THE UNDERWORLD
Zyran, son of Anubis, lounged lazily on a cushioned divan, one arm draped over the back while his long black tail flicked idly over the floor.
His panther-like ears twitched as the distant murmurs of the underworld seeped into his chamber, but he paid them no mind.
Instead, he toyed with a golden pendant between his fingers, the ankh symbol warm against his skin.
The dim torchlight cast shifting shadows over the sandstone walls, reflecting the smirk playing on his lips.
Before him, a scrying bowl shimmered with visions of the mortal realm—pitiful creatures scurrying through their short lives, blissfully unaware of the divine forces watching them.
Zyran exhaled a slow, amused breath, rolling his shoulders.
His tail curled lazily around his leg as he reached for a goblet of wine, taking an unhurried sip.
"Mortals are so predictable," he mused, voice smooth as silk. "But they do make for entertaining distractions."
