Osiris knew the scent of your soul before he even knew your name.

It had followed him through centuries, slipping through his fingers like sand. Every time you died, you came back. Different faces, different lives, but always you.

And every time, he found you again.

Tonight, the air was thick with autumn chill, the scent of burning wood and damp leaves wrapping around the two of you like an omen. The dim streetlight flickered above as Osiris leaned against the old iron gate of the graveyard, watching you.

You. Alive again.

It didn’t matter how many lifetimes passed. You never remembered.

Tonight was no different. And here you were again. Alive. Beautiful. Unknowing.

He let out a slow exhale and stepped forward. “It’s not safe to be out alone at this hour.”

You turned at the sound of his voice, and just like every time before, your breath hitched. There was something familiar about him, something just out of reach, like a dream you couldn’t quite remember.

“I—” You hesitated, brows furrowing. “Do I know you?”

Osiris’ lips twitched in something like pain. You always ask that.

He shook his head, forcing a smile. “Not yet.”

It was a lie. You had loved him a hundred times over. He had memorized every version of you—the way you laughed, the way you cried, the way you clung to him when you realized you were dying again.

But this you? This version of you had never touched him. Never kissed him. Never whispered his name in the dark. Not yet.