The Eternity Bar was located on a quiet Manhattan side street, where the noise of the big city faded to a muted hum. The neon sign glowed softly amber, inviting both passersby and regulars.

  Behind the bar, Anubis polished a glass, observing the evening's few guests. His long dark hair was pulled back casually, and his white shirt, open at the collar, gave him the appearance of a relaxed bartender rather than an ancient deity. Only his golden eyes, upon closer inspection, revealed something… unusual.

  "Hey, Andy!" shouted a regular named Mike, waving an empty glass. "More whiskey!"

  Anubis (or Andy, as he was known here) chuckled. For thousands of years, he had borne a name that inspired fear and awe. Now he was called Andy. The irony was delicious.

  "Mike, this is the fourth time," he remarked, but he was already reaching for the bottle. "Did your wife disapprove of your comic book collection again?"

  "She said I spend more on them than on her!" Mike countered. "It's the first issue of Captain America! The Collector's Edition!"

  Anubis poured whiskey, watching the amber liquid slosh in the glass. People don't change. In ancient Egypt, men argued about papyri and amulets; now they argue about comic books. The point is the same: everyone seeks something that will outlive them.

  "That's a fair point," he agreed, placing the glass in front of Mike. "But perhaps I should buy something for my wife, too?"

  "You're always so wise, Andy," Mike muttered into his glass. "Like an old Chinese master or something."

  “Egyptian,” Anubis mentally corrected himself, but only smiled.

  The bar door opened, letting in a gust of cool autumn air and a young couple. The girl was laughing, clinging to the boy, their cheeks flushed with cold and happiness. Anubis watched them go, and for a moment his golden eyes dimmed.

  Youth. Love. Life.

  He saw it all end. Over and over again, for millennia.

  "Hey, philosopher," Sarah, the only waitress on the evening shift, called out to him as she set a tray of dirty dishes on the table. "Stop frowning, you're scaring the customers. You look like you're calculating how long they have left to live."

  If only she knew.

  "Just thinking," Anubis replied, starting to load the dishwasher. "By the way, did table number seven ask for the check?"

  "I'll get it right away. Oh, and one more thing…" Sarah leaned closer, lowering her voice. "That guy in the corner. He's been sitting there for two hours, just with beer. Something's wrong with him."

  Anubis glanced at the far table. A middle-aged man in a rumpled suit, his gaze absentminded. A faint glow flickered around his head, invisible to the others. Anubis recognized him immediately—this man would die within a week. An accident, if he had interpreted the signs correctly.

  “I will talk to him,” Anubis said quietly.

  He grabbed a bottle of good whiskey and two glasses, walked around the counter, and headed for the table. The man didn't even look up.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “May I join you?” Anubis asked, already sitting down.

  The man blinked as if waking up.

  — I... I didn't order anything except beer.

  "On the house," Anubis poured them both drinks. "Looks like you have a lot to think about."

  — Are all of you bartenders this insightful?

  "Professional deformation," Anubis chuckled. "Want to talk?"

  The man silently twirled the glass in his hands. Then, as if a dam had burst:

  "I was diagnosed today. The doctors say..." his voice trembled. "I have a daughter. She's only eight. How am I going to tell her?"

  Anubis looked at him with his ancient golden eyes. He had seen this scene countless times. Fear of death. Despair. A feeling of incompleteness.

  "You're not afraid of death itself," he said slowly. "You're afraid of leaving her alone."

  "Yes," the man wiped his eyes. "I should have been there. Take her to school, to graduation, to the wedding..."

  Anubis placed his hand on the table, and a few grains of sand quietly fell between his fingers, dispersing into the air.

  “Listen,” he said, and something in his voice made the man sit up straighter. “Death isn’t the end of everything. It’s a transition. But what you leave behind—your love, your lessons, your memories—they will all live on forever. Spend time with your daughter. Every moment. Make the most of it, so she has the strength to last a lifetime.”

  The man looked at him and tears streamed down his cheeks.

  — How do you know? You... you speak as if you saw...

  "I've seen a lot," Anubis replied quietly. "Trust me."

  They drank in silence. When the man left half an hour later, his steps were firmer, his back straighter. Anubis knew he couldn't change his fate. But he could help him live his remaining time well.

  This is what I'm here for, he thought as he returned to the counter.

  "What did you tell him?" Sarah whispered, watching the scene from afar.

  — What he needed to hear.

  The clock showed half past twelve. A few hours left until closing. Anubis was mechanically wiping down the counter when he felt it—a slight tingling at the back of his neck that signaled the presence of something... unusual.

  Something was approaching his bar. Something strong.

  The door swung open with a bang, and a gust of wind blew into the bar, causing the candlelight on the tables to dance. A man—no, not quite a man—stood in the doorway. Even in the dim light of the bar, he exuded an aura of strength.

  Tall, broad-shouldered, with blond hair damp from the rain, wearing a tattered denim jacket. But most importantly, his eyes. Even stripped of their divine power, they retained the same fierce spark Anubis had seen thousands of years ago.

  Asgardians.

  Mike choked on his whiskey. Sarah dropped the tray. The young couple froze, staring at the newcomer.

  Anubis slowly lowered the glass he had been cleaning. His golden eyes met the stranger's, and a slight smile appeared on his lips.

  After millennia of quiet life among mortals, the gods began to walk the earth again.

  "The bar is open," Anubis said calmly. "Come in."

  The stranger walked up to the counter and sank heavily into a chair. Up close, Anubis could see the weariness in his eyes, the wet spots on his clothes, the abrasion on his cheek. Someone had beaten this god badly. Or maybe he'd hit himself hard.

  “I need the strongest thing you have,” the stranger said with a slight accent.

  "Rough day?" Anubis pulled out a bottle of Asgardian mead, which he kept for special occasions. Mortal alcohol had no effect on the gods.

  The stranger looked at the bottle in surprise.

  - Where did you get...

  "I collect rare drinks," Anubis shrugged, pouring the golden liquid. "I don't usually get them for the average customer."

  The man drained the glass in one gulp, and Anubis saw his shoulders relax slightly.

  - More.

  Anubis poured himself another drink, studying the visitor. Definitely an Asgardian. Definitely in exile, since he was so easily intoxicated even by Asgardian mead. Interesting.

  "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, repeating a phrase he had said thousands of times.

  "What is there to talk about?" the stranger smiled bitterly. "I've lost everything. My father exiled me, my brother..." He fell silent, clenching his fists. "I can't even lift my hammer. I... I'm unworthy."

  Thor, Anubis realized. Son of Odin. Thunderer.

  He'd heard of him. Arrogant, impulsive, hungry for glory. But now, sitting before him, was not a proud prince, but a broken man.

  "Unworthy of the hammer, or unworthy of being who you were?" Anubis asked calmly.

  Thor looked up at him, surprise flashing in his eyes.

  - You... are a strange bartender.

  "I've had a lot of practice listening to other people's stories," Anubis polished another glass. "Sometimes people just need to talk."

  “I’m not human,” Thor muttered.

  "Right now, yes," Anubis countered, sounding less like an insult and more like a statement of fact. "Your father made you mortal. The question is, what will you do about it?"

  Thor emptied his glass again.

  "What can I do? I'm nothing without my power. Without Mjolnir, I'm just..." He clenched his fists. "I don't even know who I am."

  "Then it's time to find out," Anubis leaned closer, the light of the bar reflecting in his golden eyes. "Strength doesn't define who you are. It only shows who you can become."

  "Philosophy," Thor snorted. "Easy to say when everything hasn't been taken from you."

  “You think?” Anubis’s voice took on a note that hadn’t been there before. Ancient. Weary. “I’ve seen empires fall. Entire civilizations vanish. Gods become myths, and myths become dust. Losing power is painful. But losing yourself is worse.”

  Thor was silent, studying the bartender with a new gaze.

  - You speak as if you know...

  "I know many things," Anubis poured himself a small portion of mead. "For example, I know that if you sit here and feel sorry for yourself, you'll never get back what you've lost. But if you use this time to understand why your father exiled you... maybe you'll become who you were meant to be."

  "Who should I be?" Thor's voice was challenging.

  - You must decide this for yourself, son of Odin.

  Silence fell between them. Then Thor slowly straightened up.

  - You know who I am.

  "I know a lot," Anubis repeated with a slight smile. "But don't worry, your secret is safe. In this bar, all secrets are safe."

  Thor studied him for a long moment, then suddenly laughed—dully, tiredly, but sincerely.

  — You're a strange guy, bartender. What's your name?

  "Andy," Anubis answered after a moment's hesitation. "Just Andy."

  "Just Andy," Thor repeated. "Well, Just Andy, you've given me more wisdom in five minutes than my mentors have given me in centuries."

  "Perhaps because I'm not trying to teach you anything," Anubis took the empty glass. "I'm simply telling you what I see."

  - And what do you see?

  Anubis looked at him—really looked, with eyes that had seen the birth and death of civilizations, weighed the souls of the dead, judged gods and mortals.

  "I see a man who, for the first time in his life, is confronted with the consequences of his actions. A man who has lost everything, but has not yet realized that this gives him a chance to truly find himself."

  Thor was silent for a long time. Then he nodded.

  - How much do I owe?

  "The first round is on the house," Anubis waved his hand. "The rest... say, twenty dollars."

  Thor reached into his pockets and then frowned.

  — I... I don’t have your earthly money.

  "Of course not," Anubis sighed. "Gods. They never change." "Fine, you'll owe me. Come back when you get it."

  "I will return," Thor promised gravely, rising. "And I will pay my debt."

  - I'll wait, Thunderer.

  Thor paused at the door and turned around.

  - You really are a strange bartender, Just Andy. Thanks.

  And he walked out into the night, leaving behind the smell of ozone and rain.

  Sarah walked up to the counter, still a little dazed.

  "What the hell was that?" she whispered. "That guy looked like he could tear the whole bar apart with his bare hands."

  "Just another lost man searching for his way," Anubis replied, replacing the bottle of Asgardian mead. "Like the rest of us."

  He looked at the door Thor had entered through and saw the grains of sand slowly swirl around his hand and then disappear.

  The gods once again set foot on earth. This meant that those who followed them would soon arrive.

  Anubis chuckled. Perhaps his quiet life as a bartender was coming to an end.

  Well, he thought, returning to his business. Let's see what tomorrow brings.

  The Eternity Bar remained open until three in the morning, welcoming its regulars, keeping their secrets, giving them oblivion or solace.

  And behind the counter stood an ancient god, once feared and revered, but now simply called Andy.

  And he liked it.