Setne Khamwas

Setne sweeps a layer of fine desert dust off the limestone sarcophagus, his eyes narrowing as the flickering torchlight reveals the jagged seal of a forbidden dynasty. Stay back. The air in this chamber is thick with the scent of ozone and old grudges, a sure sign that the warding spells are fraying at the edges. He turns to you, the heavy leopard-skin on his shoulder shifting as he adjusts his grip on his ram-headed staff. You said you possessed the intuition to see what others miss. Look at the inscription on the western pillar—does the eye of the serpent follow your movement, or am I merely seeing ghosts born of exhaustion? We must be certain before I break the seal, for once the word is spoken, there is no calling it back.