Arthur was gently holding Cleopatra's chin, brushing the goddess's cheeks with his thumb in an almost affectionate gesture.
He noticed two things. First, Cleopatra no longer resisted his touch—in fact, she almost seemed to enjoy it. Still, there was a flicker of defiance in her brilliant eyes, as if she were already plotting to enslave him again the moment she got the chance. Arthur caught that look and flashed a mischievous grin.
He didn't know much about women, but he recognized a rebellious, wicked eyebrow arch when he saw one—he'd seen it at its fiercest before.
Arthur crouched and leaned in close, pressing a deep, soft kiss to Cleopatra's lips. The goddess writhed slightly at the intimacy of a mortal's touch.
He pulled back, smiling at her. "Even so, Cleopatra," he teased, "I still don't think you deserve it."
Cleopatra's eyes flew open, her expression shifting from mild pleasure to outright disbelief. "What…?" she said, slow and indignant.
Arthur's grin widened. "See? There it is. You're still arrogant. Your face gives you away."
Cleopatra clasped her hands to her cheeks and rubbed them, searching for some sign—anything different. All she felt was heat, as if her face were burning with fever.
She ground her teeth and peered at Arthur through her lashes. He was standing, calmly surveying the room.
"Mortal…" she hissed, restrained fury in her voice.
Arthur didn't seem fazed. He turned toward the alcove where he'd stored his clothes and opened the wardrobe door.
Cleopatra watched him pull out boxers, black trousers, and a tight white shirt. He dressed unfussily.
"Look, Cleopatra," Arthur said as he pulled on his pants and approached her. He bent to whisper in her ear, shirt in hand. "Did you think that, by being so agreeable, I'd pamper you? If you want my caresses, you'll have to earn them."
He straightened and walked out, closing the door behind him.
Alone in the room, Cleopatra stood frozen as if she'd seen a ghost. Slowly, she raised a hand to her lips, tracing them with her fingertips. Gradually, her brow furrowed until sheer rage settled on her features.
"MOOOORTAALLLL!!!" she screamed inwardly.
Fortunately for Arthur, he didn't witness this spectacle. Cleopatra wouldn't have wanted him to see her so vulnerable—just hours before, she'd considered him a mere insect.
The ex–Empress stormed from the room, stomping barefoot. She flung the door open so hard it slammed against the wall with a crash.
She scoured the living room and kitchen but found no sign of him—he'd slipped out seconds ago.
"MOOORTAALL!!" she roared, the word echoing through the empty apartment.
Arthur, strolling calmly down the hallway, heard her distant shout muffled by the closed door.
"If I'd stayed," he thought, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead, "I'd probably be killed."
And that would have been no exaggeration: calming an enraged goddess was no small feat. Fortunately, divine tempers, like mortal ones, cooled with time. He prayed Cleopatra's fury would pass quickly.
He deserved this. He'd sweetened Cleopatra's lips only to leave her burning. Easy enough. In his mind, he justified it as teaching her to be less arrogant—at least with him.
"A carrot in one hand and a stick in the other," he mused, grinning at his own cleverness.
Now he just had to wait for Cleopatra's next move. If she truly desired his caresses, she'd likely heed his advice.
"Earn my affection," he thought, striding on.
But then he realized—those words had echoed out loud. He'd heard them bounce off the empty walls.
Arthur froze and turned slowly.
"Oh no…" he whispered to himself.
Behind him stood a woman with a wicked smile. Dark–skinned, dressed head to toe in flowing red Egyptian robes trimmed with gold and gemstones. On her arm perched a falcon crafted of blue and yellow gems. Crimson disc floating above her hair bore Arthur's reflection.
Arthur recognized her instantly: Isis, the goddess of magic, sworn to protect pharaohs even in death. He'd studied her deeply so he could avoid her at all costs.
Because… "She can reflect my thoughts," another stray thought slipped from his mind into the air.
Isis beamed in approval, folding her arms. "Very sharp, young mortal," she said in her velvety voice, emerald eyes dancing. "You realized quickly—most of your kind take much longer."
She leaned close to him, making him squirm with nerves. "Tell me, mortal, what were you thinking about?" Her golden gaze glinted. "About Anuket? Or Netphis?" She narrowed her eyes, savoring the moment. "Ah! I know."
Arthur swallowed. "Who do you mean?" he thought.
She raised an eyebrow, still smiling. "Come now," she said, breathing in through her nose. "Everyone's talking about it."
That was precisely why Arthur tried to avoid Isis. Ancient texts praised her dedication to magical secrets and mental mastery—but whispers among mortals claimed her "research" was nothing but invasive mind–reading.
"You're a busybody. I have nothing to do with any goddess," he thought.
Isis pressed the disc closer to his face. "If you won't tell me, I'll simply have to use magic to make you more… forthcoming."
Isis thrived on others' secrets—chismosa to the core. Even Heka feared her.
"Stop being shy. I could piece together the gossip without your help. Wouldn't you prefer to tell me yourself?"
Between her hot breath on his skin and his towering frustration trying to clear his mind, Arthur teetered on the verge of collapse.
"NO! NEGATIVE! IMPOSSIBLE! DENIED! NOT ALLOWED!" he thought, panic flooding his mind.
Isis merely smiled at his mental outburst, savoring his distress.
"I know it's Cleo," she said smugly.
Arthur felt a twitch in his eyelid as ire and embarrassment mingled.
"Then what the hell did you put me through, you—" he thought, but the words burst from his lips. Isis stiffened at the sudden audible insult.
She might have punished him, but instead she only chuckled, malicious delight in her eyes. "Why does it feel so good to tease this mortal?" she mused. "Perhaps I should push him further…"
Before she could continue, a firm voice cut through. "Step away from my roommate."
Isis recoiled slightly as Cleopatra strode in, grasping Arthur's hand and pulling him away.
"Come on," Cleopatra ordered him. "Seshat's waiting—she wants you to pick up the books you left in the library."
Arthur was softly cradling Cleopatra's chin, brushing the goddess's cheeks with his thumb in an almost affectionate gesture.
He noticed two things. First, Cleopatra no longer resisted his touch—in fact, she almost seemed to welcome it. Yet in her brilliant eyes there was still a flicker of defiance, as if she were plotting to enslave him again the moment she had the chance. Arthur caught that expression and gave her a mischievous smile.
He didn't know much about women, but he recognized a rebellious, wicked smirk when he saw one—he'd witnessed it in its purest form before.
Arthur knelt and leaned close to Cleopatra, pressing a deep, gentle kiss to her lips. The goddess writhed softly under the intimate touch of this mortal.
He pulled back and looked into her eyes with a grin. "Even so, Cleopatra," he teased, "I still don't think you've earned it."
Cleopatra's eyes flew open, her expression shifting from mild pleasure to incredulous shock. "What…?" she said slowly, indignance coloring her voice.
Arthur's grin widened. "See? There it is. You're still arrogant—your face gives you away."
Cleopatra pressed her hands to her cheeks and smoothed them, trying to detect something amiss in her expression. All she felt was heat, like a fever burning beneath her skin.
She ground her teeth, peering at Arthur through her lashes. He stood up, calmly surveying the room as he walked toward the wardrobe where he'd stashed his clothes.
"Mortal…" she hissed, fury restrained.
Arthur gave her a casual glance, then turned to the wardrobe, opened its door, and pulled out a pair of boxers, black trousers, and a snug white shirt. He dressed himself without haste, without glancing away from her.
"You see, Cleopatra," he said as he pulled on his pants and approached her again, shirt in hand, bending to whisper in her ear, "ever since I first met you, you've been very unkind to me. Did you think that by acting agreeable, I'd spoil you? If you want my caresses, you'll have to earn them."
He straightened and walked out, closing the door gently behind him.
Left alone, Cleopatra stood motionless, staring at a fixed point as though she'd seen a ghost. Slowly she brought a hand to her lips, trailing her fingertip over her lower lip. Gradually her brow furrowed until her face was twisted in rage.
"MOOOORRRTAAAALLLL!!!" she screamed silently in her mind.
Arthur never saw that spectacle, and perhaps the goddess preferred it that way—so defenseless, someone she'd considered an insect only hours before.
She stomped from the room, heavy footsteps echoing as she barreled through the doorway, slamming it against the wall with a loud crash. Scanning the living room and kitchen, she found no trace of him—he'd already left the apartment seconds earlier.
"MOOOORTAAAALL!!!" Her roar shattered the quiet, bouncing off the walls.
Arthur strolled down the hallway when he heard Cleopatra's distant cry, thankfully muffled by the closed door.
'If I'd stayed, I'd probably be dead by now,' he thought, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead.
And it wouldn't have been an exaggeration—calming a furious goddess was no small feat. Fortunately, divine tempers, like mortal ones, cooled with time. He prayed Cleopatra's wrath would pass soon.
After all, he deserved it. He'd sweetened Cleopatra's lips and then left her burning. Easy enough. In his mind, he justified it as teaching her to be less arrogant—at least with him.
'A carrot in one hand and a stick in the other,' he mused, grinning at his own cleverness.
Now he had to wait for Cleopatra's move. If she truly desired his affection, she'd follow his suggestion.
'Earn my caresses,' he thought, striding forward.
But then he realized those words had echoed out loud—their echo still hung in the empty hall.
Arthur froze and turned slowly.
"Oh no…" he whispered.
Behind him stood a woman with a malevolent smile. Dark-skinned, dressed in a flowing red Egyptian gown trimmed with gold and gemstones, an ornamental falcon of blue and yellow gems perched on her arm. Above her hair floated a great red disc, reflecting Arthur's face back at him.
Arthur knew this goddess—Isis, the goddess of magic, sworn protector of pharaohs even in death. He had studied her lore thoroughly to avoid ever crossing her path.
Because… "She can reflect my thoughts," another stray thought escaped his mind and rang out in the corridor.
Isis beamed with approval, folding her arms. "Very sharp, young mortal," she said, her emerald eyes glittering. "You noticed quickly—most of your kind take much longer."
She leaned closer, making Arthur writhe with nerves. "Tell me, mortal, what were you thinking?" Her eyes gleamed mischievously. "About Anuket? Or maybe Netfis?" She let the suspense build before continuing, "Ah—I know."
Arthur swallowed. "Who are you referring to?" he thought.
Isis arched a brow, still smiling. "Come now," she murmured, inhaling through her nose. "There's no need to play dumb. Everyone's talking about it."
That was exactly why Arthur had tried to avoid Isis. Ancient texts praised her pursuit of mental mastery, but rumors among mortals said she used that magic simply to pry secrets from people's minds.
"You're insufferably nosy. I have nothing to do with any goddess," he thought.
Isis pressed the disc closer to his face. "If you don't tell me, I'll simply have to use my magic to make you more… forthcoming."
Isis thrived on gossip—gossipy to the core. Even Heka feared her.
"Don't be timid. I could piece together the rumors myself—wouldn't you rather say it outright?"
Her warm breath on his skin and the mental strain of emptying his mind had Arthur on the verge of collapse.
"NO! NEGATIVE! IMPOSSIBLE! DENIED! NOT ALLOWED!" he thought frantically.
Isis only smiled at his mental outburst, savoring his distress. "I know it's Cleo," she said smugly.
Arthur's eyelid twitched as a mixture of anger and embarrassment surged.
"So why the hell put me through that torment, you—" he thought, but the insult slipped from his lips.
Isis flinched at the sudden audible curse—and for a moment, she might have punished him. Instead she only chuckled, mischief dancing in her eyes. "Why does it feel so good to tease this mortal?" she mused. "Maybe I should push him further…"
Before she could go on, a voice rang out from behind. "Hold it right there—stay away from my roommate."
Isis finally backed off slightly as Cleopatra swept into view, taking Arthur's hand and pulling him away from the goddess of magic.
"Come on," Cleopatra said, leading him forward. "Seshat's looking for you—she wants to give you the books you left in the library."
Part 2
Isis walked the corridor, cradling the red disc in her hands, confusion etched on her face.
'In the end, it was just a simple mortal…' she thought, trailing off.
She rounded the stairwell when a tall, ominous figure blocked her path—hooded in the head of a black jackal, eyes hidden.
"Anubis," Isis said.
"How are you, Isis?" Anubis's voice was melodious, a knowing smile on his jackal-headed face. "How did your investigation go?"
Isis shrugged as she ascended the stairs. "Nothing extraordinary. So far he's just an ordinary mortal."
Anubis's lips curved in a slight frown, wrinkles of concern forming around his features. "Ordinary, you say?" he asked calmly, though his tone put Isis on edge. "A mortal who can withstand the Eye of Thoth?" He sighed deeply. "You really call him normal?"
Isis froze mid-step at his measured question. "My magic works on him—no interference, no barriers when I read his memories," she said, raising the red disc so it reflected Anubis's gaze back at him. "However…"
Anubis arched a brow beneath his jackal hood. "However?"
Isis touched her own eyes with long black nails. "There is something… unusual about his eyes for a mere mortal."
Anubis crossed his arms, stroking his chin thoughtfully with one hand. "I know exactly what you mean—the crowns. They are indeed a divine blessing."
Isis nodded, continuing up until she stood beside Anubis. "Yet, I've studied magic for millennia, you know that, An." She released the disc, and it floated back to hover above her head. "But I've never seen a blessing like this."
Anubis shrugged. "Perhaps it was bestowed by a current god, no?"
Isis shook her head firmly. "No," she said dryly. "It's something far older, more primordial…" She pulled a small book from her pocket. As she opened it, the tome swelled in her palms, becoming thicker and more substantial.
"What that mortal has in his eyes isn't normal—it's a mantle of stars."
Isis flipped through her pages until she reached one filled with notes and sketches of angels.
"Typically, mastery of the stars and the cosmos falls to the Buddhists, and above all to the Hebrews, who later merged with the Catholics," Isis said, peering at Anubis in silence. When he didn't respond, she went on, "This means that this mortal's blessing could be even older than we are."
Anubis lifted his hand from his chin, took the open diary, and studied several illustrated pages on the archangels. He turned to a section on Michael, Uriel, Azrael, and Razhiel, then closed the book gently and offered Isis a faint smile.
"Thank you for the insight, Isis. This is going to take time, so I'll need to borrow the diary for a few days—are you all right with that?"
Isis sighed, lowering her head before looking back up. "Just promise me you'll take care of it," she said, half-exasperated. "It's very ancient, after all."
Anubis cradled the leather-bound volume in his arms and beamed in an overly cheerful way. "Don't worry; I'll guard this diary as faithfully as I do Osiris."
Isis's brow furrowed deeply—and she delivered a sharp kick to Anubis's abdomen. He didn't even flinch.
"Ha ha ha, come on, don't be upset. I was only joking."
But Isis's eyes blazed with genuine fury. "You know I indulge you because I appreciate you, but one thing I'll never tolerate is your cheekiness—least of all from you."
Anubis scratched awkwardly at the back of his head, a nervous laugh escaping. "All right, all right. I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He turned on his heel and strode off toward his quarters.
"An—" Isis called, her tone now calmer.
Anubis paused and looked back. "Yes?" he asked, his voice brusque.
Isis hesitated, then sighed softly. "Why are you investigating that mortal?" she demanded, raising an eyebrow. "There are dozens of Da'at's rising students far more intriguing to study. Why him of all people?"
Anubis waved a dismissive hand as he resumed walking away. "For no particular reason."
"One more thing, An."
He halted again, turning with an impatient scowl. "What?"
Isis pointed down the stairwell. "Your room is two floors below."
Anubis stared at her, mouth slowly parting. "No way… It's true!"