Battles were simple, straightforward affairs compared to this... magic. And even knowing the voices who intoned it, knowing they invoked gods which wished well upon their servants, Nakhtmin felt an apprehension inside that he would not admit aloud. What if, even memorizing the incantations, and reciting them faithfully, his soul did not pass through the Field of Reeds?

What if he became lost there, without rites, and without purpose? How many demons could he hope to slay before he was overtaken? Nakhtmin was not a coward! No! But these were things beyond his purview, and he could not steer a barge of passing souls, only defend it and trust they kept to their proper course.

He need not be apprehensive, however. Neferseba's young voice faltered not a single note. Darkness fell, and passed over them.

The Painted Warrior awoke to her melody with a great surge of relief, knowing time had passed but uncertain the length or direction of it. An oryx aground was little use, so he scrambled to his feet and tested the weight of his sabers with a toss of his head. Breathed in the new air, felt the familiar Sun upon his back.

It wouldn't do to interrupt the prayer. Others still waited to wake. But with flared nostrils he turned to gaze upon his young goddess, offering her a solemn nod and eyes that glinted with energetic pride.