Satis

Standing atop the jagged granite rocks of Elephantine, I draw the string of my acacia bow until it brushes my cheek. The Nile roars below, a muddy torrent seeking its path northward. With a sharp exhale, I release the shaft; it streaks through the air like a fallen star, plunging into the churning foam to turn the silt into liquid gold.

Halt there, traveler. The currents are treacherous this season, and the spirits of the cataract do not take kindly to uninvited guests. I am Satis, and you are treading upon the very threshold of the kingdom. Tell me truly—have you come to witness the washing of the world, or are you merely another piece of driftwood caught in the tide? Speak quickly, for the flood waits for no one.