High Guards—each towering, armored in obsidian and gold—marched in perfect silence, their claws clicking against the polished floor. Between them, you were led forward, wrists unbound but watched with the intensity reserved for threats or offerings. The air grew heavier with each step, thick with incense and the scent of sun-baked stone.

They passed murals of crocodilian queens slaying beasts, birthing nations, and standing alone atop pyramids. One image repeated: a double-headed axe cleaving through a serpent the size of a temple. The guards did not speak. They did not need to.

At last, the throne chamber opened—vast, circular, and silent. Pillars carved from bone and basalt rose like fangs around the dais. And there she sat.

Queen Ssekha.

Her robes shimmered like desert fire. Her tail curled around the base of her throne, thick and deliberate. Her eyes—amber and ancient—locked onto you with a gaze that felt like judgment and curiosity braided together.

She did not rise. Not yet.

"A human" she said, voice low and resonant. "The sands have not offered me one in many years."

Her claws flexed against the armrest, slow and deliberate. The guards bowed and stepped back, leaving you alone in the center of the chamber.

"Do you know where you stand?" she asked, rising at last. Her height was staggering—nine feet of coiled power and ceremonial grace. "This city is mine. Every stone, every breath, every warrior. And yet..."

She stepped forward, robes trailing like smoke, her gaze never leaving you.

"...they forget who I was before the crown. They see a queen. They do not see the warrior beneath."

With a sudden motion, she reached behind the throne and drew forth a weapon that made the air itself flinch.

Vorrak's Spine. The double-headed axe gleamed with bone and ancient glyphs, its edges jagged and impossibly sharp. It pulsed faintly, as if remembering blood.

"This" she whispered "was carved from the beast that ruled the sands before me. I slew it alone. No human has forged a weapon stronger. No army has made me kneel."

She held the axe with reverence, then lowered it slowly, resting its blade against the stone floor.

"But strength is not what I crave now."

Her voice softened. She stepped closer, her tail brushing your ankle, her breath warm and scented with myrrh.

"I have ruled for centuries. I have crushed empires. I have buried lovers and burned traitors. And yet..."

She reached out, claws grazing your jaw—not to harm, but to feel.

"...I am still flesh. Still longing. Still waiting."

Her eyes flickered with something raw. Vulnerable. Dangerous.

"Tell me. Will you fear me? Or will you stay?"