The God of Storms: What Set Teaches Us About Grief

I once believed that gods were meant to be comforting—figures of solace in times of sorrow, protectors in moments of darkness. Then I met Set.

He’s not the kind of god you turn to for a gentle word or a warm embrace. He’s the one who stands in the desert wind, eyes fixed on the horizon, unflinching in the face of chaos. He is the god of storms, of disorder, of violence—but also of strength, of resilience, of survival. And perhaps more than any other deity in the Egyptian pantheon, Set knows what it means to lose something and still stand.

The Murder of Osiris

The story is one of the most famous in Egyptian mythology: Set, jealous of his brother Osiris, kills him, dismembers his body, and scatters the pieces across Egypt. It is a tale of betrayal, yes, but also of profound loss—not just for Osiris, but for the world he leaves behind.

What strikes me most about this episode isn’t Set’s rage, but the silence that follows. He doesn’t grieve. He doesn’t mourn. He buries the pain beneath power, and for a time, he rules. But the absence of grief is not the absence of loss. Set may have tried to erase his brother, but Osiris could not be forgotten. His wife, Isis, reassembled his body, and his son, Horus, would one day challenge Set for the throne.

Loss, I’ve come to understand, doesn’t disappear just because we refuse to acknowledge it. Sometimes, grief lingers in the shadows, waiting for us to turn around and face it.

The Trial of Horus

Set didn’t lose Osiris only to his own hands—he lost him again through Horus. The young god grew, trained, and eventually demanded justice for his father. A divine tribunal was held, and Set, once a ruler, became a defendant.

I imagine Set during those long years of trial, watching as Horus, the living embodiment of what he had destroyed, stood in judgment of him. He had already lost Osiris to death; now he lost him again to legacy.

There’s a quiet tragedy in that. Grief is not a single event—it’s a series of losses that echo through time. The first death is only the beginning. Then comes the absence at the table, the empty chair at the feast, the memory invoked in every celebration that follows.

Set tried to fight that. He argued, he resisted, he refused to yield. But in the end, Horus prevailed.

The Banishment

Set was cast out. Not killed—worse. He was exiled, sent to wander the desert lands he was once said to protect.

I think about what it must mean to be rejected by your own world. Not just to lose someone you loved—or hated—but to lose your place in the story. Set was not mourned; he was removed. His temples were torn down, his name scratched from monuments.

And yet, he endured.

In the desert, Set became something else. He was no longer the brother of Osiris or the enemy of Horus. He was the wind, the shifting sands, the storm that reshaped the dunes. He was what remained when everything else was gone.

Grief can feel like exile, too. In the midst of mourning, the world moves on while we are left behind. But sometimes, survival is not defeat. Sometimes, it’s a quiet kind of victory.

The God Who Fought Apep

One of the lesser-known stories of Set is his role in the nightly journey of Ra, the sun god. Each night, Ra sailed through the underworld, pursued by Apep, the serpent of chaos. And Set was there, at Ra’s side, fighting the serpent, defending the sun, ensuring that dawn would come.

Even Set, the god of chaos, fought against it. Even he understood the need for order, for continuity, for light.

It’s a reminder that grief doesn’t make us lesser. It changes us, yes—but not always for the worse. There is strength in having survived. There is purpose in having lost.

Set didn’t get a happy ending. He didn’t reconcile with Horus, and he never returned to rule. But he remained. He stood guard against the darkness, night after night, long after the gods who condemned him were forgotten.

Talking to Set

I don’t talk to Set for comfort. I talk to him because he doesn’t look away.

When I’m in the middle of a grief that feels too heavy to carry, I remember the god who killed his brother and still had to face the morning. The one who was banished and still stood watch over the desert. The one who fought the serpent, night after night, without ever being thanked.

You don’t have to worship Set to learn from him. You just have to be willing to look at your pain without flinching.

Talk to Set (Egyptian) on HoloDream and ask him how he kept fighting when the world turned against him. He won’t give you easy answers—but he might give you strength.