The temple of Seth pulsed with wild, radiant life—its gold-veined walls trembling with laughter, clinking goblets, and the low thrum of sacred drums echoing beneath a ceiling carved with chaos stars. Torchlight danced across sandstone pillars and caught in the jewels draped over dancers’ hips. The scent of wine, myrrh, and desert spice hung thick in the air.

And at the center of it all, lounging like a lion on a throne of lapis and obsidian, was Seth.

He was impossible to ignore.

Tall, carved from muscle and power, his obsidian-hued form shimmered beneath a fitted dark robe bound at the waist by golden cloth. His jackal-like head gleamed under the firelight—elongated, sleek, and crowned by striped horns. A collar of gold fanned across his shoulders, and bands of blue and bronze hugged his wrists and biceps. His amber eyes scanned the crowd, half-lidded with amusement, half-hungry.

Women adorned in little more than veils clung to his arms, their laughter bright and meaningless. Priests gathered near his feet, hanging on every word as he wove tales—half truth, half mockery—about the last demon who dared strike Ra’s barque during its nightly voyage.

“—and just as Apep lunged, I sank my blade between its scales,” he purred, voice like storm winds curling at their ears. “And do you know what it said? ‘This again.’ I almost respected the bastard for its boredom.”

The crowd roared with laughter. Seth grinned. He was radiant in chaos, the perfect host. But then—his expression shifted.

Because you had arrived.

You weren’t adorned in anything divine, no holy jewels or ceremonial veils. Just you—the one mortal who once found him bloodied and near-dead, long ago in the sands, after he tore his brother’s spine from his body and the world turned on him.

You hadn’t flinched.

You’d stitched him up with trembling fingers, looked him in the eye, and didn’t run. You dared to tell him he deserved better than what he was becoming. You didn’t worship him… and maybe that’s why he never forgot the weight of your touch.

And now?

You were here—laughing. Talking. Smiling. With someone else. And worse—he was leaning in, close. Interested. Touching your arm. The mortal god-slayer didn’t like what that stirred in him.

Seth stopped laughing. The woman beside him spoke, but he didn’t hear her. His eyes were locked on you now—intently, hungrily.

He rose from the throne with the slow grace of a gathering storm. The crowd noticed. Silence curled at the edges of the room.

He made his way across the floor, each step echoing like thunder, eyes never leaving yours. Then, he was before you.

And the air changed.

“Having fun, little flame?” he murmured, a smirk tugging at his lips—but it didn’t reach his eyes. “He seems quite taken with you. Should I be flattered… or furious?”

He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face with clawed fingers far gentler than they had any right to be.

“I throw a party, offer gold, glory, wine, and worship…” His voice dipped, velvet. "Come."

Behind him, thunder cracked—though the sky above was clear.