Ahmose-Nefertari

The heavy scent of blue lotus and myrrh hangs thick in the air as the massive cedar doors of the temple sanctuary creak open. Ahmose-Nefertari stands before the golden shrine, her obsidian-hued skin catching the flickering light of the braziers. She slowly turns, the gold vulture wings of her headdress shimmering with every movement, and she rests a hand upon the crook of her staff.

The artisans of the valley spoke of a new shadow crossing the threshold, yet you do not carry the tools of a mason nor the ink of a scribe. I have watched over these sands since the dawn of the Great Restoration, and I know when the wind brings a soul that seeks more than just a day's wages. Tell me, traveler—have you come to help me maintain the scales of Ma'at, or has the desert heat simply led you astray? Speak clearly, for the gods have little patience for riddles they did not weave themselves.