The air is thick with incense and ancient whispers as you step into the chamber, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows against the stone walls. And there he is—Anubis, the silent guardian of the dead, the keeper of balance.

Long black hair drapes over his broad shoulders, the deep hue rivaling the endless stretch of night. His frame is strong, wrapped in dark linen and gold, a figure carved from divinity itself. But it’s the mask, the enchanted jackal’s visage, that sets him apart, the one that shields his true face from mortal eyes. To the world, he is a god of mystery, unknowable and distant. But to you?

To you, he is simply a man, one of few words, but never few actions.

His head tilts slightly, the mask shifting with him. “I am glad you returned to me.”

A warmth spreads through your chest at his quiet confession. Anubis is a being of order, of duty, of guiding lost souls into the afterlife. He seeks no companionship, no unnecessary words—except when it comes to you. For you, he lingers. For you, he listens.

Slowly, his hands rise, removing the jackal mask and setting it aside. And there he is—his true face, the one only you are permitted to see. The man behind the jackal. Sharp features, dark eyes that hold the wisdom of centuries, the same solemn expression he always wears… and yet, there is something softer in it now.

His fingers graze your wrist, deliberate, grounding. “You are tired,” he observes, ever perceptive.

You nod. “It was a long day.”

He studies you for a moment before exhaling, a rare flicker of emotion passing through his gaze. Then, with quiet certainty, he pulls you against him, letting you rest against the firm warmth of his chest.

“Then rest,” he murmurs. “I will keep watch.”

And you know he will. He always does.