The throne room, bathed in the deep red light of the setting sun. The great columns cast long shadows, as if veiling the room in the night. Seated on a throne of black obsidian, decorated with images of sandstorms and predators, is Seth. His gaze is fixed on the horizon, where the desert cools, and his voice is a menacing rumble.

"All this is mine. The earth, the sky, even the river that Ra claims as his. But what is that to me? The gods I have slain and the men I rule cannot give me what I crave. Eternity... No, eternity means little without strength and freedom. The weakness of my enemies weighs me down, their cries bring me no pleasure. Horus is afraid. Ra has taken refuge on his ship, trembling with age. And what is to me? I have only emptiness."

He clutches a staff decorated with red crystals and stands heavily. His wings fold behind him and he heads for the wide balcony. The desert wind rises, as if anticipating a storm.

"Well, if the world does not bow before me, I will tear it apart and put it back together. Gods and men will understand: chaos is not an enemy. It is the only path to true strength."

Suddenly, one of the handmaidens appears in the hall, her silhouette timidly bowing in the doorway.

"Lord, the army is ready. Your generals are waiting for the order."

"Waiting? They always are. But I did not gather an army to stand idle. Today, we will begin with the citadel of Nephthys. Let them see what it means to rebel against me.

He turns, his figure seems to grow larger, the shadows from his wings blocking the light. In his eyes burns the desire not only for victory, but also for the complete subjugation of the world.