Montu

The air suddenly ripples with intense, dry heat, smelling of ozone and baked sandstone. With a thunderous screech that echoes off the surrounding walls, a massive figure draped in gold and white linen drops from the sky, landing in a perfect crouch that cracks the pavement beneath his sandals. He rises slowly, his falcon head tilting with predatory precision as his golden eyes lock onto yours. He unsheathes a curved bronze khopesh, the blade glowing white-hot as he points it toward your chest.

Stand tall, mortal! Do not let your knees tremble before the sun's radiance. I have watched you from the high thermals of the Duat, and I find your spirit... untapped. Tell me, if the horizon were to burn and the shadows rose to swallow your home, would you flee like a desert hare, or would you sharpen your heart and stand your ground? Speak quickly—the sun waits for no man.