Chapter 404: Chapter 404: It’s beautiful down there. Raw. Unlike this place
THE UNDERWORLD
The obsidian hall stretched endlessly, lit by fire that burned blue instead of red. The walls shimmered faintly with the reflection of dancing flames, casting shadows that looked almost alive. Pillars carved with ancient runes rose toward a ceiling lost in darkness, and every step echoed as though the floor itself breathed. The air was heavy — not with smoke, but power. Old power. The kind that made mortals crumble to dust.
Zyran stood before the throne. His posture was lazy, almost disrespectful, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed the awareness that one wrong move could cost him his life.
And there, seated on the throne carved from black stone and bones of long-dead gods, was Anubis, the King of the Underworld.
His father.
The god’s jackal-like head gleamed under the torchlight, his eyes two endless voids burning faint gold. His robes were layered with dark silk and gold chains that clinked when he moved. On either side of him stood two guards — towering figures with the heads of falcons, their spears pressed into the ground, their eyes unblinking.
When Anubis spoke, his voice reverberated through the entire hall — deep, calm, but carrying enough weight to silence everything else.
"What," he said slowly, "was so important that you had to drag me away early from my own celebration?"
Zyran smirked, the corner of his mouth curving upward. "Oh, Father, you’re always celebrating," he drawled, his tone too casual for a god addressing the Lord of the Dead. "You’ve had so many parties lately, I’m starting to think you’ve forgotten you have children."
One of the falcon-headed guards twitched. The air pulsed dangerously.
Anubis tilted his head slightly, golden eyes narrowing, the faintest growl rumbling from deep within his chest.
Zyran lifted his hands in mock surrender. "Relax, old man. I’m not here to start another war. Not tonight, at least."
"You are close," Anubis warned, his voice like gravel grinding.
Zyran chuckled — soft, but defiant. He bowed his head slightly, just enough to ease the tension in the air, but not enough to look obedient. "Forgive me, Father. You know I can’t resist teasing you."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Then, finally, Zyran straightened, brushing invisible dust off his robes — black, edged with faint blue sigils that shimmered under the light. His expression turned serious.
"I want to leave," he said simply.
The words echoed.
The falcon guards shifted, tails flicking. Even the flames seemed to quiet.
Anubis didn’t move. "Leave?"
"Yes," Zyran said, tone cool, calm, as though discussing weather. "The mortal realm. I want to take... a break from the Underworld."
He braced himself for rage, for punishment — but it didn’t come.
Anubis leaned back on his throne, steepling his clawed fingers. "Is that so?" he said at last. His gaze, sharp as a blade, didn’t waver. "I always knew this day would come."
That threw Zyran off for a fraction of a second — enough for his father to notice.
His father tilted his head slightly. "Curious timing," he murmured. "Just when alliances are being forged and expectations are high, my son suddenly grows restless?"
Zyran’s lips twitched.
There it was.
He could hear the trap under the softness of the words. The king never asked questions without knowing the answers first.
So, Zyran laughed — quietly at first, then louder, until his chuckles filled the empty hall. "Oh, Father," he said, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, "you know me. I’ve always had such great love for the beast world. Their chaos, their hunger, their blood." His red eyes shimmered like wine, dangerous and amused. "It’s beautiful down there. Raw. Unlike this place."
Anubis stared at him, unmoving.
The laughter died in Zyran’s throat.
He hated that look — the one that saw right through him.
"You speak of beauty," Anubis said quietly. "But your eyes betray you."
Zyran’s smile faltered.
Anubis stood from his throne. The air rippled as his power filled the room. "When I look at you, son, I see myself. Once upon a time, I, too, thought I could love beyond my purpose."
His steps echoed as he descended from the dais. Every footfall sounded like the toll of a death bell.
"What I see before me," Anubis continued, voice low, dangerous, "is a young fool — a god who has fallen for something he should never have touched."
Zyran froze.
His throat went dry, his pulse drumming painfully loud in his ears. He didn’t react. Didn’t even blink.
Because if his father knew — truly knew — about Isabella, he wouldn’t still be standing here.
So he smiled. A faint, practiced smirk that hid everything. "I don’t know what you mean, Father."
Anubis stopped inches from him, towering over him. "Lies do not suit you, my son."
Zyran met his gaze, his tone sharp as glass. "And neither does obedience."
For a heartbeat, the air froze. The guards straightened, their spears lifting slightly — waiting for their king’s command.
Then Anubis exhaled, almost amused. "So bold. You truly think you can defy me."
Zyran said nothing. His heart was racing, but his face was carved from calm.
Finally, Anubis turned away, his cloak dragging across the floor like shadows come alive. "Fine then," he said, voice echoing through the hall. "Go."
Zyran blinked. He hadn’t expected it to be that easy.
The silence stretched until the flames along the hall guttered. The god of the dead did not blink. His gaze pinned Zyran in place, weighing, measuring, judging the worth of his defiance.
Then Anubis spoke, voice low and resonant, like the earth cracking open.
"If you wish to walk among the living, then you will dance to my measure, boy."
Zyran’s smirk twitched, but he said nothing.
The torches flared blue, casting long shadows across the pillars.
"You will return to me," Anubis continued, "whenever the moon wears its second face and the jackal’s star burns highest. You will stand before this throne before the first light touches the dunes. Fail that, and the sand will whisper your name to me."
The words vibrated through the air. It wasn’t a simple order—it was a binding. Each syllable shimmered with power, curling like smoke around Zyran’s ankles.
"For every twelve suns that rise over the mortal realm, one must find you back here. For every three turnings of the moon, you will remain below until the river stills. Miss one call..."
Anubis leaned forward, the glow from his eyes spilling down the steps of his throne.
"...and I will pull you from whatever world you hide in—heart first."
The last two words were soft, but they cracked through the room like a whip.
The obsidian floor shuddered. The guards lowered their heads, tails flicking uneasily. Even the fire seemed to bow to the weight of the decree.
Zyran forced out a slow breath, jaw tightening beneath the mask of his grin. "You always had such a way with affection, Father."
Anubis straightened. "I speak only in truths. Remember them."
The king turned, the chains around his shoulders clinking softly as he walked back toward the throne. Shadows clung to him, swallowing his form one strand at a time until only his voice remained.
"Do not forget the measure of your leash, my son. The realm of men is not kind to gods who mistake desire for destiny."
Then he was gone—vanished into the folds of darkness, leaving only the echo of his words vibrating through the pillars.
The great hall was silent again.
Zyran stood alone, the magic still coiled around his boots, faintly glowing like branded sigils. He flexed his fingers and the mark faded, but the air still buzzed with its warning.
He tilted his head back, exhaling softly through a half-smile. "Whenever the jackal’s star burns, hm?" he muttered. "Cryptic as ever."
A low laugh slipped past his lips. "You always did love your riddles, Father."
He turned toward the far doors—massive, ancient slabs of black stone engraved with serpents and wings. Beyond them waited the cold bridge between realms.
As he reached for the handle, he looked once more at the empty throne.
"Let’s see how far your leash really stretches," he said under his breath.
The flames flickered once, as if the hall itself were listening.
Then Zyran stepped forward—and the underworld swallowed him whole.