In his eyes, there is no servant more loyal than the night; it always arrives on time and departs on time, never betraying. The passing winds may seem ordinary, but when they weave through the pyramids of Giza, they transform into flying messengers, whispering the symbols that have been buried for thousands of years in your ears – past events eroded bit by bit by the wind blown sands.
He is accustomed to standing on top of The Sphinx on nights with a crescent moon, this colossal reclining monolith with the boldness of connecting heaven and earth. He knows this stone as intimately as he knows his own flesh and blood.
He has long forgotten the warmth and appearance of the sun, only able to vaguely recall the last sunrise in his memory from the sparse moonlight. He stood on the Sphinx for hours; his beige windbreaker billowing on both sides, like a pair of wings about to unfold. His body remained motionless, as if the massive stone beneath his feet had transferred its absolute solidity to him, intending to assimilate him as its own.
There was a disturbance at his feet as several stray cats that came from nowhere gathered together. They raised their heads and issued low meows, creating a symphony of feline sounds. The leading black cat licked its injured front paw and gazed up at him with a strange, hopeful look.
His eyelashes merely moved slightly as he extended his left hand in a seemingly casual manner.
A dewdrop-like light fell from his fingertips onto the black cat's head, transforming into a cute smooth and round bubble, which wrapped the little thing comically, then rose from the ground and floated to him like a helium balloon. The cat's round eyes, reflecting the clean coldness of the moonlight, fell on his face. The injured cat's paw was trembling slightly, blood flowing from the badly festering wound.
Gently cradling the floating kitty, he slid his fingers along the outer surface of the transparent and smooth sphere.
"Does it hurt?" His lips moved slightly.
The black cat meowed in response.
"I understand."
His gaze, initially devoid of any discernible emotion, suddenly softened. The sliding fingers came to a halt, and his fingertips gently pinched the bubble.
Thump. A faint sound. Only if you strained your ears could you hear it.
The black cat ceased breathing, the still-warm body coming to rest in his palm like the last fallen leaf in the autumn wind.
"That's better." He set down its lifeless form. "Death is another life."
Death is another life.
This is what he often says.
In the wind, an ancient nursery rhyme softly sang—
The warehouse is filled to the brim, grains rolling off the edge.
The big boat is also packed full, grains spilling outside.
Yet, we still must carry it, not a single grain to be forgotten.
For Anubis is under the moon, and he will take away the lazy
babies.
Anubis is under the moon...
He closed his eyes, listening quietly.
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