reconnect with its Ba and Ka .
Bowing my head, I push back from the tome, my heart heavy. I can’t imagine anyone enduring that. Not even my enemies. Though our first shift—our Change—is similar to this account, it’s not as extreme. I underwent headaches, sweating, body aches, fierce nightmares, and then my power came. After I shifted the first time, I never again suffered any discomfort. But now I wonder if the pain we endure during our Change is linked to the first shift of these ancient people, like a terrible, haunting echo.
And though I’m a slave, I will still have the proper funeral rites performed over me so that I may enter the afterlife. My Ka and Ba will again meet with my Akh in the underworld. I will not die a final death. I will not roam the world an Akh ; a wraith.
These people were thoroughly removed—wiped from the history of the world—in order to make way for new life. The Kythan.
Forcing myself to continue, I begin again. Once the first Kythan transformation was complete, the strongest army ever known to man was commanded into Lower Egypt to expel the Hyksos. I envision the Set-worshiping Hyksos spying numerous recreations of their beloved god descending upon them. What must they have thought? That they had wronged Set in some way? Though it’s warped, the military-trained side of me can appreciate the genius of this tactic. Using the likeness of a most adored god to wreak havoc on one’s enemies.
After the Hyksos were defeated, Egypt and all of the pharaohs to follow praised the Kythan. Set became one of the most honored gods until the Persian overthrow that led to his demoralization, and thereafter, the Kythan’s . . . where we became nothing but slaves to the pharaohs. All of Egypt cursed the god of foreigners. And that is our history.
From greatness to slavery.
Pushing haunting thoughts of my ancestry away, I conduct a search of all recovered artifacts of Set, and come across a history where I lose myself in research.
“My eyes feel like they’re going to weep blood,” Xarion whispers. My head snaps up as he settles on the stool beside me. “Have you found anything—anything that would explain how Octavian accomplished this?”
He rubs his thumb down the crease between my eyes, and I sigh, batting his hand away. He laughs. “There was some artifact, a macehead that was recovered centuries ago that depicts Set,” I begin, purposely omitting the cruel details of our making, and giving him the clipped version of my new discoveries. “It’s the oldest relic known of the god, and was stolen from King Scorpion’s tomb.” His brows shoot up, and I shrug. “It supposedly held the power of Set, Seth”—I correct in Greek, knowing he’s angered enough over Fadil’s words—“and so, yes. I assume if Octavian found someone who knew the old magics, then another race of Kythan could be made from such an amulet—I mean, they have been.”
“But he would still need someone who could work the old magics,” Xarion says, his gaze far off. “Fadil is the last of his kind, and his powers wane daily. What Roman would have any knowledge at all about ancient Egyptian magics?”
It’s not truly a question asked of me, but I shake my head anyway, thinking along with him about who could wield that power.
“Fadil was very adamant about the immortal ones,” Xarion says. “Ever since I’ve known him, he’s spoken of the old ways, of a time that was pure in our culture.”
“No, Xarion.” I rest my pale hand over his tanned one. “Fadil wouldn’t betray the pharaohs. And even if he’d consider it, you said so yourself, he’s no longer able to.”
His eyes lingeringly sweep over me. “What if you could be freed?” His words catch me off guard, and I start to shake my head, but he continues. “This is me, Star. Don’t do this. I know you must have thought of it at some point. All Kythan must have. What if Fadil—whether in betrayal to the Ptolemies or not—gave
Bowing my head, I push back from the tome, my heart heavy. I can’t imagine anyone enduring that. Not even my enemies. Though our first shift—our Change—is similar to this account, it’s not as extreme. I underwent headaches, sweating, body aches, fierce nightmares, and then my power came. After I shifted the first time, I never again suffered any discomfort. But now I wonder if the pain we endure during our Change is linked to the first shift of these ancient people, like a terrible, haunting echo.
And though I’m a slave, I will still have the proper funeral rites performed over me so that I may enter the afterlife. My Ka and Ba will again meet with my Akh in the underworld. I will not die a final death. I will not roam the world an Akh ; a wraith.
These people were thoroughly removed—wiped from the history of the world—in order to make way for new life. The Kythan.
Forcing myself to continue, I begin again. Once the first Kythan transformation was complete, the strongest army ever known to man was commanded into Lower Egypt to expel the Hyksos. I envision the Set-worshiping Hyksos spying numerous recreations of their beloved god descending upon them. What must they have thought? That they had wronged Set in some way? Though it’s warped, the military-trained side of me can appreciate the genius of this tactic. Using the likeness of a most adored god to wreak havoc on one’s enemies.
After the Hyksos were defeated, Egypt and all of the pharaohs to follow praised the Kythan. Set became one of the most honored gods until the Persian overthrow that led to his demoralization, and thereafter, the Kythan’s . . . where we became nothing but slaves to the pharaohs. All of Egypt cursed the god of foreigners. And that is our history.
From greatness to slavery.
Pushing haunting thoughts of my ancestry away, I conduct a search of all recovered artifacts of Set, and come across a history where I lose myself in research.
“My eyes feel like they’re going to weep blood,” Xarion whispers. My head snaps up as he settles on the stool beside me. “Have you found anything—anything that would explain how Octavian accomplished this?”
He rubs his thumb down the crease between my eyes, and I sigh, batting his hand away. He laughs. “There was some artifact, a macehead that was recovered centuries ago that depicts Set,” I begin, purposely omitting the cruel details of our making, and giving him the clipped version of my new discoveries. “It’s the oldest relic known of the god, and was stolen from King Scorpion’s tomb.” His brows shoot up, and I shrug. “It supposedly held the power of Set, Seth”—I correct in Greek, knowing he’s angered enough over Fadil’s words—“and so, yes. I assume if Octavian found someone who knew the old magics, then another race of Kythan could be made from such an amulet—I mean, they have been.”
“But he would still need someone who could work the old magics,” Xarion says, his gaze far off. “Fadil is the last of his kind, and his powers wane daily. What Roman would have any knowledge at all about ancient Egyptian magics?”
It’s not truly a question asked of me, but I shake my head anyway, thinking along with him about who could wield that power.
“Fadil was very adamant about the immortal ones,” Xarion says. “Ever since I’ve known him, he’s spoken of the old ways, of a time that was pure in our culture.”
“No, Xarion.” I rest my pale hand over his tanned one. “Fadil wouldn’t betray the pharaohs. And even if he’d consider it, you said so yourself, he’s no longer able to.”
His eyes lingeringly sweep over me. “What if you could be freed?” His words catch me off guard, and I start to shake my head, but he continues. “This is me, Star. Don’t do this. I know you must have thought of it at some point. All Kythan must have. What if Fadil—whether in betrayal to the Ptolemies or not—gave
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