A week had passed since the battle with the Destroyer. The city was still recovering—destroyed buildings were being rebuilt, rubble was being cleared, and the media was abuzz with theories about what exactly had happened.

  The official line was: "An experimental military weapon gone rogue." No one mentioned gods, rainbow bridges, or golden-eyed bartenders who manipulated sand.

  Anubis was glad about this.

  He stood behind the counter at Eternity on his usual evening shift, polishing glasses and watching the few customers. Life was returning to normal, and it was... nice.

  "Andy," Sarah called out, passing by with a tray of dirty plates. "Table four wants the check."

  - I'm bringing it.

  She paused, studying his face.

  — Are you okay? After... well, you know.

  - I'm fine, Sarah.

  "It's just," she hesitated. "I don't know exactly what happened last week. And honestly, I'm not sure I want to know. But if you need to talk..."

  Anubis smiled, warmly and sincerely.

  - Thank you. But really, everything is fine.

  Sarah nodded and left, but her concern was understandable. He'd disappeared during the attack, returned bloodied and battered, and then acted as if nothing had happened.

  Good people notice things like this.

  The bar door opened, letting in a gust of cold air and... a familiar figure.

  Jane Foster walked in alone, without Darcy or Eric, looking like she hadn't slept in days. There were dark circles under her eyes, her hair was pulled back into a messy bun, and her clothes were rumpled.

  Anubis recognized the sight immediately. Grief. Fresh, sharp, painful.

  "Doctor Foster," he greeted softly. "What brings you here at such a late hour?"

  She walked silently to the counter and sat down heavily on a chair.

  — Whiskey. The strongest you have.

  Anubis didn't ask any questions. He simply poured her a double from his finest bottle and placed it in front of her.

  Jane drained the glass in one gulp, winced, and exhaled.

  - More.

  "Jane," Anubis began cautiously. "Maybe we should talk first?"

  "What should I talk about?" Her voice wavered. "About me falling in love with a god who came home to another dimension? About him never even saying goodbye properly? About me looking up at the sky every night, hoping to see a rainbow bridge, but there's none?"

  She laid her head on the counter.

  "I'm stupid. I know I'm stupid. We only knew each other for a few days. But he was... he was..."

  "Special," Anubis finished for her, pouring her water instead of whiskey. "He was the light in your life. The one who made you feel something you'd never felt before."

  Jane raised her head, looking at him with wet eyes.

  - How do you know?

  "I've lived for five thousand years, Doctor Foster," Anubis leaned across the counter. "I've seen all kinds of love. Short and long. Happy and tragic. Mortal and divine. And I can tell you one thing—feelings don't become less real the longer they last."

  “But how can I… how can I just go on living, knowing that he’s there,” she pointed up, “and I’m here, and there’s a whole universe between us?”

  Anubis was silent for a second, then said quietly:

  "Her name was Inpu. She was a priestess in the Temple of Ra, three thousand years ago. She had eyes the color of night and a laugh that could dispel any darkness."

  Jane sat up straight, listening.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  "I met her when I descended to earth in human form. I wanted to understand the mortals I judged after death. She... she taught me what it means to live. To truly live, not just exist."

  — What happened to her?

  "What happens to all mortals," Anubis's voice grew quieter. "She died. Of illness. I was there, holding her hand. I—the god of the dead, the guardian of souls—could not save her. She asked me not to interfere, said it would be selfish of her to live forever while everyone she loved died."

  He poured himself a glass of water, taking a sip.

  "I escorted her soul to the afterlife. I weighed her heart on the scales of truth, and it was lighter than a feather. She deserved heaven. And I let her go, though every cell in my being wanted to hold on."

  "This..." Jane wiped away her tears. "This is terrible."

  “Yes,” Anubis agreed. “But it was also beautiful. Because those years with her taught me what millennia in the afterlife couldn’t—that love isn’t measured by time. It’s measured by depth. Intensity. By how it changes us.”

  He looked at Jane with his golden eyes.

  "Thor changed you. You changed him. These few days were real. And no distance can take that away from you."

  “But I still miss him,” Jane whispered.

  "Of course you miss me," Anubis handed her a napkin. "And you will miss me. But pain is the price of love, Doctor Foster. And in my opinion, it's worth every tear."

  Jane wiped her eyes and took a deep breath.

  — How are you coping? After so many losses?

  “I remember,” Anubis answered simply. “I remember every smile, every laugh, every moment of happiness. And I continue to live because that’s what they would have wanted. Inpu told me before she died: ‘Don’t turn your love for me into a cage. Let it become wings.’”

  "Wings," Jane repeated, a faint smile appearing on her face. "It's beautiful."

  - She was a beautiful person.

  They sat in silence for several minutes, each lost in their own thoughts.

  “Thank you,” Jane finally said. “For the story. For your understanding.”

  "You're welcome," Anubis put the glasses away. "Although I'd prefer if you didn't need this conversation."

  “Me too,” she stood up, already looking a little better. “How much do I owe?”

  — Nothing. The first therapy session is on the house.

  Jane laughed, wetly but genuinely.

  - You are an unusual god, Anubis.

  “I’m trying,” he said, walking her to the door. “And, Jane? He’ll be back. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But he’ll be back. People like you aren’t forgotten. Not even the gods.”

  She nodded, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and walked off into the night.

  Anubis returned behind the counter, looking thoughtfully at the door.

  "A romantic soul," Sarah commented, emerging from the back room. "Who would have thought the god of the dead believed in love?"

  - Sarah, were you eavesdropping?

  "Absolutely," she said, not looking guilty. "You told her about Inpu. You never tell her about Inpu."

  Anubis looked at her in surprise.

  - Where are you from...

  "Boss, I've been working for you for three years," Sarah rolled her eyes. "You think I don't notice the way you stare at that old amulet you hide in your drawer? Or the way you go silent when someone mentions Egypt? I didn't know the details, but it was obvious someone had been there."

  Anubis was silent, then grinned.

  - You are too perceptive for your own good.

  — Is this a compliment?

  - Absolutely.

  Sarah moved closer, lowering her voice.

  — Are you okay? After everything that happened last week?

  "Honestly?" Anubis leaned against the counter. "I don't know. I spent so much time trying to be normal. Just a bartender, just Andy. And then Thor came along, and the Destroyer, and I became... who I was again."

  - And how was it?

  Anubis thought.

  — Scary. Exciting. A reminder of who I really am. I thought I buried that part of myself, but it's still here. Dormant, but not dead.

  "Maybe that's a good thing," Sarah said carefully. "Maybe you didn't have to hide her. Maybe you can be both—bartender and god."

  "Perhaps," Anubis agreed. "Although one requires far less drama than the other."

  The door opened again, and a middle-aged couple entered. Sarah went to greet them, while Anubis remained behind the counter, preparing cocktails for the customers.

  His hands moved mechanically, but his thoughts were far away.

  Sarah was right. A week ago, he'd returned to his roots, tapping into powers he'd not used in decades. And a part of him—small but persistent—wanted more. Wanted to be a warrior again, a protector, a god in the truest sense of the word.

  But another part, the larger part, wanted peace. Wanted this bar, these ordinary evenings, these simple human connections.

  Is it possible to have both?

  His thoughts were interrupted by a sound—quiet, almost inaudible. A whisper in the air that wasn't the wind. A voice that wasn't a voice.

  Guardian.

  Anubis froze, the glass frozen in his hand.

  Guardian of souls, we call upon you.

  It was... unusual. Very unusual. For thousands of years, no one had called upon him directly. The Egyptian gods were forgotten, their temples in ruins, their names consigned to history.

  "Who are you?" he answered mentally, without moving his lips.

  Souls lost between worlds. We cannot find the way. Help us, Guardian.

  Anubis carefully set the glass down, feeling his divine instincts awaken. Lost souls. This wasn't supposed to happen. Every soul had a path, every dead person knew the way to the afterlife.

  If souls were lost, it meant that something had disturbed the natural order.

  "Sarah," he called, already removing his apron. "I need to step out for a few hours."

  "Now?" She looked at him in surprise. "But we just opened, and..."

  "It's important," his voice was serious. "Very important. Can you handle it alone?"

  Sarah studied his face and nodded.

  - Of course. Go. Do... whatever the gods do.

  - Thank you.

  Anubis stepped out the back door into the alley behind the bar. Darkness enveloped him, and he let his human mask slip. Golden light illuminated his eyes, and sand began to swirl around his feet.

  Lead me, he ordered the souls.

  The sensation drew him north, to the edge of the city, where an old cemetery stood next to a new construction site. Anubis moved quickly, using the sand to navigate the shadows, invisible to mortal eyes.

  The cemetery was old—moss-covered tombstones, angels with broken wings, rusty gates. A place where the boundary between the worlds of the living and the dead was thinner.

  And there, among the graves, Anubis saw them.

  Souls. Dozens of souls, glowing with a ghostly light, wandering aimlessly. They looked confused, frightened. Some were crying, some were calling out names that no longer existed.

  Anubis stopped at the entrance to the cemetery, watching.

  "This is wrong," he muttered. "Very wrong."

  He stepped forward, and his presence rolled across the cemetery like a wave. The souls froze, turning to him.

  "I am here," Anubis said, his voice both soft and commanding. "I am the guardian. I will guide you."

  One soul, an elderly woman, approached him.

  “I don’t understand,” her voice echoed. “I’m dead, but… but I don’t know where to go. Everything is so confusing. So dark.”

  “I know,” Anubis extended his hand, and golden light enveloped it. “But no more. I will show you the way.”

  He began a ritual he hadn't performed in centuries. Ancient words in the language of the pharaohs poured from his lips, and the sand formed glowing symbols in the air.

  One by one, the souls began to find peace. Anubis spoke to each one, calming them, guiding them. This was his true calling—not a warrior, not a protector, but a guide. One who helps the dead find their way home.

  But as the last soul dissolved, heading for the afterlife, Anubis sensed something else. A presence. Something watching him.

  He turned around sharply, his hands already forming sand blades.

  A figure stood at the edge of the cemetery. Tall, wearing a dark cloak, his face hidden in shadow.

  "Who's there?" Anubis demanded.

  The figure did not move.

  "Anubis, guardian of the dead," the voice was low, with an accent Anubis couldn't place. "I've been watching you for a long time."

  — Show yourself.

  "Not today," the figure began to retreat into the shadows. "But soon. Soon we will meet, and you will understand why souls are lost. Why order is being disrupted."

  "Stop!" Anubis rushed forward, but the figure vanished like smoke.

  The cemetery fell silent again.

  Anubis stood alone, clenching his fists. Something was wrong. Souls weren't lost without reason. And this being, whoever it was, knew better.

  Problems, he thought gloomily. More problems.

  He returned to the bar an hour later, still pensive. Sarah met him at the door.

  — Is everything okay? You look... worried.

  "Just a few surprises," Anubis put his apron back on. "Nothing serious."

  But it was a lie. He felt it in his bones, in the very core of his divine being.

  Something big was approaching. Something that would affect not only him, but the entire world.

  The battle with the Destroyer was only the beginning.

  And Anubis, god of the dead, Manhattan's bartender, realized that his quiet days were truly over.

  There was a storm ahead.