My power is no threat to you, Set, God of the Desert.

(the sadness is not gone, just overwhelmed by clarity. recognition and duties far more considerable than his own worries supersede it, making narrow shoulders straighten. it's not difficult to find some dignity here, even stripped bare and disoriented; nudity, the aspect of having shame in one's body, is a human creation.)

I know of you, however, or a concept of you humans worship... which means that I have you at a disadvantage. I am Lessa, God of Night and Death. (it'd be laughable if it weren't such a burden. lessa isn't comforting set but instead seems to be commiserating with him. he felt it, the destruction of earth, the collapse of their plane of existence. what does that make them now?

set's desert is gone, lessa's night sky is gone, but war and death remain.

he steps closer—lonely, perhaps, a part of him still in mourning—far slighter than set, away from the dark fringes of the cavern and into refracting light. both look ethereal, and it makes their combined presence uninviting. intimidating.)

In the end, even as our homes have turned to dust, it'll take more than diminished forms to remove our titles. Would you walk with me?