Archive of Our Own ^beta

Khonshu gazed out at the endless horizon, listening to his avatar converse with the other. His words made him pause, the helpless resignation in his tone making him bristle with memory. “I remember that night,” Khonshu murmured softly, almost to himself. “I remember every night,”

His avatar, Steven, and the other, Layla, exchanged glances before making their way up the dune to where he stood. “Khonshu?” The alter called out.

“I can turn back the night sky,” the god rumbled.

“How?” Steven asked—the nerve of him. Did he not remember who exactly he was talking to? Khonshu pushed the offense aside, focusing rather on the fatal flaw in his plan. “It comes at a cost,” he paused before admitting. “ And I cannot do it alone,” 

The cost–for both of them–was high. Khonshu knew that his fellow gods would not take kindly to see the sky reversed, but if this was the only way to find Ammit’s tomb, then he would take it no matter the risk. For Steven though… it was a bit dangerous, if he were to be honest. Turning back the sky was never an easy feat, least of all for a mortal. 

Ignoring that crucial fact, he let his form solidify so that the mortal could see him. “Steven,” he said, realizing in the back of his mind that this was the first time he had ever addressed the alter by name. “When the gods imprison me, tell Marc to free me,”

The parasite only gave a brief nod, before facing forward. The ridiculous three-piece suit appeared as he closed his eyes, and Khonshu couldn’t help but scoff internally. In all his centuries of avatars, each with their uniquely designed suits tailored to fit their distinct personalities, Steven’s was by far the most absurd. It had no bearings of a warrior—he looked as though he were heading to a party. 

Utterly ridiculous. 

Biting back the urge to comment on the man’s suit, Khonshu instead focused on the task at hand. “Do what I do,” he instructed.

He raised both his hands and Steven followed clumsily. He let his power seep out, his avatar acting as a conduit. The sky lit up, stars shining brighter than ever, and the world began to rotate.

“Woah,” Steven breathed, voice shaky with wonder. “This is mental!”

Khonshu laughed quietly at the man’s childlike awe. If he were to be honest, the wonder in Steven’s voice warmed his heart. His behavior reminded Khonshu of how the little fledgling birds acted on their first flight—hesitant, clumsy, yet undeniably determined. It was then he realized how true this analogy actually was. Steven was, in fact, the youngest of his three sons in the life of being his avatar. This was new for him. Like his first flight. 

He turned back to the sky, eyeing the stars, watching as some reappeared while others grew stronger as time was reversed. “This,” he murmured, stopping his hand. “This is the night,”

“Surprisingly painful,” Steven wheezed out, straining, as he struggled to keep the stars in place.

Quietly to himself, Khonshu let out an amused chuckle, staring at the worm—no—at his son with adoration. The ability to turn back the night sky was hard, if not impossible to achieve for a mere mortal—even with his aid. Many of his previous avatars had failed, fainting from the exertion. But here was Steven, standing, hand outstretched, doing what no mortal had done before. 

Pride swelled up in his chest, a warmth that even the coldness of his upcoming doom could not dull. He had never expected this. In truth, he’d never imagined that any human could do this—could reach beyond their fragile limits and grasp the power of the sky itself. But Steven—clumsy, weak, absolutely annoying Steven—had done the impossible. He had proven himself capable in a way none of Khonshu’s previous avatars had ever managed.

The god paused, watching as his son held the night sky, struggling, but still steady.

My son, he thought again, surprised by the term he was using to describe this odd, peculiar man. 

This mortal who had stumbled into his service, a simple slip of control on Marc’s part, now stood on the brink of greatness. A mere mortal… and yet, Khonshu felt the connection that he usually reserved for a few. I chose well .

But that moment of pride was abruptly interrupted as a sharp stab of pain lanced through him, a cruel reminder of the price he was about to pay. He cried out, vision blurring as he felt his energy slowly sucked out of him. He gasped, falling to his knees, the world feeling distant and heavy as if gravity had turned against him. His body got weaker as his fellow gods started the ritual, their chanting echoing in his ears as he felt his power—his essence—slowly be encased in stone. 

“I feel my energy leaving me,” he groaned before his and Steven’s arm fell. He struggled trying to keep his hand up, despite being on his knees, but it was hard. The torment was pure agony. His power was being drawn out of him, leaving him weaker as the seconds passed, a sinking sensation that left him breathless. 

This… this is too much.

He knew that the ritual was to drain him, but the intensity of the loss and anguish left him reeling. Every ounce of his being was being sucked out of him in a slow, relentless pull as his entirety was trapped within stone. Yet, despite the agony, he kept his eyes on Steven. 

He’s still holding the stars.

Steven’s mask had disappeared, but still, the mortal fought through, shaking, but still keeping his hand outstretched. He’s tied to me, Khonshu realized with a start. The realization made him sick. If he was in this much pain, how much was Steven? With every ounce of remaining power he had, Khonshu focused on his son, directing the last bit of energy to maintain the boy’s suit.

“I don't know how much longer I can do this,” his son wheezed, arm shaking as the sky, relentless and wild as it was, yearned to go back to the present.

“I got it!” Layla cried out, excited. She turned towards Steven, eyes filled with relief. “25 degrees north, 25 east”

At her words, Steven fell to the ground with a gasp, the sky returning back to its previous state. His son then turned, crawling on all fours to look at him. Through the pain, Khonshu could see the worried expression on his avatar’s face. The fact that even though Steven was hurting, he still had it in him to be concerned for the eroding god, made Khonshu’s heart swell with adoration. This boy was something.

He felt his body crumble as his soul was trapped in the ushabti. He attempted to smile at the boy in hopes of comforting the child, but he realized he could not—not anymore. With one last cry, he faded into oblivion, his conscience gone, nothing but the moon—silent eternal, his constant companion—up above to remember him.

The stars might fade, but the moon would remember

.

.

.

When he came to, he stared at the walls of the small enclosure, reaching out to his avatar, but was met by emptiness—the faint, lingering presence of Anubis confirming his fears. Sadness settled within him. He had not just lost one son, but rather three. He continued on, pretending to be fine, when in reality there was a growing ache gnawing at his chest. Yet, somehow, against all odds, Marc came back. How? Khonshu had no idea, nor did he care for details. Marc was back, as well as the others. If he could smile, he would have. 

As he was mid-conversation with Marc, Steven fronted. Khonshu ignored the burst of fatherly adoration that followed as he saw the familiar three-piece suit. “Steven Grant, I was not speaking to you,”

Steven had only chuckled, saying they were a ‘package deal’. His son then went on, asking about a deal—the deal that Khonshu loathed with his entire being—and with great reluctance, he finally agreed.

“I would release you both.” he agreed, purposely adding the last word. “You have my word.”

Steven had nodded, oblivious to the well-crafted wording he had used. They were oblivious about the third, meaning that Khonshu still had a grasp on his sons. He would not let them go so easily. He was a protector after all, a possessive one at that. 

“Um… now how the heck are we gonna get to Cairo?” Steven asked, looking around like a lost chick. 

Khonshu let out a quiet, amused chuckle, turning to look at his younger son. “You forget, little worm,” he chided, “I am still the god of the night sky!”

He realized his blunder and quickly added, “Hurry up, idiots,” unwilling to show himself off as soft. 

Marc had fronted already, but still, it was better to say that than get Steven thinking the wrong idea. (It was, in fact, the right idea, not that he would admit it)

And if there was a hint of endearment in his voice as he called Steven the nickname, well… that was Khonshu’s little secret he would take to the grave.