Two Eyes Cenote Woma

oops I'm sorry I tagged stark instead of ironspine on accident lol!

Above, the stars flicker to life.

Beneath, the desert flattens to an ocean of blue.

Before, a motif of stones, spaced out into constellations.

All around the air swells with the still-warm attendance of Ra as Eset awaits the arrival of the man once known by @Ironspine.

at the infancy of dawn, stark makes his way to where eset has asked him to meet her; spending what had been the rest of his day worrying a bone to soothe the worries that plagued him. not worries about his choice — no, in that he was resolute.

worries about if eset's gods would truly accept him...worries about what might happen if he missteps, if he gets something wrong.

but eventually, he clears his mind of those things.

it would drive him to the brink of insanity to ponder all the what if's.

guided by starlight, he smiles as his gaze falls upon eset, coming to stand before her; awaiting the beginning of the ritual and his instructions, if there were any.

The night sires the broad shape of a wolf, and as he moves within range Stark’s smile is met with the hebsut’s own thrill. She strains taller, straightening her soles on the dry bedrock that juts like a prow into the moonlit dark. The stars illuminate his deep green eyes as he comes to stand in the center of the constellation.

First, she is silent; prayerful, and most intensely proud of the man begotten in faith. She holds his brilliant gaze and begins:

“Stark, mazoi to Muat-riya, the Gods have seen your face and heard the power in your step. Manifold are your deeds, guardian of the cenotes, protector of men, guide of the stars. By Their will, you are Their servant. But to be reborn, you must first be buried.”

The night rings to the sound of Eset’s voice. She approaches now, looking up into the hardline features of his face. A paw is immersed into a wet, brim-full lotus leaf at their feet, cupping sacred waters of the cenote between webbed toes. To his strong silver shoulder she places her hand, cleansing him while the night looks on.

“Are you ready?” Her tone is emphatic as she repeats the process to his left side, water drizzling from her hand down onto the mixed gray fur of his legs.

eset begins to speak and stark is still as the birthing dawn around them, holding her golden gaze as even the shadows hold their breath. he is soldier still, bare before her and the gods, ready to follow the new life path set before him.

a small shudder slithers down his spine as she speaks of being buried. it makes sense of course, death must come before birth. to be reborn, he must first die. an ego death. a spiritual death. stark must be killed so that a new man might rise in his place.

a sealing of past — history and pain and insecurities deep into the depths of his own personal tomb never again to be found.

her hands guide sacred waters over each shoulder, her touch warm, the sacred lotus waters cool.

i am.

I am; let it be so!

She is no soothsayer and perhaps she has no need to be. Winds leap across their skins in thick waves. From the man’s pelt are coaxed drops of the cenote and sent smattering into the earth. Copper nape furs stir in a humble expression of awe. All around she feels the gods write their approval for the man edged in by moonlight.

She blinks vapor and refocuses the amber of her eyes upon his stone-hewed face.

“Tonight, I spoke your name to the evening star, clearly pronouncing each syllable, to witness it disperse into the celestial sphere. Only the night air carries your name for the shezmu of the new gods, and the ka of the old.”

“No longer are you Stark. Rise now as Meseba, He who is Born of the Stars.”

The name is ringing still in her ears as bows her head before Meseba, eternal servant to Egypt.

meseba can feel the stirring of the gods; not that as if they were awakening but rather as if he were awakening. he can feel it in the wind, in the thrum of the earth. he can hear them in the hidden words on the wind, once deaf to but no longer.

meseba. he who is born of the stars.

his heart gives an uneven beat in his chest; a lone, out of rythym wardrum that the gods recognized his true calling.

he watches as a celestial body beneath his eyelids unravels and then weaves together to make something new. something him and something not him. but he does not fear the new entity making its home within his body, in his spirit, psyche and ego.

meseba, croons a voice in his head, older than the stars, stronger than the floods. he who is born of the stars, rise. rise anew. rise reborn. rise with me. in his mind's eye, the features are murky but the gold and lapis lazuli headdress housing a star is not. a name rises from the marrow of his bones then, recalled from lessons. sopdet, star of sirius and goddess of fertility, bringer of the flooding nile, tied closely to osiris.

for a moment meseba desires to speak, but he cannot summon words and so he remains in silence, feeling the shifting within him like the sands of time. he looks to eset when his eyes finally open, blinking away the shadows. her head is bowed. thank you, offered to eset, sopdet and the other, numerous gods that have welcomed him.

those two words hardly feel like enough to meseba, but in the moment, it was what he had to offer.

The night air cedes to one long exhale leaving only the distant muffle of acacia leaves and glint of starlight in the sky. She looks up to the mazoi, damp with rivulets of water that still trace down his soldier’s legs, a deep and profound silence on his brow. She almost feels no right is given to her to bear witness to his changing of seasons- but she cannot bring herself to look away from the man and his pious introspection. 

When he speaks again it is with sincere gratitude for her, but it is Mesaba who chose the kingdom of the Gods. They are within him now, their light, their faith, written into his name. Eset watches the man's face speaking gently, shy of his praise.

“Do you like it?” She asks tentatively of the name, mouth curling.

there is a soft tremble in his breath; no longer nerves but the settling of something, like the desert after a raging, blinding sandstorm. it is a relieving sort of tremble, and beneath it something else.

do you like it?

drawn out of whatever reverie had consumed him, glossing his gaze as he studies her face in return; wrapt in a spell that he did not wish to ever be free from —

a blink is given to signify the breaching of his thoughts, the ending of the spell; though warmth lingers in the depths of his green gaze all the same.

i do. answers meseba simply, unsure of how to communicate how perfectly the name she and the gods have chosen for him fit. and though meseba is content to remain mazoi, he knows with the death of stark there a chance he can pursue his true passion.

without lingering guilt of disappointing parents whom now no longer existed. stark had been born but meseba had been moulded from the soft crafting hands of sopdet and breath of osiris.

She may have felt guilty for wrenching him from his contemplations had his face not welcomed her with such warmth. The glow of starlight brushes the forest in his eyes, and Eset is convinced the name had always been his.

“I think… it suits you,” she grins in full now, tail swaying in a sort of controlled pleasure. The hour is late but she invites Mesaba to sit, reluctant to return to her underground lodgings on such a pristine night. Besides, she had too much fever for sleep, and hoped he felt the same.

“You know, I’ve had …doubts, about how this year is going,” she speaks bluntly, “but one thing I am sure of is you. Muat-riya would not thrive as it does without your devotion. Tell me what it is you want, Mesaba. I wish to see you happy here.”

at her invitation, meseba takes a seat beside her; casting his gaze for the first time to the sky. it is painted in a velveteen navy blue, dotted with stars and kissed by the sugary moonglow. a christening, of sorts, he thinks.

cheeks warm beneath the stone grey of his fur as she speaks of doubts and certainties of him. he is not quite sure how to take it, unused to compliments and so he accepts it with a humble twitch of his lips into a smile softened.

i am content to be guardsman, he begins, knowing full well that content and happy were not of the same coin. but perhaps, with Sopdet and Osiris' guidance and influence i may decide to choose a different path. a soft pause is given. i think i may pursue what i desire, meseba admits. but i should consult with the Them first, rather than rush. i am Their servant, now.

The hebsut felt a paltry waif beside the regality of his disposition, and as he glanced skyward her own sought the tones of wonder in Mesaba’s face. He was the type of man whose look alone commanded respect, but it was his humility Eset admired so staunchly now.

Had she ever been so sincere?

Her eyes joined his to traverse the night sky, envisioning both astral forms of Sopdet and Osiris greeting their new son. A look lowers to soften upon the mazoi. She wished to know what thoughts moved behind the stoic face- perhaps it was as a priest Mesaba truly identified. But she would do no more than bow her head to his request for council. The Gods would lead him down the path of their mutual choosing, as perhaps they always had.

“Muat-riya will answer your calling, Mesaba,” and as she spoke his name, her lips took a smile, “in whatever form it takes.”