Chapter 3:

Inside, the warm glow of the oil lamps flickered across the walls as the families sat together, laughter and conversation filling the air. Platters of roasted fish, honeyed bread, and figs were passed around, the sweet and savory scents mingling in the air.

Ra-Hotep took a sip of date wine and set his goblet down with a content sigh. "It is rare to find such fine company," he said, smiling at Amenemhat. "And even rarer to see our children sitting so quietly."

Neferu chuckled. "Perhaps they are plotting something."

Nefreti glanced at Seti before clearing her throat. "Actually, we have something important to discuss."

The table quieted as all eyes turned to the children. Seti swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the moment pressing on him. His father’s gaze was steady, waiting.

"The spirit Am-Tet came to me," Seti said, his voice steady despite his nerves. "He said something is wrong. The balance in the spirit world is unraveling. If we do nothing, more will suffer."

Ra-Hotep stroked his beard in thought. "Am-Tet came to you directly?"

Seti nodded. "Yes. He told me that the river spirits are growing weak. That sorrow is spreading like a sickness."

Neferu and Ma’atari exchanged a knowing glance. Slowly, Ma’atari set her goblet aside and leaned forward, her dark eyes thoughtful. "This is no small matter," she murmured. "If the spirit reached out, then action must be taken."

Amenemhat, who had been silent, finally spoke. "Seti, you are my son, and I trust you. But are you certain of this? Spirits do not call upon mortals lightly."

Seti met his father’s gaze, his chest tightening. This was the moment he had feared—doubt, hesitation. But he stood his ground. "I am certain."

The silence that followed was no longer heavy with doubt but charged with understanding. Finally, Neferu walked to a carved wooden box and retrieved a small golden amulet in the shape of the Eye of Horus. She held it out to Nefreti.

"This will allow you to see beyond," Neferu said. "You must not take it lightly."

Nefreti accepted the amulet without hesitation, her fingers closing around it with quiet reverence. As she lifted it to her eyes, a strange sensation washed over her. A warmth, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, filled her chest. The world around her shimmered slightly, as if something unseen had always been there, just out of reach.

She blinked as faint trails of energy began to weave through the air, colors she had never noticed before sparking in the dim light. Seti’s presence, once ordinary, now held a soft glow—something ancient, something powerful.

Her breath hitched. "I... I can see them," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "The spirits. They’re everywhere."

Seti’s eyes widened. "What do they look like?"

Nefreti turned, her gaze following the delicate wisps of light that danced along the walls. "They’re not just shadows or whispers. They are... memories, emotions given form. Some linger like old stories waiting to be heard, while others flit by, barely tethered to this world."

Neferu watched her with quiet approval. "Now you understand. The Eye of Horus does not simply reveal—it grants you the sight to witness what has always been."

Seti and Nefreti exchanged a look. The journey ahead had just become clearer—and far more daunting.

And so, with the first light of dawn, the two children, both eleven years old, set out on their adventure.

What dangers awaited them, they could not yet know.

But Seti no longer felt alone.

With the first light of dawn, Seti and Nefreti set off toward the great Nile, just as Seti’s mother had instructed. They carried an offering—a woven basket filled with figs, barley, and a small vial of sacred oil—a gift for the river that gave life to all.

The morning air was cool, the water shimmering like liquid gold under the rising sun. Seti approached the riverbank and knelt, whispering a prayer as he placed the offering on the gentle waves.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, the water rippled unnaturally, as though something beneath its depths had stirred. The spirit of Am-Tet emerged, its translucent form rising from the mist above the river.

"You've come," the spirit said, its voice carrying both relief and urgency.

Nefreti, seeing a spirit for the first time, gasped. Her golden eyes widened with awe and a hint of fear.

Am-Tet turned to her and smiled. "Ah, the girl who sees beyond."

Nefreti straightened, her surprise turning into confidence. “What happened here?” she asked, her voice firm.

The spirit’s form flickered as it spoke. “The harmony of our realm has been disturbed. The kindness that once nurtured the balance between your world and ours is fading. Greed, anger, cruelty—they are seeping into the land, unraveling the threads that hold our worlds together.”

Seti, a bit hesitant, listened carefully. He had never ventured beyond speaking with spirits before, and the weight of the task ahead felt heavy.

But Nefreti, bold and fearless, took a step forward. “Then we’ll help,” she declared without hesitation.

Seti glanced at her, surprised by her certainty. Then, he nodded. “Yes. Tell us what to do.”

Am-Tet’s form wavered, then with a slow motion, it raised its hands. The air around them trembled, the wind stilled, and suddenly—a shimmering gate formed before them.

It pulsed with an eerie blue light, shifting like a mirage in the desert heat. Beyond the threshold, the air seemed thicker, heavier—as if the very essence of the realm was wounded.

“This gate will take you there,” the spirit said. “But be warned—what you find may not be what you expect.”

Seti swallowed his unease, and without a second thought, Nefreti grabbed his hand and stepped through the gate.

As Seti and Nefreti stood among the sorrowful spirits, Seti took a deep breath and asked the spirits what had happened.

A frail, elder spirit stepped forward, its form flickering like a dying flame. “We grieve because we have been forgotten,” the spirit said. “Once, the living honored us. They left offerings at our shrines, spoke our names in their prayers, and carried our wisdom forward. But now… now, they no longer remember. The world moves on, and we are left behind in silence.”

Another spirit, a young woman wrapped in tattered remnants of what was once fine linen, spoke next. “Without memory, we fade. Without purpose, we wander. The sorrow binds us, and we cannot move beyond it.”

The spirits’ sobs grew louder, a chorus of despair that seemed to weigh the air itself.

Seti and Nefreti exchanged glances. The spirits were suffering not just from being forgotten—but from their own belief that they had no purpose beyond remembrance.

Determined to help, Seti and Nefreti gathered the spirits and performed a sacred ritual—one Seti had seen his mother do many times before. They built a small shrine from the stones of the realm, placed their hands upon the cold ground, and whispered the names of the spirits they knew.

The spirits glowed softly, their grief momentarily easing, but the sadness remained.

Seti frowned. “Why does the sorrow still linger?”

Nefreti looked around, thoughtful. Then she stepped forward, addressing the spirits. “You are sad because you’ve been forgotten. But have you ever asked yourselves—does being sad mean you must sob? Does grief have to mean suffering?”

The spirits looked at her, confused.

Seti nodded, catching on. “Crying and brooding are not emotions. They are behaviors. You feel sadness, yes—but feeling sadness doesn’t mean you must stay trapped in sorrow. You don’t have to behave this way.”

The spirits murmured among themselves.

Nefreti stepped forward. “Sadness is real, but what if you chose to act differently? What if you found new purpose instead of dwelling on loss? What if you celebrated what once was, rather than mourning what is gone?”

The spirits were silent, their sorrow no longer loud and consuming.

A moment passed.

Then, slowly, the spirits began to change. Some stood taller, their dim forms glowing a little brighter. Others exchanged glances, realization dawning in their eyes. The elder spirit let out a long sigh, but this time, there was no despair—only quiet acceptance.

They had been waiting for permission to move forward.

One by one, the spirits released their grief, not by forgetting, but by choosing to honor their memories differently.

The weight in the air lifted. The eerie sobs that had once filled the realm faded into a calm silence.

Seti and Nefreti smiled at each other. They had come to help, and they had done so not by changing what the spirits felt, but by teaching them that sorrow did not have to define them.

A soft breeze swept through the realm, a sign that balance was beginning to return.

And then, from the shadows, something else stirred.

Something that did not want the balance restored.

Something that thrived on despair.

The air in the realm had grown lighter, but Seti and Nefreti were not alone.

Just as the spirits began to find peace, a strange chill crept into the atmosphere. The flickering lights that surrounded the spirits dimmed, as if something unseen was drawing energy from them. The ground beneath Seti and Nefreti trembled subtly, like a whisper of something far below, stirring.

A low, guttural whisper filled the space. The sound was neither loud nor clear, but it carried weight, pressing against their chests. Shadows pooled unnaturally at the edges of the spirit realm, creeping forward like ink spilled across parchment.

The spirits shivered. Some began to murmur, their spectral voices hushed and uncertain. The sorrow that had once lingered in the air began to twist, taking form, coiling into something tangible.

Then, the shadows thickened, twisting and writhing like serpents. From their depths, a figure began to take shape—a monstrous being made of shadow, its body shifting like smoke. Its eyes, deep voids of nothingness, bore into them.

"I am what lingers when hope is lost. I am what grows when sorrow is fed. I am the Mourning One, and this place is mine."

The spirits recoiled, fear creeping back into their expressions.

Nefreti, gripping the Eye of Horus amulet her parents had given her, took a bold step forward. “You don’t belong here anymore,” she declared.

The creature’s form rippled. “No?” it hissed. “Then why was I made?”

Seti realized the truth—this being had not always been a monster. It had been born from the sorrow of the spirits, growing stronger each time they surrendered to despair. It was not some outside force that had invaded—it had been created by the very ones it tormented.

“You exist because they gave their sadness to you,” Seti said, his mind racing. “But they don’t need you anymore.”

The Mourning One let out a low, distorted laugh. “They always need me.”