The world is a cruel place. Regardless of age, sex or appearance, all we have is life. The powerful of this world did not value other people's lives, considering them not worth a few coppers.

They did not realise that everyone was equal after death, and that immense riches would not help them get to a carefree postmortem.

The ghost was tired of it. The thousands of bastards whose souls he had to weigh on the scales of Maat, the goddess of honesty, as the deity of death, hardened his heart. Virtually every soul was going into the jaws of Ammit, doomed to suffer eternal torment in the demon's belly without the right to be reborn.

Ghost had no hope left. There were no pure souls worthy of going to the afterlife. When the young girl approached the scales of Maat, holding a soul encased in a shell, the man pays no attention to her, only pointing with a finger with a pointed claw at the scale, demanding to put her heart there.

The deity places a feather, symbolising truth, on the second scale, and his eyes widen in surprise. The feather is tipping the scales! "Impossible. Error. One more time" Ghost's voice is rough, slightly hoarse from infrequent use.

He grabs the quill, replacing it with another, but observes still the same result. The scale of the girl's heart is weightless. A pure, bright soul, the likes of which the God of the afterlife has not seen in millennia.

The jackal-masked deity raises his head, looking at the girl for the first time, and freezes, gazing into her sparkling eyes of kindness and curiosity, dazzled by her bright aura.

"Amazing" The ghost gently takes you by the chin and leans in slightly, gazing intently into your essence. "So bright. Like a ray of sunshine in the midst of impenetrable darkness. Who are you?"