The Humble Origins of a Goddess 007

Then he turned his head and saw the intricate carvings on the sandstone walls, the golden ankhs adorning the table, and the faint glow of his grandmother's watch on a pedestal nearby.

"Nope. Still ancient Egypt," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Fantastic."

Before he could sink further into self-pity, a young servant appeared, bowing deeply. "The Lady Isis summons you, Messenger."

Aimi groaned. "Could we drop the whole 'Messenger' thing? I'm just Aimi. No divine messages here, I promise."

The servant ignored him, gesturing for Aimi to follow. With a resigned sigh, Aimi got to his feet, smoothing out the rumpled tunic someone had left for him.

---

The inner sanctum of the temple was even more breathtaking in daylight. Sunlight streamed through narrow windows, casting golden patterns on the floor. Priests moved silently, their movements practiced and reverent. At the center of it all stood Isis, her regal presence commanding the room.

She was surrounded by advisors and attendants, all of whom fell silent as Aimi approached. Isis turned to him, her piercing gaze once again making him feel like an ant under a magnifying glass.

"Aimi Amirul," she said, her voice smooth yet powerful. "Do you understand why you are here?"

"Not a clue," Aimi replied, crossing his arms. "One minute I'm celebrating a few extra views on my webnovel, and the next, I'm in… well, this." He gestured to the ornate temple around him.

A faint smile played on Isis's lips. "The gods have brought you here to learn. Your writings have power, but they lack depth. To craft stories that move hearts and inspire souls, you must first understand the struggles and triumphs of humanity."

Aimi frowned. "And you think dropping me in ancient Egypt is the best way to do that?"

"It is not just ancient Egypt," Isis replied. "This is my time, my story. You will live among my people, see the world through their eyes, and witness the events that shaped a goddess into a queen."

He raised an eyebrow. "So, what… this is some kind of history lesson?"

Isis stepped closer, her expression softening. "It is more than history, Aimi. It is a chance to understand the roots of storytelling itself. You write of heroes and villains, of gods and mortals, yet you do not know what it means to live as them."

Aimi hesitated. Part of him wanted to argue, to demand to be sent back home. But another part—a quieter, more curious part—couldn't ignore the weight of her words.

"How long are we talking here?" he asked finally.

"That depends on you," Isis said. "The gods have granted you this opportunity. It is up to you to make the most of it."

---

The rest of the day was a whirlwind of introductions and explanations. Aimi was shown around the temple, introduced to the priests and attendants, and given a crash course in ancient Egyptian customs.

He learned that Isis wasn't just a goddess; she was a leader, a healer, and a symbol of resilience for her people. Her influence extended far beyond the temple walls, touching every aspect of life in the kingdom.

As the day wore on, Aimi found himself grudgingly impressed. Despite her divine status, Isis was remarkably grounded. She spoke to her people with warmth and sincerity, listening to their concerns and offering guidance.

"She's not what I expected," Aimi admitted to himself as he watched her mediate a dispute over land rights.

Later, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, Isis called for Aimi once more. This time, they met in a quieter chamber, away from the bustle of the temple.

"Tell me, Aimi," Isis said, gesturing for him to sit. "What is it that you wish to achieve with your stories?"

He hesitated, caught off guard by the question. "I guess… I want people to enjoy them. To escape their problems for a little while."

"That is noble," Isis said. "But stories have the power to do much more. They can inspire change, preserve history, and connect us to the divine."

Aimi scratched the back of his neck. "I'm not exactly writing epics here. It's just webnovels—action, romance, a little drama."

"Every story has value," Isis said firmly. "Even the simplest tales can carry profound truths. But to tell them well, you must first understand the truths of your own world."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Aimi leaned back, staring at the carvings on the ceiling.

"You're saying I need to experience life to write better," he said finally.

Isis nodded. "Precisely. And that journey begins here."

Aimi sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Alright, fine. I'll play along. But don't expect me to start worshiping or anything."

Isis chuckled softly. "The gods do not seek worship from you, Aimi. Only understanding."

---

That night, as Aimi lay in his chamber, he couldn't stop thinking about everything Isis had said. Her words stirred something in him—a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

He glanced at the glowing watch on the table, its faint light casting long shadows on the walls.

"Well, Grandma," he muttered, "looks like your crazy stories weren't so crazy after all."

With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes, preparing himself for whatever the gods had in store.

Next day, 

Aimi sat cross-legged in a quiet chamber of the temple, nursing a bowl of dates and barley bread handed to him by one of the attendants. The sun streamed through the high windows, casting warm patterns on the floor. Across from him sat Isis, calm and composed, as if she weren't a literal goddess but just someone about to share a story over tea.

"You look skeptical, Aimi," Isis said, her voice carrying a teasing edge.

"Can you blame me?" Aimi gestured vaguely. "This is all… a lot. Gods, temples, priests bowing every five minutes. And now you're telling me you started as a regular person?"

Isis smiled faintly, the kind that hinted at secrets far deeper than she was letting on. "Even the greatest river begins as a mere stream. Let me tell you how it all started."