Chapter Text
A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.
-Oscar Wilde
After all was said and done — with Harrow, with Khonshu’s deal, with Jake, with Khonshu’s deal with Jake — they all agreed it was high time for a vacation. One of the upsides about having a secret life as an ex-special forces member turned mercenary was that Marc had a hefty nest egg put away. Steven wasn’t sure how he never considered how he was able to afford his loft in London on the salary of a gift shop attendant… it was probably best to let sleeping dogs lie.
It was safe to say that they were comfortable enough to have the year off from worrying over employment. Which meant they were able to spend that time getting to know each other because, surprisingly, sharing one body for the better part of their forty-five years on this Earth did not equate to seamless living. Nothing that a little communication (and therapy, lots of therapy), and tourism couldn’t fix.
They settled on New York. Steven had never been, not technically. Marc said he’d visited a few times on missions for Khonshu, and it was far enough away from Chicago to prevent the stirring up of treacherous memories. Jake surprised both of them with the reveal that he’d couch surfed in the city for a few months after their military discharge. It meant that they all had their own reasons to visit the city. Steven of course wanted to go to the museums.
Which was how they ended up at the American Museum of Natural History at eight o’clock at night on a Friday. It was already bustling with energy, a line out the door of excitedly chattering patrons just waiting to get a peak inside. A stuffy old museum by day, what made this particular spot stand out according to reviews on Yelp was the museum’s innovative, interactive exhibits on weekends. Steven had never heard of such an idea for a museum, but he was not about to pass up the opportunity to experience it for himself.
“Alright, Steven. You have fun nerding out. I’m gonna get some shut eye.” Marc said from the reflection of the ornate water fountain at the base of the museum steps.
“Yo tambien.” Jake chimed in.
“Are you sure neither of you want to explore a bit? I heard they have a great exhibit of miniature ancient dynasties.” Steven said.
He stared up at the banner hung across the front doors to the museum that read NOW OPEN LATE! They’d taken to wearing a bluetooth earpiece in public to explain away why they were often seen talking to themselves aloud. One of Layla’s ideas, bless her.
“As great as that sounds, buddy, this stop is all yours.” Marc said.
Jake backed him up with a concise, “ Buenos noches.” And with that Steven felt the equivalent of a curtain in the inner world sliding shut as the two of them retreated from the front.
There was no love lost on Steven’s part. He tucked away the dummy bluetooth earpiece into the messenger bag slung over his shoulder, content with the knowledge that he had the next several hours to himself. He could spend as much time as he wanted reading informational plaques without Marc pressuring him to jump to a more exciting exhibit, or Jake grumbling under their breath about suspicious passerby. As he made his way to the front of the line and finally into the museum itself, Steven didn’t even try to contain his excitement.
The main entrance was a hub of energy. He didn’t know what to look at first. The giant T-rex animatronic, or the spinning globe with what looked like projections of ships reenacting a naval battle from the War of 1812? To the left was a trio of Civil War soldiers wearing featureless mannequin masks instructing a group of teens how they reload their weapons, and straight ahead he saw a woman who looked to be in incredibly accurate Sacagawea cosplay leading a walking tour of senior citizens.
There was just so much to choose from! At a loss, Steven stopped walking and looked down at the brochure he’d been handed at the door (by a real capuchin monkey, mind you) to try and narrow it down.
“Whoa, there!” A voice exclaimed, and there was sudden movement in his periphery. In his frazzled state he just barely swerved out of the way of a man on horseback. “Best watch where you’re going, lad. The mammoths are not as quick on their feet as Little Texas here.”
Steven looked up and met eyes with Teddy Roosevelt himself. Well, not the Teddy Roosevelt of course. But a damn near spitting image of him. The actor playing Teddy Roosevelt smirked down at him from atop the horse, and was it a trick of light or was there a sparkle in his eye?
“S-sorry about that,” Steven coughed and started again. More steady this time, “I’m just a bit out of sorts. So much to see.”
“You’re not the first one to be in awe of the museum, and you certainly won’t be the last.” Teddy Roosevelt said. “Enjoy your visit!” With a parting tip of his hat, he sidled off down the hall.
The crowd thinned out as he got farther from the entrance and the exhibits of American History. He passed through the Extinct and Endangered display, did a quick circle around the Worlds Beyond Earth showroom, but nothing could keep him for too long. As much as he wanted to take his time, there was a pull in his gut that he couldn’t manage to shake. An itch that needed to be scratched, but he didn’t know how. He trekked up to the third floor and stopped before a sign by the elevators.
RESTROOMS ↑
HALL OF MINIATURES ←
ANCIENT EGYPT →
The pull in his gut seemed to yank right then, and he followed the feeling, making a sharp right off the stairway. This part of the museum was almost entirely empty save for a young couple searching for the bathroom. Then he saw it.
At the end of the hall was a grand, cavernous recreation of an Ancient Egyptian tomb. Two Anubis statues stood imposingly at the entrance, spears in hand. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or part of the interactive theme of the whole museum, but it almost felt like they were watching him as he ventured further inside. His footsteps sounded loud as bombs in the stillness of the exhibit, bouncing off the golden decor and marble stone floors. The deeper into the exhibit he got, the stronger the pull became, until he reached a striped yellow line that separated him from an ornate sarcophagus encased in glass.
A stand with an informational plaque stood right behind the yellow line. In looping letters that mimicked hieroglyphics:
The tomb of King Ahkmenrah was first discovered in the late 1930’s during a covert excavation led by Robert Fredericks. A devout historian on Ancient Egypt, Fredericks was adamant about discovering the tomb of the young pharaoh after it was widely believed to be lost with time.
In 1938 in the midst of a historical sandstorm, Fredericks finally found the tomb and all the treasures that lay within it. Undisturbed for 3,000 years, King Ahkmenrah’s sarcophagus was buried along with his parents and a litany of ancient family artifacts. Most notably was the Tablet of Ahkmenrah, which before its discovery was believed to be something of legend and rumor.
Steven circled the room to get a glance at the other artifacts dug up from the tomb. Each had its own plaque explaining its meaning and significance. A collection of jewelry that was thought to be the pharaoh's accessories on the night he was crowned king, a group of textiles believed to have been woven by Ahkmenrah himself as a hobby, and a gnarly looking dagger with a curved blade. That particular display felt menacing enough that Steven moved on quickly. He knew the gist about what the informational plaque said.
Not much was known about Ahkmenrah’s untimely death other than the fact that he was assassinated by an adversary just a few months into his reign. Historians were at odds with one another about whom the adversary was. Some said it was his older brother Kahmunrah, while others believed it to be a spy sent by the Romans.
The blade on display was a replica. Admittedly Steven never dug too deeply into Ahkmenrah’s history. There just wasn’t much to know, the majority of his life was shrouded in mystery. From the small amount of research he did conduct, he learned that the real murder weapon was never found. Historians studied the mummified remains of the king to infer the size and shape of the weapon and recreated it based on that and other knowledge of the time period.
Finally, after what felt like minutes but could have easily been upwards of an hour, Steven made his way back to the central piece of the exhibit. The Tablet of Ahkmenrah.
The Tablet of Ahkmenrah was a sight to behold. He couldn’t read the inscriptions on it at this distance behind the yellow line, but that didn’t take away from its beauty. As intricate as the whole exhibit was, it was no question as to why this artifact was front and center. It rested just beyond the sarcophagus, about fifteen feet away. Steven couldn’t stop staring at it, as if entranced. The pull in his gut felt strongest here, but it didn’t urge him to move further. Looking at the tablet, he felt complete, somehow.
“It's beautiful, isn't it?”
Steven was startled out of his reverie by the question. At the entrance of the tomb a young man decked out in full Ancient Egyptian garb stood with a small smile. Another one of the museum's hired actors.
“Geez, how much do you think they pay this guy to walk around like that every night?” Marc piped up.
Steven cleared his throat to cover his flinch, sending a glare in the direction of Marc’s reflection in the glass encasing the sarcophagus. He hoped it got a clear message across that said I thought you were supposed to be sleeping.
When he realized the man was still waiting for a response, he said aloud, “Ehm, yeah. It’s really something.” Steven looked down, fiddling with the strap of his messenger bag. “Is this your exhibit then? You're…” he trailed off.
He wasn’t sure how to talk to the actors at the museum. He assumed they were there to make learning more interactive for the younger visitors, but was he supposed to play along, too? He'd heard stories about actors getting fired for breaking character at places like Disneyland (he'd never been of course, but Marc once mentioned something about a family vacation when he was very young).
Steven is saved from his indecisiveness when the actor speaks again.
“I am Ahkmenrah, fourth king of—.”
“Fourth king of the fourth king, right? The son of the Pharoah Merenkahre,” Steven finished for him.
Ahkmenrah looked taken aback. Then his smile turned curious. “Impressive. I see you've heard of me.” He sidled up next to Steven just before the striped yellow line.
Steven huffed lightly, looking down at his shoes. “I'm a bit of a history buff for Ancient Egypt, if I'm honest.” He looked up and met Ahkmenrah's curious gaze. “I'm Steven Grant. Of…London. Not nearly as interesting as your title, I'm afraid.”
Ahkmenrah laughed. A real, hearty laugh. It seemed to catch him off guard, and he covered his mouth with his hand as the sound echoed in the empty exhibit.
He looked young. He couldn't have been older than his early twenties. His costume was even more impressive up close. The jewels on the wesekh around his collar looked intricate and pristine, the fabric of his cape and kilt woven carefully and with high quality materials. The gold of his crown and bracelets gleamed in the light of the exhibit, pulling the whole outfit together. Maybe Steven was just a nerd (a voice that might or might not have been Marc’s reminded him that yes, you definitely are ) but he couldn't help being impressed by the attention to detail this museum put into selling the act.
“Well, Steven Grant of London, you have come a very long way. What brings you to the museum?”
Ahkmenrah's English accent was an interesting choice. Was it the actor's authentic accent, or was it a decision the museum made to make his character seem more like a man out of time? He supposed an ancient pharaoh wouldn't have an American accent.
“Museums have always been a happy place of mine. I used to work in a museum back home. As a gift shop attendant, not a tour guide, as much as I tried. I've got a lot of vacation time now since we went our separate ways.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
Memories of the jackal chasing him through the dark museum hallways threatened to resurface. The feeling of his fear from back then, the uncertainty of seeing Marc for the first time, the anxiety of Harrow's threatening presence. Marc’s steadying presence just on the edges of the front was enough to keep him anchored in the here and now. That was all in the past. He was a changed man, they all were.
“Simple really,” Steven replied. “I wanted a job and they wanted their very breakable, priceless, ancient artifacts in one piece.” Internally Marc laughed, and Steven felt a bolt of pride in his chest.
Ahkmenrah's eyebrows rose. He stole a quick glance at the displayed tablet. One of its corners was already badly chipped. Clearly whoever handled it in the past did not take the necessary care required to preserve the artifact. Catching the hint, Steven raised his hands placatingly.
“No need to worry, I am a recovered destruction artist. I will stay behind this line here, you have my word.” He crossed a hand over his heart for good measure.
Ahkmenrah's nervous expression softened into a smile again. “You seem like an interesting man, Steven Grant.”
“Likewise, mate.” They stood there for a beat in silent camaraderie until Steven said, “So, what can you tell me about the many mysteries of the Tablet of Ahkmenrah?”
The tablet glimmered, golden light peaking between the tiles. How did they do that? LED lights behind the display?
“Truthfully even I am not privy to all of its secrets.” Ahkmenrah explained. “My father kept the information close to his heart, with the promise that when I was older he would explain everything.”
It was a pretty good excuse. He could only know as much as the work of researchers revealed. Ahkmenrah was a good actor, Steven had to admit. He wondered how many scripted responses the museum’s actors had prepared. Surely they had to run out of material at some point.
“So, you don't know anything about it?”
“Nothing that you would believe.” Ahkmenrah crossed his arms, holding his elbows close to himself. He had a little quirk to his lips, like he was hiding something. It felt like a challenge.
“You'd be surprised how much it takes me to be a non-believer,” Steven pressed.
“Oh really?” Ahkmenrah looked him up and down appreciatively.
Steven shrugged, a bout of confidence overcoming him. Whatever Ahkmenrah was baiting, he'd bite. What was the harm? “Try me.”
Ahkmenrah considered him, then seemed to come to a decision. He leaned in closer to Steven. “What would you say if I told you this tablet contained the power to bring all the exhibits in this museum to life?”
There was a quirk to Ahkmenrah's lips as he waited for Steven's response. It was the type of smile that said this wasn't the first time he'd told someone this story. At that moment Steven decided that actor or not, he liked Ahkmenrah.
“I'd say that I've heard crazier things in my days.”
Ahkmenrah laughed again, and this time Steven laughed with him.
When their laughter subsided, Ahkmenrah shook his head. “You are something else, Steven Grant.”
“I'll take that as a compliment.”
Outside the exhibit, down the hall, another voice called, “Ahk! Are you around here, buddy?”
They both turned toward the voice as the sound of footsteps got closer.
“Sounds like you're being summoned.”
“That would be Larry. He's the brains of all this, so I should probably see to what he needs.” Ahkmenrah took an aborted step towards the exit of the exhibit, but he stopped and turned to face Steven again. “I recommend you visit the ocean life exhibit if you haven't already. It’s one of my favorites.”
Steven nodded. “I'll be sure to check it out then.”
Everything about Ahkmenrah was so…real. He had a personality, a history, even a favorite museum exhibit. It was genius, really. It gave people a reason to keep coming back to the museum, to meet all the exhibits and interact with them on a personal level.
Steven had seen a lot in the past year, gods and monsters alike. But if he were ever given the opportunity to speak to a real, live pharaoh, he would be over the moon.
Ahkmenrah held out a hand to Steven. “It has been a pleasure speaking with you.”
He reached out to return the handshake. “Same to y–” They touched, and any words on his lips died there.
A hot wind blew in from the open window. Moonlight spilled into a spacious bedroom, casting everything in an eerie silver glow. The taste of iron coated his tongue. Steven couldn’t breathe, an ache in his core kept him from pulling in a full breath. He looked down with eyes that were not his, groaning a garbled, agonized sound with vocal chords that did not belong to him as a dagger was unsheathed from his abdomen.
A curved dagger.
Above him was the face of a man. Somehow, he knew inherently this man to be his older brother. His features were twisted in fury, in delight, in cruelty. Steven fell back onto the bed, body going cold.
Blood bubbled up between his lips, clogging his throat and slurring his words. “Kah…” he implored. “Why?”
The dagger came down again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Until suddenly, he was somewhere else. In a tomb, with shimmering moonlight illuminating the space. A different figure stood above him, and this time Steven recognized it of his own accord. Skeleton-like limbs, mummy wrappings flowing in the breeze that seemed completely created. The skull of a bird with hollow, eyeless sockets.
Khonshu.
The god’s voice boomed in his ears, deep and all encompassing. “A life wasted. Cut short by the evil that boils beneath the skin of the living. I will give you a new purpose. In exchange for your life, you will become my warrior. Bind your very being to me—”
Steven yanked his hand back, stumbling away from Ahkmenrah. He was back in the museum. Had he even left? He looked around at the exhibit, taking in lungfuls of air because he could, because his insides were intact, he was not bleeding out. He looked back at Ahkmenrah.
Ahkmenrah was pale. His eyes were wide, as if seeing Steven in a new light. What had he seen? What was that?
“Steven, buddy, are you back with us?” Marc asked. He sounded closer to the front than before.
“Ahk?” That voice called again, and then a man in a night guard uniform turned the corner into the exhibit. He stopped abruptly when they both faced him in unison, a furrow forming in his brow. “Everything good here?”
Steven was rapidly slipping from the front. The lights flickered in his head, his fingers tingled, and he felt Marc at his back. “Alright, I think it’s time you tap out for the night.”
Steven couldn’t agree more. He looked between Ahkmenrah and the new guy… Larry? Was that his name? “Excuse me,” he mumbled, eyes glued to the ground as he beelined out of the exhibit.
He was already half out of it as he rushed down the hall. By the time he found the men’s restroom, Marc was already in the driver’s seat.
Marc gripped the edge of the sink hard. He took a steadying breath, waved his hand under the faucet to turn it on. He splashed lukewarm water on his cheeks and neck, gathering his bearings. They hadn’t had such a violent switch in a while.
It was unclear what caused it. Marc was only half conscious during the whole conversation with that Egyptian cosplayer. Steven seemed like he was handling it well, right up until he shook hands with the guy. Something happened then, something that caused a bolt of panic and fear and disorientation that Marc hadn’t felt from Steven in nearly a year.
He straightened up, checked under the two stalls to confirm they were truly alone in the bathroom.
“Steven?” Marc asked, turning to the mirror.
“Yeah, I’m here.” Steven said. In the reflection he looked pale, frazzled. He was thinner in the inner world, slightly younger than Marc.
“You wanna tell me what that was back there?”
“I…I don’t know. I saw something. When we touched it was like I saw a vision or something."
Marc raised his brow. “A vision?” He couldn’t quite keep the doubt out of his voice.
“I’m not taking the piss, it was real!” Steven insisted. He stepped closer in the reflection. “It was like I was in Ahkmenrah’s body, back when he was murdered.”
Marc dragged a hand down his face. This was supposed to be a vacation. A time for them all to relax and get to know each other better as a system, or whatever. Now here they were, talking about visions of an ancient, long dead pharaoh.
“You know that guy was just an actor, right?”
“Of course I know that! But it doesn’t change what I saw. I was in his body, Marc. I was there when his brother killed him. I saw—” Steven abruptly cut himself off. He looked away from Marc, his expression pinched.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.” Steven had always been a shit liar, and right then was no exception.
“It’s nothing?” Marc pressed.
With a huff, Steven gave in. “Well, it’s not nothing but it’s…I don’t want to upset you.”
“Nothing is gonna upset me more than you keeping something from me.” He inhaled, and tried to soften his tone when he spoke next. “Hey, can you look at me?”
Steven looked up at him, his chin dipped low. Marc felt dread pooling in his stomach, and he wasn’t sure if it was his own or Steven’s.
“I didn’t just see Ahkmenrah’s murder. In the vision I saw…” He hesitated again, and Marc refrained from urging him to just spit it out. “I saw Khonshu.”
Marc staggered back, grabbed the edge of the sink again. Would they never be rid of this? Of him?
Steven spoke faster, the words coming out now as if of their own accord. “Marc, whatever I saw, whoever this Ahkmenrah person is, actor or not, he’s got something to do with Khonshu. And I think we need to find out how.”
He could see the resolution on Steven’s face. There was no getting out of this one, was there?
Marc sighed. “Son of a bitch.”