‘you don’t always have to do everything on your own.’ (( ancient verse b/c I Have A Craving. ))
"You're a messenger."
The pharaoh's words were uttered with absolute vitriol, slung like stones towards Ahum-Nur. Rukkhadevata was gone, retreated within the forests of Valivija as her own form of grief made her retreat into vales of green, behind the Wall of Samiel, while he remained under the harsh, hot judgement of the sun. Bald and undisguised where nothing could be hidden. Deshret turned Malikata's soulstone over in his hand, feeling its rough facets as though it alone anchored him to reality.
Gurabad was dying. Liloupar's vendetta had been wrought, and she had been imprisoned, but he could feel it. The inexorable pull of the Abyss that had drawn him before called him again, and he didn't know if he could disregard it this time. The seven city-states were ruled by kings whose only tether to him was formality as their patron god. They didn't need him anymore. And he didn't need supplicants to worship him with flapping jaws and empty adulations.
To hell with it all. To hell with what they demanded of him with their ridiculous rules and lies.
"Leave me. Do not return unless I call on you, am I clear?"











