As Cleo steps back into the room, her hands balancing a tray of coffee and pastries, her eyes instinctively seek out Steven, who now occupies the driver's seat of their shared body. The sight that greets her sends a shiver down her spine. Steven's slouched shoulders and heavy breathing betray the weight he carries within. Tears threaten to spill from his eyes, pooling like liquid despair around the edges.

"Steven," she utters softly, her voice filled with concern and tenderness.

His voice trembles as he whispers, his words a fragile confession laden with confusion and fear, "I don't remember how I got here. I don't... I-I don't."

Cleo's heart wrenches as she witnesses the fragility of Steven's grasp on reality. The lines between their individual experiences blur, leaving them both suspended in a disorienting haze. Yet, she remains resolute, determined to anchor them both in the strength of their connection.

"Steven," Cleo repeats, her voice filled with gentle conviction.

She empties her hands, then reaches out, her fingers intertwining with his trembling ones. She steps closer, standing in front of him, offering solace in her presence.

"It's okay," She assures him, her voice laced with compassion and understanding, "It was Marc. Marc came home this morning."

"It wasn't me... I don't remember anything."

Cleo's grip tightens, her hands a lifeline anchoring them amidst the tempest of their minds. She senses the depths of Steven's vulnerability, the haunting fear of the unknown that permeates their existence. With each passing moment, the enigma of their shared identity grows more complex, testing the bounds of their resilience. Seeking to offer comfort, Cleo pulls Steven into her embrace, allowing him to lean heavily against her, his breath ragged against her shoulder. Her touch is gentle, her hand rubbing soothing circles on his back. But as her eyes happen to wander toward the mirror in front of them, a chilling realization strikes her.

Reflected in the glass is not just Cleo holding Steven, but an ominous presence towering over them both. Khonshu looms with an otherworldly aura, casting an unsettling shadow across the room. Cleo's breath catches in her throat, and her embrace tenses in an instant.

Her entire body turns in a swift motion, her gaze darting to the space behind her, hoping to find solace in the familiarity of her surroundings. But all she is met with is an empty, barren wall, devoid of any tangible presence.

Nothing is there.

Nobody is here.

" Did you see that?" She whispers in disbelief.

" She what, love?"

Cleo's throat goes dry. She swallows a thick lump as she exhales a shaky breath.

" Nothing," Cleo sighs, " Thought I saw something."

Cleo stands at the threshold of her temporary sanctuary, her heart pounding within her chest, a symphony of anticipation and apprehension reverberating through her veins. Her hands tremble slightly as she gathers her belongings, her fingertips brushing against the familiar objects that ground her in a reality that seems increasingly tenuous. Her gaze flickers toward the mirror one final time, a silent plea for strength and resilience. The reflective surface taunts her, holding a distorted image of her own reflection and the dark, looming figure of Khonshu. With a deep breath, Cleo straightens her spine, her eyes blazing with a defiant resolve. She refuses to succumb to the shadows that encroach upon her mind and soul.

The bustling streets of Cairo surround them, a vibrant tapestry of life that stretches in all directions. The city's symphony of sounds envelops them, the cacophony of voices, honking horns, and haggling merchants blending into a distant hum. It is as if the universe itself conspires to quiet the external distractions, allowing Cleo and Steven to focus on the weighty purpose that propels them forward.

Above them, the scorching sun beats down relentlessly, casting its fiery gaze upon the city. The searing rays paint their skin with a warm glow, and yet, the shadows they cast seem to mirror the enigmatic journey that lies ahead. Long and distorted, the silhouettes stretch and twist, dancing along the pavement like ethereal accomplices to their quest. Cleo and Steven walk with measured steps, their pace synchronized, their hearts beating in unison.

The air is heavy with the scent of spices and dust, a sensory reminder of the ancient land that breathes beneath the modern facade. A gentle breeze sweeps through the streets, carrying whispers of forgotten tales and whispered promises of transformation. It brushes against Cleo's cheeks, cooling the fervor of her mind while simultaneously stirring the embers of her trepidation.

Soon enough, they reach the Jeep that will take them through the desert. Their bags are tossed in the back and Cleo is sat behind the wheel as Steven takes his seat next to her.

As the Jeep cuts through the congested city streets, the urban chaos gradually fades into the background. The once-boisterous symphony of Cairo transforms into a distant melody, replaced by the steady hum of the engine and the rhythmic sound of tires rolling over the pavement. The world outside becomes a blur, the passing buildings and bustling crowds reduced to mere glimpses of color and motion. With each passing mile, the city's grip loosens, and Cleo feels a sense of liberation washing over her. The vast expanse of the desert looms before them, a canvas of golden sand stretching infinitely toward the horizon. The scorching sun casts its relentless gaze upon the landscape, turning the dunes into undulating waves of heat and light. The air grows dry, the desert wind whispering ancient secrets as it whips through Cleo's hair, brushing against her cheeks with an almost ethereal touch.

But amidst the arid beauty of the desert, an unseen presence lingers. Cleo steals a glance at the rearview mirror, her heart catching in her throat. There, standing atop a distant sand dune, is Khonshu. His figure is both ethereal and imposing, his skull without eyes holds an intensity that sends a chill down her spine. As quickly as he appears, he vanishes, only to reappear moments later in a different location, his haunting visage flickering in and out of Cleo's vision.

The sight of Khonshu sends a shiver through Cleo's being, but she remains determined to shield Steven from this disturbing apparition. Glancing at him, she notices his focused gaze fixed straight ahead, unaware of the god's intermittent presence. Cleo's heart aches for him, knowing that he bears the weight of their shared experiences without the same visual confirmation. It is a solitary burden he carries, reinforced only by the frail, withered voice of Khonshu, a voice that Cleo herself cannot hear.

The drive through the desert is both a physical and metaphysical journey. Cleo feels the weight of the shifting sands beneath the Jeep's tires, each bump and jolt reverberating through her body. The landscape becomes a surreal blend of muted colors, the vibrant hues of the city replaced by earthy tones and shimmering mirages. The heat permeates the air, making every breath feel like a challenge, yet Cleo persists, her determination driving her forward.

With every passing mile, Khonshu's apparitions become more frequent and pronounced. Cleo's heart quickens each time she steals a glance in the mirror, catching glimpses of his imposing figure standing defiantly against the desert backdrop. The god seems to toy with her, appearing and disappearing in a haunting dance of presence and absence. Cleo's knuckles turn white as she tightens her grip on the steering wheel, her focus unwavering, determined to steer them closer to their destination despite the ethereal presence that haunts them.

As they venture deeper into the desert, Cleo's thoughts become intertwined with the enigmatic nature of their journey. She contemplates the ancient civilizations that once thrived in this arid expanse, their whispers carried by the wind.

Cleo's grip on the steering wheel tightens further, her knuckles turning white under the strain. The tension in the air becomes palpable, a weight that threatens to suffocate her as they venture deeper into the desert's embrace. The relentless sun beats down upon them, its fiery gaze intensifying, mirroring the rising unease within Cleo's heart.

Each time she steals a glance in the rearview mirror, Khonshu's presence grows more pronounced, more persistent. The god's figure looms larger, his silhouette commanding the sand dunes like an ancient sentinel. He appears and disappears in a macabre dance, a spectral phantom haunting Cleo's every movement. Her breath catches in her throat as she spots him once again.

"Steven," Cleo murmurs, her voice strained, "Can you hear him?"

Steven's brows furrow in confusion, his gaze focused on the barren desert landscape stretching before them.

"Hear who? What are you talking about, Cleo?"

Her heart sinks, the weight of their disconnect pressing upon her like an unbearable burden. She had hoped that by now, their shared experiences would transcend the boundaries of perception, but it seems that Khonshu's whispers remain a clandestine conversation between god and mortal.

"Nothing," Cleo mutters, her voice tinged with frustration. "Just... thought I heard something."

Steven's so used to voices within his head, that he doesn't realize the one outlier.

The Jeep cuts through the desert with an almost desperate urgency, leaving a trail of swirling dust in its wake. Cleo's knuckles turn even whiter as her grip on the wheel tightens, her determination fueling her onward. The anticipation and apprehension that had simmered within her veins now surge to the surface, electrifying the air around them.

The desert stretches out like a labyrinthine maze, its shifting dunes and treacherous terrain a constant reminder of their vulnerability. Cleo's eyes dart from the road ahead to the rearview mirror, her heart pounding in sync with the engine's steady roar. With each passing moment, Khonshu's apparitions become more frequent, his image etching itself into her consciousness like an indelible mark.

The god's presence is now an unrelenting specter, always lurking at the edge of Cleo's vision. He appears atop sand dunes, his form both ethereal and substantial, his skull burning its memory into her mind. The tension in the Jeep becomes almost unbearable as Cleo grapples with the knowledge that she is not alone in her perception of Khonshu's ominous presence. He is real, a force that encroaches upon their fragile existence, and yet Steven remains oblivious to the god's tormenting whispers.

The desert seems to stretch on endlessly, the landscape a monotonous tapestry of sun-bleached hues and sweltering heat. Time becomes an abstract concept, distorted by the weight of their journey. Cleo's temples throb with an ache that matches the rhythm of her racing thoughts. She longs for a reprieve, for a moment of respite from the ceaseless torment of Khonshu's apparitions.

The air becomes heavy with an eerie stillness, broken only by the distant howl of the wind, a mournful cry that carries whispers of forgotten tales. Cleo's gaze remains fixed on the road ahead, her eyes scanning the horizon for any signs of the dig site, their destination.

But as Cleo steals yet another glance in the rearview mirror, her heart skips a beat. Khonshu stands tall on a distant sand dune, his presence a haunting specter against the barren backdrop. The god's lack of eyes bore into her soul, penetrating the very depths of her being. Fear and determination intertwine within Cleo's heart, fueling a primal instinct to flee or confront the ethereal figure that haunts their journey.

"Steven, please," She pleads, her voice laced with urgency, "Tell me you see him too. Tell me I'm not losing my mind."

Steven's brow furrows with concern, his gaze darting between Cleo and the desolate surroundings.

" Cleo, I don't see anything. It's just the desert. Are you sure—"

But his words are drowned out by the raspy whisper that curls through Cleo's mind, a voice as ancient as time itself. The voice of Khonshu, weathered and aged, resonates within her consciousness, its words a chilling reminder of their entangled destinies.

Cleo's grip on the steering wheel tightens, her knuckles turning pale. The weight of her burden presses down upon her, threatening to overwhelm her senses. She fights to maintain her composure, to hold onto her sanity amidst the unyielding grip of a god's influence.

"Stay strong," She mutters to herself, a whispered mantra against the encroaching darkness.

The Jeep roars forward, leaving behind a trail of swirling sand and uncertainty. Each mile they traverse brings them closer to the dig site, but also deeper into the clutches of an enigmatic force that tugs at their shared existence. Cleo's gaze flits between the road ahead and the rearview mirror, her eyes locked on the ephemeral figure of Khonshu.

He appears and disappears, like a mirage teasing her senses, his presence a constant reminder that their journey is far from over. Cleo's breath quickens, her heart pounding against the confines of her chest. She wonders if this is a test, a trial designed to forge their identities anew, or if they are mere pawns in a game played by forces beyond their comprehension.

Until finally, she has enough.

Cleo's foot slams on the breaks, the Jeep is placed into park as she turns off the engine and removes the keys from the ignition.

" Stay in the car," Cleo orders as she hops out.

Steven does as he's told, even if his heart weighs heavy in his chest from seeing just how much Cleo seems to be suffering.

" We're not alone."

Steven's eyes flicker to the rearview mirror, where he meets the gaze of the other man inside his head.

" You say that all the time," Steven tsks as he holds up a finger, " It's that paranoia, innit?"

" Steven--"

" It's just me and you and--"

" Steven! Look at her."

The Brit's head turns by order of the American, and right before his eyes his Cleo, his darling Cleo, walking out through the sand, desperately clutching her sword as her other hand trembles.

She's muttering to herself, low enough to not be heard as she trudges through the sand, sweat on her brow as the wind blows through her hair.

" Where the hell are you?" She whispers.

" I AM RIGHT HERE, CLEOPATRA."

She whips around in an instant, unsheathing her blade and pointing it in the direction of the God, who stands tall with his mummy wraps billowing and staff burried in the sand.

" I AM NOT THREATENED BY SWORDS, CLEOPATRA."

" Get out of my head," Cleo seethes, " Get out of my life. You're supposed to be gone."

" AND YET HERE I AM."

" Why can't Steven see you?"

" BECAUSE THE WORM DOESN'T NEED TO."

Cleo's nostrils flare with anger, as the sand surrounding the God begins to float in the air, nearly creating a cacoon... or rather, a sarcophagus, one that will swallow him up and leave nothing left.

" Don't call him that," She commands, still holding her sword and keeping it aimed at the bird, " Why are you here?"

" TO GIVE YOU A WARNING."

" About what?"

" THERE IS A GREAT DARKNESS THAT FOLLOWS YOU, CLEOPATRA. ONE THAT IS ANGRY AND FULL OF VENGENCE, AND ONE THAT WILL CONSUME YOU IF YOU SO LET IT."

" And why do you care?"

" I HAVE MY REASONS."

Yet his words are unfulfilling and without satisfaction.

" Uh-uh.... not good enough," Cleo retorts, staying steady as the sand beneath the God's feet warps into a rock, locking him in place, " Why do you care, Khonshu?"

The God releases a heavy sigh.

" I DO NOT WISH TO SEE YOU PERISH. YOUR SUFFERING IS NOT SOMETHING I INTENDED."

" What you intended?" She asks as her brows furrow and head tilts, " What do you mean what you intended? What did you do?"

But as soon as the words leave her lips, the God vanishes, as if he were never there in the first place.

" Khonshu? Khonshu!" She shouts as her frustration surfaces, " Ya Khara."

With a sigh of anguish, Cleo let her sword fall to her side, and she turns to head back to the Jeep, unaware to Steven's eyes watching her every move.

" See?" Marc asks from within the mirror.

" Th-That doesn't mean anything," Steven utters softly, " Maybe... maybe she just needed a chat, yeah?"

" All by herself, in the middle of the desert, with her sword? Come on, Steven. There's something out there."

Steven sighs as a frown forms upon his face, and soon jumps as Cleo slams the car door.

" You alright, love?" He ponders as he watches her buckle her seat belt, " You seem a li'uhl... tense."

" No, Steven, I'm not okay," Cleo responds as she turns the key in the ignition to start the car.

" Should we turn back?"

" No. We're almost there."

" Steven, give me the body. Give me control."

" Marc would like to have a word."

" If he's gonna tell me to turn this car around, then I don't wanna hear it."

Marc huffs, his growing annoyance and paranoia evident as Steven watches him through the mirror. Marc can't shake the feeling of someone being out there, and while he may be considering the fact that he's just paranoid, his eyes are yet to see the truth.

The truth that not only is his former boss watching over them... but another God as well. A God much darker and angrier than Khonshu. One who's home is within the shadows... and one whose eyes are locked on the woman with Queen Cleopatra's soul.

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[ i have a really cool plot twist i just thought of, but i also really like my original idea and idk which to go for 😭 ]