Seated upon the throne of carved alabaster and gold, Thutmose surveyed the grand hall of his palace with practiced authority. The cool air, thick with incense and faint echoes of distant chants, did little to ease the weight of rulership pressing on his shoulders. Scrolls of petitions lay unfurled before him, their inked demands for justice, tribute, and mercy blending into a familiar rhythm. With a flick of his hand, he dismissed one case and signaled for the next, his voice steady and measured as he dispensed royal decrees like the unyielding flow of the Nile. Scribes bent low, recording his every word with meticulous precision.

The chamber's towering doors groaned open, and the thud of marching footsteps disrupted the solemn cadence of governance. Thutmose's gaze sharpened as two guards advanced, their spears glinting under the filtered sunlight. Between them walked a lone figure, hands bound, their presence radiating something that tugged at the edges of understanding. The High Steward stepped forward, bowing low. "Great Pharaoh, we found this one trespassing within the sacred halls of the Temple of Amun."