I stood there in disbelief, staring for what felt like hours. Was this Henry—my Henry—or some ancestor who shared his name? Questions flooded my mind like a relentless tide. Who was this woman? Was she my mother? And what connection did she have to Henry? Why could she see me while others remained oblivious?
I scanned the room for more clues—artifacts, murals, anything—but nothing seemed to hold answers. My eyes trailed the crowd until they landed on a man with a striking Ra tattoo. He stood beside a pyramid display, his posture too casual for the sacred space, and a woman—Miranda—approached him with a sharp, familiar tone.
"Anhur, you know better than to touch delicate artifacts," she chided.
He laughed, completely unbothered. "How else would I get you to come over?" Before she could respond, he pulled her into a passionate kiss. She pushed him away quickly, her cheeks flushing.
"None of that at work," she snapped, brushing him off. "I'm off in a few minutes."
As she disappeared toward what I assumed was the workers' lounge, I felt compelled to follow. I drifted inside, weightless and unsure, like a shadow tethered to their presence. Watching her grab her coat, I struggled to find the right words. All I managed was a hesitant, "Um…"
Miranda turned, unimpressed. "No. I'm not delivering a message to a loved one for you. This isn't a movie. If you don't leave, you'll regret it."
Her curt response caught me off guard. I wasn't leaving without answers. "How can you see me?" I asked, desperate.
She sighed, her sharp demeanor softening slightly. "I've been able to see spirits since I was a kid. It's more annoying than you think." She paused, scrutinizing me more carefully. "But you're different. You're not like the others."
"What do you mean?" I pressed.
"You're not stuck replaying your death. You're… aware."
Her words sent a chill through me. I hadn't even realized my throat had been slit—how had I been speaking perfectly? "I need help. I was murdered a few days ago, and the killer is still out there."
Miranda's expression shifted. For the first time, there was something like sympathy in her eyes. "Alright, I'll help you," she said, moving closer.
Relief washed over me—until something felt wrong. As her hand reached for me, a sharp, unbearable pain coursed through my body. "What are you doing?" I gasped.
"An exorcism," she replied flatly.
Panic surged as energy vibrated between us. I couldn't let Malik get away with killing Henry—or me. My body reacted instinctively. A purple glow erupted from within me, blasting Miranda backward into the wall.
Before I could process the thought, the door slammed open, and Anhur burst in, his eyes blazing.
"Where did that energy come from?" he demanded, his tattoos glowing bright yellow. The room seemed to warp around him as golden energy oozed from his body, forming the image of a lion.
Miranda stirred, groaning as she sat up. Her voice was calm but firm. "Anhur, stop. It's under control."
Gradually, he stood down, his lion's form fading as his tattoos dimmed. His narrowed eyes locked onto me. "You're no mere ghost," he said. "You're a banshee."
The word hung in the air like a knife. "A banshee?" I whispered, still trying to process everything. "But… what are you two?"
Miranda glanced at Anhur, who was still glaring at me as if I were prey. She sighed, crossing her arms. "I'm a psychic. And he"—she gestured toward him—"is a member of the Order."
My eyebrows shot up. "The Order? Weren't they around, like, 400 years ago?"
Anhur scoffed, the glow of his tattoos fading completely. "Silly. My ancestors were part of the original Order. Every firstborn of their bloodlines inherits the calling."
I frowned, curiosity overtaking my fear. "So, what's with the lion?"
His expression darkened, his voice low and measured. "Because the original members of the Order weren't just ordinary humans. They became monsters disguised as men, transformed by the Domain Rulers."
"Domain Rulers?" I echoed.
He nodded, his gaze distant as if recounting an ancient tale. "Before the Veil, monsters roamed freely alongside humans. They killed, mated, and fed on them, leaving chaos in their wake. Crossbreeding led to certain humans developing rare callings—abilities tied to the supernatural. These gifted humans joined forces with witches to create the Veil."
Miranda leaned against the wall, her exhaustion showing as she added, "The Veil isn't just a barrier; it's a system governed by twelve Rulers. Each Ruler controls a spectrum of reality—death, time, space, and so on. But they're not benevolent. They were bound to the Veil to maintain balance, and their souls were fused with human seeds."
Anhur's voice turned solemn. "The witches and the Order sacrificed themselves to bind the Rulers, ensuring their powers were passed down through generations. Every Order member carries the heart of a Ruler within them."
"I have the Heart of Ra"
The weight of his words settled over me like a shroud. "So, you're saying… every generation of the Order is tied to these Rulers?"
"Yes," he replied, locking eyes with me. "And with each generation, the connection strengthens. My lion is not a mere guardian—it's the manifestation of the Ruler's soul bound to my bloodline."
Miranda ran a hand through her hair, her voice quieter. "The Veil isn't perfect. Sometimes… things slip through. That's why the Order still exists—to keep the balance, to prevent another collapse."
I stared at them, my mind spinning. Monsters disguised as humans. Twelve Rulers governing reality. And somehow, I was a part of this supernatural chess game.
The weight of my new reality was starting to take shape "And what about me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "What does being a banshee mean in all of this?"
Miranda exchanged a glance with Anhur. For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. "Just like the Order, you're descended from one of the seven witches," he said. "And that makes you dangerous—to both sides."
A bitter laugh escaped me. "Dangerous? Maybe if I were still alive."
Miranda glanced at Anhur. He scratched the back of his head, the faintest hint of a worry tugging at his lips. "The thing is I'm positive you are," he muttered.