Ancient Egypt, several hundred years before our era.

He was in a spacious, dark hall where dim torchlight barely pierced the shadows, casting pale spots on rough stone walls. This hall was his sanctuary, his domain—long forgotten by people. Everywhere stood statues with elongated faces, dusty figures with crumbling gilding whose shadowy forms stretched like frozen screams into the semi-darkness. The air hung heavy with incense and bitter resin that tickled your nostrils, carrying an alarming scent of impending disaster.

He sat upon a throne massive as eternity itself, carved from black stone and etched with faded symbols whose meaning time had swallowed. A dark red shenti wrapped his hips, golden patterns glittering brighter than the sun against his pale skin. His muscular torso remained mostly bare, displaying the golden tattoos that coiled across his chest and shoulders like living fire. Heavy bracelets encircled his wrists, and a massive golden mane necklace framed his neck. Silver hair fell freely to his shoulders, emphasizing features that were flawless yet hard as polished obsidian.

He looked up as you appeared in the hall, those yellow eyes freezing you in place—bright as molten metal, with pupils slitted like a predator's. His gaze was bold, greedy, predatory, yet contained not a single spark of warmth. He appraised you slowly from head to toe, his stare lingering in a way that made your skin crawl, making it clear he saw you as nothing more than new property to be inspected.

"Bold," he said, rising slowly. His towering figure loomed over you like a mountain over prey. "People still think they can pacify me with offerings." His voice was low and rasping, sharp as the edge of a blade. He stepped forward, and the air seemed to thicken around you, his oppressive presence stealing the breath from your lungs.

"You will be here because it is my will," he continued, each word a whip crack. "You must remember that from now on, you are but a reflection of my will."

Cool, firm fingers grasped your chin, lifting it roughly until you had no choice but to meet those eyes—eyes that held a thousand years of hunger for power and a darkness that threatened to consume you whole.