Teshub stuck to his word. He gave them one hour. A pittance of time to search the vast structures. They agreed to split up.

Horus scanned the vast opening of the largest pyramid, a shimmer of anticipation flowing through him. Too far distant for him to see across the plaza, Arinna and Teshub would be approaching the middle pyramid, and Ahmen the smallest. Unlike the implacable face of the tower, the pyramids bore identical entrances to the ones Thoth had constructed during the Golden Age. He hoped the layout inside was the same, it would make their search easier.

Taking Baalat's hand in his, he led his consort under the golden lintel of the entrance, the way ahead lit by clear lights recessed into the floor and walls.

"This is big enough to fly a ship into," Baalat murmured, her eyes moving over the interior's white walls, their pristine surfaces covered in engravings of golden symbols. She pointed at them. "Do you recognize any of these?" she asked. In the barrenness of the stone corridor, her question flew ahead of her, echoing along the depths of the pyramid's cavity.

Horus shook his head. It had been a long time since he had felt wonder—not since the day he had traversed the glittering disk of the Creator's realm had felt so small, so insignificant. "Those are not the symbols of the Creator," he said as he tightened his grip on her hand and led her deeper within. "At least not the ones he used to communicate with us."

They walked on, quiet, reverent, the way ahead lighting up as they approached and dimming behind them as they departed. As they processed, the golden symbols awakened in the white light, shimmering, laden with knowledge meaningless to them.

"These pyramids," Baalat whispered as the corridor narrowed, easing away from its downward slant into an upward angle. "Thoth didn't build them, did he?"

Horus caught her looking up at him, uncertain. "I don't think so, no," he said.

"But he built the pyramids during the Golden Age," Baalat persisted, "he was obsessed with that project, do you remember?"

Horus nodded, uneasiness stealing over his mood. "I remember."

"This pyramid is exactly the same as the one he built, inside and out," Baalat said, "and he didn't reach Elati until after he built the pyramids, so how—"

Ahead, the lights flared to life. The corridor came to an abrupt end. A sheer wall faced them. Over its surface, the golden symbols awakened. They glinted in the white light, shifting and moving, reassembling into different patterns, their motions stately, intimidating.

Horus stopped.

"That's not the same," Baalat whispered, backing away. The lights behind them flickered out until only the wall ahead remained illuminated.

"No," said Horus, pulling his dagger free. "It's not."

From within the solid wall, a shimmer. The symbols slid back, arranging themselves into the outline of a doorframe, the space between blank. The exposed wall shivered, melting, liquefying. It turned clear, rippling like water. Horus stepped closer, cautious. He peered through the barrier.

On the other side, a bare, bleak chamber of gray stone. In its center, hanging suspended in midair, a black, circular weapon, its double-blades carved with the same symbols as those covering the pyramid's walls. The jihn turned in a slow, stately circuit until it faced him. It stopped. Its blades ignited with a flash of blue-white light, awakening. A shimmer rippled over it, as though hungry. Malevolence bled from it.

Horus backed up, horror crawling over him. The thing seeped pure evil.

"We need to leave," he said, reaching behind him to take hold of Baalat. "It's too dangerous." His hand met with nothing. He turned, alarmed. "Baalat?" he called into the thick silence, his voice echoing down the vaulted corridor, mocking him. Impenetrable, suffocating darkness bore down on him, as though seeking to bury him alive. Panic touched him. He strained against its talons, reasoning she must have slipped, fallen, and lost consciousness. He groped along the floor. Nothing. He eased into the wall of black, wary.

Horus. His consort's voice came to him, faint, as though from a great distance.

He turned, slow, his spine prickling, dread washing over him. On the opposite side of the barrier, his consort pounded against the liquid wall separating them, ripples of water billowed away from the blows of her fists.

"Baalat!" He threw himself against the barrier. It repelled him, smashing against his flesh and bone, solid as stone. He punched it until his knuckles bled. "My love," he roared, desperate, as she faded, her fingers clawing at the barrier, waves of terror pounding from her. Behind her, the jihn vanished in a blinding glare of blue-white light. The wall solidified.

"No!" he bellowed, horrified, anguished. "No!"

The symbols slid back into place over the wall, calm, imperious, disdainful. Frantic, he ran his hands over where she had last been, numb with fear he was already too late. Behind him, the corridor's lights reignited, welcoming his departure. He back away from the wall, panting. Rage boiled into him. If the jihn thought the fight for her was over, it was mistaken. He wasn't giving up. He would never give up. His ship had weapons powerful enough to disintegrate stone. He would get her back, nothing would take her from him. Nothing. Bloody and bruised, he turned, and ran, blinded by tears of fury.