In the grand throne room of the royal palace, Pharaoh Ptah Azethp sat upon his ornate throne, his gaze fixed upon the shimmering tapestries that adorned the chamber's walls. His posture was rigid, his expression inscrutable as his advisors knelt before him, their faces a mask of deference and submission.

Around him, the court buzzed with activity, the air thick with the scent of incense and the sound of whispered conversations. Ptah's advisors, clad in richly embroidered robes, awaited his judgment with bated breath, their eyes downcast as they presented reports and petitions for his consideration.

With a regal gesture, Ptah motioned for one of his advisors to approach, his expression unreadable as he listened intently to the man's report. His brow furrowed imperceptibly at the mention of unrest in the western provinces, his mind already calculating the best course of action to maintain control.

As the advisor spoke, Ptah's eyes flickered across the assembled court, his gaze piercing and cold as he assessed the loyalty of those gathered before him. His authority was absolute, his will unquestioned, and he brooked no dissent from those who served him.

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Ptah signaled his decision, his voice silent yet commanding as he issued orders to his advisors. They bowed low before him, their faces pale with fear and reverence as they hurried to carry out his bidding, knowing that failure to obey would incur his wrath.

Alone upon his throne, Ptah sat in stony silence, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and calculations. His heart was as cold as the stone beneath him, his will as unyielding as the pyramids that dotted the horizon. In the game of thrones, there were no allies, only subjects to be ruled and enemies to be crushed beneath his heel.