At Golgotha, amid the stench of death, Thoth approached Jesus, nailed and bleeding, his eyes calm despite the agony.
“The tablet’s truths are in me,” Jesus said, each word a labor. “I’ve rewritten them.”

Thoth knelt, the wind howling. “You’ve made them human. That’s more than I could.”

A man thundered past on a horse, hooves kicking dust. “Romans approach!” he bellowed. Thoth pressed a quill into Jesus’ trembling hand. “Finish it.” The Gospels bore the tablet’s echo—veiled in parables, a legacy of sacrifice. Thoth walked away, the cross a silhouette against a bruised sky.