Round 3 P4

For the first time in a long time, Thoth allowed himself to sigh. He was…tired. Was that the word for it? Funny, he wasn’t actually sure that he could tell. He had lived so long with mind and emotions carefully neutral, he had lost his ability to take note of the state of his own body. To think, even gods had to worry about such things during the worst of times. It troubled him that that was what this was.
He looked out onto the wide, dark plains of Hades. He could only see so much from where he stood, but through his books and scrolls, he had seen through the eyes of every mortal and monster that had ever walked those fields, and so knew every speck of dirt, every blade of grass. Every heart, every mind, every soul. And all the terrible imbalance they were burdened with.

For others, it might have just been the natural state of things. The world was not an ordered place, they thought, and to assume otherwise was naïve. Thoth knew better. This was not the natural way of things. There was a beautiful symmetry to the universe, and all things had their opposite and their place. It had been so since the world had risen up from Nu, the great Abyss that encompassed them all, and it was meant to be so since. But these little un-gods that walked the many earths, there was something to be said of their propensity to, as mortals might put it, ‘mess things up.’

In Hades, now left a perfect, closed system after the ‘disappearance’ of the ferryman, it should not have been this difficult to keep things ordered. Just the same, he was being tested at every interval. As one thing fell into place, another fell out, and he found himself, for the first time in a long time, struggling to keep track of it all. Everything was…wrong. Yes. It was all wrong.

He loved the Universe and all its inhabitants, and maintained balance for their sake as well as his own, but sometimes he wondered—he tried, but he was unable to keep himself from thinking it—whether it would be better if there was nothing to balance after all. He remembered a time before all this, when he was alone in the great, black emptiness, the first to observe and know there was darkness to be seen. It had been a comparatively short period in his existence, but it had been so peaceful. It had been a perfect, beautiful Nothing. Never before had he missed it; never had he looked at all the living and the dead, and found them wanting. Now he did.

Half the gods wanted to kill each other, others were staging coups and raising armies, not to mention the multitude of souls who had gotten caught in the workings of all these machinations, and making them even worse than they might otherwise have been. He had a very real sense that everything was spinning out of his control. As a god beloved by order, maybe this chaos was his comeuppance. He had chosen the winding, ugly path to balance, and this was his inevitable, karmic reward.

Humans called it ‘entropy’—the inevitable descent of the universe into chaos. He once thought it a quaint, predictably mortal concept. Now he saw it, pure and true, and terrifyingly, he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do to fix it. But he would certainly try.

“Thoth.”

The bird-headed god turned his gaze away from the expanse of grey before him to find Anubis standing behind him with a curious expression on his face.

“Anubis,” he said by way of greeting. “What brings you here?”

“It’s the demon girl and the mage,” he said with a sigh. “I thought you’d like to know they just disappeared on us.”

The older god raised a brow even as he let out a small sound of amusement. So it seemed he was right about Resonance taking a liking to Renata. Curious, that she had abandoned her mark so completely and run off with someone as—how did one say it—difficult as Resonance. One suspected the skeleton had more to do with that than she did, but it was for the best. He managed something like a smile at Anubis. The young god returned it warmly. He did not know that Thoth was smiling because he was glad that he had not been the cause of his young friend’s death. Not yet, at least.

“Ah, well, best to let them be,” said the bird-headed one. “They’ll return, I’m sure.”

“As always, you’re probably right,” Anubis agreed amiably. “Hopefully, they’ll keep out of trouble while they’re off.”

“You have high hopes, my friend.”

The younger god laughed, but otherwise, didn’t respond. Curious, Thoth cocked his head to him.

“You seem in a good mood.”

“Do I?” Anubis asked with a sheepish laugh. “I suppose—since father has accepted me, I feel as if..." He trailed off, let out another laugh. "I'm sorry, I’m having a hard time getting my emotions straight.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for.” Indeed, it had been a long time—too long—since Anubis had smiled easily. Had laughed easily. Thoth wanted to preserve that in him. It wasn’t his place to get attached, not to a person or the world, but Anubis’s happiness was worth saving. The god had been slighted and betrayed and discarded too often. But Thoth had to preserve the balance, and Anubis’s balance was in the precarious place between living and dying, where at every turn, he met both the beginning and the end. It was an unhappy road. One he didn’t deserve.

If only Thoth could take him off it.

Instead, for the sake of order, he ensured it was a place Anubis would never leave.

“Anubis.”

“Mm?” The Jackal’s ears perked and swiveled towards Thoth, indicating his attention.

A part of him wanted to stop. The rest of him kept going.

“Remember when I asked you, when the scales tip, what side you will stand on?” asked the Ibis. He looked at Anubis, his expression carefully neutral. “Tell me, Friend,” he said. “Do you think you’d stand on mine?”

“I thought arbitrators weren’t supposed to have a side,” Anubis joked without even thinking on it.

Thoth didn’t respond. He felt ill.

“How long do you think it will last?” he said instead.

The Jackal tilted his head to one side in open confusion. He was still smiling gently at the corner of his lip. Poor child. “What will?”

“Your happiness,” Thoth clarified. “This balance. Your father has acknowledged you, but that will only last until his wounds have healed. Do you think he will so easily part with his power? He only does so now because you are convenient, and he dangles his love in front of you for the mere purpose of placation. When you stop being of use, he will discard you as he has before.”

Anubis opened and closed his mouth, dumbstruck. Thoth had never spoken that way to him before, or to anyone else for that matter.

“…My father--”

“Hates you,” said Thoth. The words burned his tongue, and Anubis flinched visibly against them. “You knew that before. Why would you let these brief moments of happiness enshroud you so deeply in illusion? He will never give you back your kingdom. He will never see you as his son. You will never be anything to him but an extravagant pet.”

As the words sunk in, pain started to seep into the Jackal’s face, shining raw in his dark eyes. For some reason, Thoth had the vague notion that if he was the ‘beginning’ then Anubis was the ‘end.’ More than Hades, more than Hel, Anubis would be the last. In moments like this, he felt that more poignantly than ever. Truly, this god would be the death of him.

“Thoth…” Anubis bit on his lip, struggling with words. “It’s not like you to say things like this. Is something the matter?”

How had Anubis become a being whose first reaction to being openly insulted was to ask the one who had insulted him, "What's wrong?"

So many things, Thoth thought. He did not give voice to one of them.

“No,” Thoth breathed. “I’m sorry. I misspoke. I hope you forgive me.” He turned, moving to retreat. “I think I should--”

Anubis’s hand caught his shoulder, and he was spun around so they were facing each other once again. The younger god’s expression was dark with concern. What an incredible waste of such terrible kindness.

“Thoth,” said Anubis gently, “You are my greatest friend. If something was wrong, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?” He squeezed his friend’s shoulder gently in encouragement. “I know many things you deal with are beyond my understanding, but you shouldn’t have to bear everything alone.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t,” Thoth replied, “But I must.” Or at least, that’s what he believed. He knew no other way. He slid Anubis’s hand from his shoulder and bowed his head in deference. “Again, please forget everything I said. My fatigue is playing with my mind.”

“Of course. Already forgotten.”

Thoth looked at his friend warmly for a moment, and then left him in the field, unable to take another moment of this. He had to have something to keep him focused on the matter at hand; all this philosophizing was giving him too much time to wallow in the grime of his own machinations.

Renata, he remembered. He would have to find her again—an easy enough task, if she was with Resonance. He didn’t think the skeleton would do anything to her, but in case he did, Thoth decided it would best to stay nearby. He couldn’t very well afford to lose her at this stage.

After all, she bore the essence of a god.