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Chapter 31 - The Gate of Shadows

The ravine swallowed us without a word. The stone around us was dull and dark, as if someone had once locked the light inside it and forgotten where the key was. The air was damp, cold, not belonging to the desert. After a few steps my foot sank deeper into the sand than it should have. The ground trembled faintly beneath us, as if something had been waiting below just for our arrival.

Ahead lay a carved circle. Around its edge were ancient symbols I knew from the temples—Osiris's staff, the Udjat eyes, spread palms, rings of water. The center was smooth sand, untouched, waiting, like a place prepared for sacrifice.

"We're here," I said. "It begins."

Cleopatra said nothing. After a second she touched my forearm.

"Mehet… be careful. This doesn't look like the stories. It feels… different."

I nodded. "All we know is that Isis's scroll brought us here, to Osiris's place. Whatever comes, it won't be a game."

I stepped into the circle first. The sand was firm beneath my feet. When Cleopatra entered as well, the symbols around us lit with a dim green glow. Not blinding, but impossible to ignore. Then the sand at the center sank, and from the dark crack welled water—not clear like the Nile, but heavy, dark, with a metallic scent. It spread through the circle and formed a shallow pool. Its surface hardly moved, yet I could see currents flowing downward, as if it were draining into another world.

A voice sounded, solemn, relentless:

"Only one soul may pass. The other remains in shadow."

Cleopatra stiffened. "What does that mean?"

"A trial," I said. "Osiris's trial. The threshold between life and what lies beyond."

The voice continued: "The gate opens to the one who enters first. The one who remains will be bound to this place forever—in memory, in dream, in silence. So it is decreed."

Cleopatra pulled me back a step. "No. No, Mehet, let's leave. This makes no sense. We don't have to play by rules we didn't choose."

"We can't," I answered. "Here there is no bargaining. Only acceptance—or retreat. And retreat is also a choice."

"Why must we choose at all?" she shook her head. "This isn't fair."

"Fairness isn't part of the trial," I told her. "Only truth about what we will do."

We stood still, staring at the black water. It pulled at the eye, like a name long forgotten being whispered back into memory.

She drew a breath. "Listen. I won't go first. I won't. And I don't want you to go either. We'll go back to the Nile, find another way, another sign. This can't be it."

"It is," I said quietly. "This is where we were led. And not to find another door."

"Please," her voice softened, filled not with tears but with pure fear for me. "Whatever sense this makes, whatever it tests, one life isn't worth it. Father needs you. Egypt needs you. You know more of temples, of people, of gods… I'm just—"

"No," I cut her off. "You're not 'just' anything. You're the reason I'm here."

She inhaled sharply, as if the words hurt. "What do you mean?"

"Your father made me swear," I said. "And I accepted. To protect you. To lead you wherever needed. And this is where it leads."

"An oath isn't a command to die," she said. "It's wisdom. And wisdom means knowing when to turn back."

"An oath is also carrying what you don't want," I answered. "And I'll carry it."

She grabbed me with both hands, as if afraid I might crumble into dust. "No. Mehet, listen to me. If this is truly a choice between you and me, let Osiris take me. I—"

"Never say that," I cut in sharply.

She shut her eyes, swallowed. "Then we walk away."

"If we walk away," I pointed to the glowing symbols, "we don't walk away. We carry this place within us. The voice said it—those who refuse remain bound in memory. You'd wake to this water in your ears for the rest of your life. And so would I. That isn't escape. That's slow death."

"Then what do you propose?" she whispered. Her voice was steady now, the same tone she always found when danger forced her hand. Not defiance, but decision.

"I go," I said. "And you remain."

"No. No!" She shook her head, pacing between stepping back and forward. "I won't allow it."

"It isn't your fault, or your choice," I said. "It's my oath. And my will."

"And if it truly means death?" she locked her eyes with mine. "Not a symbol, not words—death."

"Then it's the price," I answered. "But I believe this trial isn't about killing. It's about carrying

The water stirred at our ankles, not rising, only brushing us—as if testing our pulse. The air stilled; even the desert wind fell silent.

"Mehet," she whispered. "Please."

"Wisdom, not caution. Remember?" I said. "Stay on the edge. Don't follow. If something happens, don't leap after me. Understand?"

She lifted her chin. "I understand. But I won't step away. I'll be here."

I nodded, drew Isis's scroll from its case, and pressed it to my chest. "It brought us here. I trust it will carry us through."

I stepped into the water.

It wasn't cold. It wasn't warm. It was… beyond naming. My body felt it, but my mind refused to define it. The surface beneath my foot shifted, not parting or resisting, but holding me up and pulling me deeper into the circle. One step, two, three. Water rose to my ankles, but I felt no weight, only pressure, guiding me toward the center.

"Mehet!" Cleopatra gasped, but she stayed on the edge, fists clenched, eyes locked on me.

At the heart of the circle the pool deepened, spiraling downward into silence. The voice came again, now from the water itself:

"The one who enters takes the burden of the other."

"I take it," I said aloud. "Freely."

"Mehet!" Cleopatra's cry broke sharp with fury. "You can't!"

I turned. "Listen. If it ends badly, go back. Find your father. Tell him everything. And stay clear of Djedhor."

"Stop with farewells," she snapped. "This isn't the end."

I smiled at her. "Good."

The water before me opened into a narrow corridor. At its end stood a shadow of a figure—tall, crowned, bearing crook and flail. Osiris.

"Only one soul passes," the voice repeated. "The other remains bound. Are you prepared?"

"I am," I said.

"No!" Cleopatra stepped forward, her sandal touching the water. "If someone must carry, I will. He has shielded me all my life—now I'll shield him."

"Not accepted," said the voice, without malice or joy. Just fact. "The choice was spoken."

"Then I change it!" she cried, reaching for me.

I raised my hand. "Let it be. Please."

She froze, trembling, then lowered her hand as if it burned. Her eyes darkened, hard with decision.

"If you fall," she said quietly, "I will follow—even if it takes my whole life."

"He won't fall," the voice shifted, no longer pronouncing judgment but certainty. "The trial is will to carry."

Osiris's form grew clearer—green skin, white crown, arms crossed with staff and flail. Not a painted image, but a presence that held your gaze until you confessed all.

"Who carries," he said, "must know the burden lasts. If you pass, you will sense death whenever it draws near. Not to fear it, but to know whom to shield and when to act."

"I accept," I answered without hesitation.

Cleopatra bit her lip. "Mehet—"

"It is gift and price," Osiris intoned. "And it is freely chosen."

"Freely," I repeated.

The water shifted, the corridor widening just enough for a final step. I took it. No fire, no drowning—only silence, and within it my heartbeat, and another—distant, steady, alien. The rhythm of approaching death.

"You have passed," said Osiris.

The pool leveled. I stood at its center, dry, calm. Cleopatra remained where she was, exactly as I'd told her.

"The true threshold," Osiris said, "was not death, but if you would carry another's dawn with your dusk."

I lifted my eyes. "And now?"

"Now you go on," he answered. "Carrying the sign of death's nearness. A chill at your neck, a tightening of your chest, silence where there should be voices. But know this: it never leaves you."

Cleopatra stepped closer to the rim, words caught in her throat. She only held out her hand. "Come."

I stepped back. The water no longer resisted. I left the pool, and she grasped my wrist—not desperately, but firmly, as an equal helping another across rough stone.

The voice faded. The glow vanished. Only the circle of sand remained, plain, empty.

"You didn't die," she breathed, with relief, anger, and gratitude all tangled in her tone.

"That wasn't the trial," I said.

"But the price was," she countered quickly. "Don't pretend I don't know. If death draws near… you'll feel it."

"Yes."

"And will it hurt?"

"It already does," I admitted. "Not like a wound—more like knowledge that never sleeps."

She pulled me closer. "Then we'll move faster. If death comes near anyone, we won't let it linger."

I nodded. Already I felt that faint chill at my neck, though there was nothing around us but stone and sky.

"Mehet?" she asked.

"Not here," I shook my head. "Not yet. I'll learn to tell the difference."

"Good," she said firmly. Then, softer: "Thank you for listening to me. For not letting me take your place."

"I didn't listen," I replied. "I chose."

She said nothing more. She turned to the ravine's mouth. "Let's go."

We left the circle behind. I glanced back once—the sand looked ordinary, as if nothing had happened. Perhaps that was the gods' will.

"Mehet," she said as we walked, "if you hadn't passed—"

"I did," I interrupted gently. "And now we go on. That's all that matters."

After a moment she answered: "Then I won't tell you again to be careful. I said it once. Now I'll say this: be wise. And never leave me to stand at such a choice again."

"If it's within my power," I promised, "never."

We left the Valley of Shadows. Behind us nothing stirred. But within me the mark of Osiris remained: that faint whisper of death's nearness. Not a threat—only a signal. I knew who it belonged to. I knew why I had taken it.

For her. And for all that still lay ahead.

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