The sun blazed mercilessly over the sprawling city of Thebes, its golden rays scorching the earth and casting long shadows across the palace. For Neha, the young pharaoh burdened with the weight of the Two Lands, the day had been an unrelenting cascade of duties. Advisors clamored for his attention, their voices a cacophony of demands, trade disputes with neighboring kingdoms, whispers of rebellion in the northern provinces, and the ever-present strain of appeasing the priesthood. By evening, the weight of his responsibilities pressed against his chest like a stone slab, and Neha felt the edges of his composure fraying. Seeking solace, he dismissed his attendants with a weary wave and turned his steps toward the one place where his soul could find respite, the sacred temples of Amun-Ra.

Within the temple's hallowed precincts, the world seemed to quiet. The towering columns, etched with hieroglyphs that sang of divine glory, rose like sentinels into the twilight. Neha walked barefoot across the stone floor, his royal kilt, adorned with gold and lapis lazuli, swayed softly as he approached the altar. In the flickering light of oil lamps, Neha knelt before the statue of Amun-Ra, its serene face gazing down with eternal wisdom. His hands trembled slightly as he placed offerings of bread, wine, and incense upon the altar, his whispered prayers rising toward the heavens. He beseeched the gods for guidance, for strength to bear the crown's weight, for peace in a land teetering on the edge of chaos. The words poured from him until a sudden, searing pain lanced through his skull, his body swayed, and with a soft gasp, he collapsed onto the temple floor.

Consciousness returned on a cold, smooth surface, not the temple's stone but strange, pale tiles. Neha's head throbbed as he rose, scanning an alien room. No desert heat, no torches, just sterile air and unnatural light from nowhere. Strange objects surrounded him: gleaming furniture, a glowing rectangular box, and a humming ceiling light that defied flame. Was this the Duat, the underworld? Or had enemies abducted him? Neha's jaw clenched, his mind racing to unravel this bizarre prison.

A sharp pop and footsteps broke the silence. Neha's instincts surged, his hand seizing a lightweight, black object studded with squares (TV remote), gripping it like a fragile dagger. Light poured from a doorway, and Neha's eyes narrowed, his voice booming with divine authority.

"Reveal yourself! Who dares seize the Son of Ra, Lord of the Two Lands, and bring him to this forsaken place? Speak, or face the wrath of the gods and my justice!"