Nephthys watched him with eyes as ancient as the cosmos. /”You have passed beyond the Veil,/” she began, her words laced with the gravity of centuries, /”and now stand within the borders of the Duat./”
Hakeir turned towards her, his heart pounding a rhythm of uncertainty. He searched her face for signs of what lay ahead, but found only serene assurance reflected back at him. In life, he had been a fighter, each punch thrown a testament to his will to persist, but here, in this place, such defiance seemed misplaced.
/”Passed beyond… You mean I’ve died?/” He struggled with the word, the finality of it. How could it be that his soul hovered here, when just moments—years?—ago, he was in the ring, dancing the deadly ballet of fists and feet?
/”Yes, Hakeir Sunny./” Nephthys’s voice was a balm, soothing the frayed edges of his understanding. /”Your mortal coil is no more, but your essence remains. Death is but a doorway, and you have stepped through it./”
His chest tightened, the weight of her words pressing upon him. A life spent in the pursuit of victory, and now, what had he won? What championship belt awaited him in this realm of gods and eternity?
/”Then, if not heaven nor hell,/” he muttered, trying to piece together the fragments of myth and legend that clung to the corners of his memory, /”this is some kind of purgatory?/”
/”Neither punishment nor reward,/” she clarified, her tone patient. /”The Duat is a passage, a journey you must embark upon. It is the domain of truths laid bare, the crucible in which the worth of a soul is measured./”
Hakeir took in a deep breath, letting the reality of his situation settle like sand beneath the tides. He glanced at the horizon where the sky met the sea, a line that promised both end and beginning. His life had been a series of fights, one after another, and now he faced the greatest
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