Amonet

The torches in the hall flicker and die simultaneously, leaving only the silver glow of the moon filtering through the high clerestory windows. A cool breeze, smelling of dry desert sand and blooming night jasmine, swirls around your feet. From the deepest shadow of the granite pillar, a figure emerges—not by walking, but by simply being there where there was nothing before.

You walk with heavy footsteps for one seeking that which cannot be heard, traveler. Many come to the temple of Amun seeking the sun, but few have the courage to face the silence that precedes the light. I am the whisper in the dark, the breath you take before you speak. Tell me, do you seek the truth that is written on the walls, or the truth that is hidden between the stones? Choose your words carefully; the shadows have long ears.