast to bother contemplating. He grabbed onto the railing, which cracked under the weight of his hand, and leaped over. A cloud of sand rose as his feet touched the ground. Khalid took several steps away from the ship and watched as the others clambered down one by one.

Once everyone was safely away from the decaying ship, Lucius spoke again, "We should head toward the palace since it's in the same direction as we're trying to go."

It seemed as good a plan as any and after a few arguments were squashed, the group started again. A few people looked far from happy that they now had to walk, and while Khalid admitted he was tired, he wasn't tired enough to try and sleep out in the open in the underworld. The closer they got to the palace the more Khalid thought it was a mirage. Large, beautifully carved steps lead up to the entrance and several types of plants decorated the outside, making it look like a garden. Yet when they finally reached it, it didn't disappear in front of their eyes.

Khalid waited at the bottom of the steps as the roman walked forward and tugged one of the enormous doors open. Now that they were here, they had to go through it. A plaque on the wall written in hieroglyphics stated that it was a place called the House of Rest. Whether it turned out to be a trick or a trap there was no telling until they went deeper inside. Knowing his mistake from being in the back of the crowd before, Khalid made sure that this time he was the third to enter.

The grand hall alone was amazing. Deep red carpet darker than blood rested beneath them, the ceiling higher than the sky itself. Everything was so stunning, it made it seem like a place you would never want to leave. Trailing his hand along one of the smooth pillars, Khalid looked behind him to watch several members of the group dash down a separate path to go explore. He could understand the temptation, but he knew it was safer to stay in the first hall. Hopefully, it would lead straight to the other side.

Even walking the straight path, Khalid soon found himself distracted. A large banquet table had been set out. It lined the wall on his left and he felt himself stopping. What could one quick meal hurt? They hadn't eaten since they had gotten on the ship either. Ramia seemed to disagree, though.

"What if it's poisoned?" she asked with a skeptical look.

"They wouldn't poison food that's laying out. What good is that to anyone else that comes through here?" the response came from one of the older champions.

Hoping that it was fine and not particularly caring if everyone agreed, Khalid reached forward. He picked up a small pastry and bit into it. The next moment, however, he was spitting it back out onto the floor. It was so cloyingly sweet that even the lingering taste was giving him a headache. Khalid set the food back on the table and looked over to find Angelus taking several. He didn't get it personally, but the others were already continuing on and Khalid hurried to not be left behind.

The next distraction came from a new hallway filled with couches. Each one was large and supple, the perfect place to lay down for a quick rest. After everything Khalid had already been through he thought it to be a lovely idea. Yet, Ife, who had arrived in the hallway before him was busy tugging Masika off of a deep green one.

"You can't sleep here child, it's not safe," her warning carried across the space.

The girl eyed the woman with sleep-filled, brown eyes, their lids still heavy. "Why not?" she asked curiously as she stepped back onto the floor.

"I will tell you when we escape from here," she promised.

Khalid had watched the exchange silently. While he was not one to like other people nor often listen to their decisions, he found himself eyeing the beds far more hesitantly. There were just some people that you learned to listen to. Ife was one of those, for she always managed to know what was going on even if she didn't act like it. It might have been something to do with her age, but there was no way for Khalid to tell for sure.

As they walked farther, Khalid began to realize how close he was to leaving. If he was being honest, the idea put a pit in his stomach. How could he leave such riches behind? True, the food had made him feel sick, and he had been persuaded not to fall asleep, but it was far safer to stay. The palace was truly breathtaking. Who would it hurt if he never left? His brother wouldn't miss him. The rest of the crew certainly had enough problems without him. But then he remembered Nephthys. He couldn't give up when she had personally picked him, not for all the riches in the world.

Knowing that the longer he stayed, the harder it would be, Khalid made only one final stop as he headed for the exit. He ducked into a room at random, his eyes immediately scanning it until he found what he was looking for. Popping open the jewelry case, he grabbed a golden bracelet. It was encrusted with jewels and more beautiful than the entire House of Rest as far as Khalid was concerned. He slipped it into his pocket and headed back to meet the others at the exit.

Just because he knew better than to get stuck in such an overwhelming place, didn't mean he couldn't take a piece of it with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Abbas Naeem

 He has never had anything of luxury.

He remembers watching a procession go by as a child, when the people had flocked to the nicer parts of the city to catch a glimpse of the man who ruled over them all. He remembers sitting on his father's shoulders, staring up at the palace with awe as they waited, eyes carving every stone block into memory. As the parade filed around the corner, he'd surveyed every last detail of what royalty looked like, basked in his fantasies of what it would have been like to be carried on the shoulders of servants, look around and see all the people who look up to him.

Thing is, Abbas was always looking up.

He had not asked why he had none of that, why his dreams were impossible to have. He had known from the start that there was a boundary between himself and riches, himself and comfort, himself and the life everyone around him craves. No, he is nothing more than a poor boy wearing rags, wide, hungry eyes gazing in wonder at what cannot be. He is just another one of the crowd.

He has always been, and always will be.

But the crowd, he thinks, is worthy- the ones who do not question, do not falter when they think of what others have and they do not. They are not gluttonous, riding along in their golden chariots and dining on delicacies while children starve. They are not jealous or bitter, wishing misfortune upon those who rule them from the riches.

They accept, just as he did from the start.

His world revolves around a hierarchy, and though a steady supply of food would have benefited his family as a child, his family as a young man, the families all around him, his world never functioned like that. And he did all he could where he was.

He is a man of cinders, not of steel, and his boat will char and blacken before the ships those better off than him. His stomach is exhausted, his muscles tired of tensing and loosening. The numbers clambering from the ship have dwindled, and he swallows. But he cannot save them all.

He cannot save anyone but himself.

But a world of riches makes him question that, makes him question if there is hope for his lost, pained soul. He stares at a sea of delicate, expensive inessentials. Foods, all too familiar and all too foreign in endless amounts, warm to his curious touch as though they have just been laid out from the flames of the cooking fire. Yet he also finds cold within the delicacies, dipping a dirtied finger into a glass of water. Water- he longs to drink it. He glances- to his left, to his right, and the others around him have decided to make use of the surrounding bounty they would not have come across on any other occasion. He spots a man lying on a feather bed, surrounding by tasselled pillows, and a woman fingering a shard of gold, and another worthy adventurer gorging on the feast laid out in front of them. And Abbas decides he can follow the example- surely there is no harm in just one glass of water, chillier than anything he's felt under the searing Egyptian sun. Lifting the golden goblet to his lips, the liquid gurgles down his throat; he has not consumed such a heavenly substance in ages.

Yet as soon as Abbas takes a sip, he thinks of the children who perish of thirst, the gaping mouths pleading for some escape from the heat, the scorched oxygen they breathe in weak, thirsty gulps. If only there was a way to bring all the food back to those in need, to create fair portions despite the hierarchy. If only he could save the starving, parched children.

But he cannot save everyone. The constant death surrounding him since the mission commenced has very well proven that, and his heart keeps shattering, breaking up into smaller and smaller fragments until there is little left but an aching guilt that he is so powerless.

He stares at the crystalline substance and cannot deny the feeling of satisfaction blossoming in his stomach, muddling, soothing his antsy mind. The goblet clatters to the ground, drink pooling from the container, and he slaps himself across the face; he needs to wake up.

He has become far too cautious, too rigid... too anxious. He is frightened of being caught off guard, though he senses none of them have not indulged themselves in some way or another. Perhaps it is just developing paranoia that leads him away from the feast, shaking his head. Not even the rulers he had watched be carried on the shoulders of their servants through the streets of their country possessed such excessive supplies, such satisfaction from a simple sip of water. But perhaps he is only dehydrated, and the heaviness in his mind is simply his senses returning.

He does not know. He searches for danger, but he cannot find anything but bliss. And he finds that he despises such bliss, for he knows what the streets are like, how one can sink to the need to steal to survive, how a paying job is extraordinarily difficult to come by. He knows how families cannot be provided for, and children grow ravenous when they have not eaten.

He knows he cannot make use of the gifts before him when they have never been his.

His is not worthy of them.

But does that not partially amount to his worthiness?