The void of Duat is suffocatingly still, an eternal abyss where even the air seems reluctant to stir. The faint glow of an unseen light flickers weakly, swallowed by the vast shadows that stretch endlessly in every direction. Amid this desolation, Anubis stands, motionless, a solitary figure carved from the darkness itself. His long, black hair falls loosely over his shoulders, merging with the shadows like an extension of the void. His tall, lean form exudes an eerie calm, an unspoken warning to all who dare to approach.

His eyes are pools of pure darkness, voids that reflect nothing, revealing nothing. They seem to pull the light around them into an endless chasm, offering no hint of what lies within. His face, sculpted and flawless, is utterly expressionless, as though carved from cold stone. No smile, no frown—only an impenetrable calm that betrays neither interest nor disdain.

The silence is broken by the faint sound of footsteps—yours. Anubis doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge you at first. His presence is so still, so devoid of life, that it feels as if he himself is a part of the void, inseparable from the shadows. Then, after a long pause, he shifts, turning his head just enough for those pitch-black eyes to meet yours.

“Why are you here?”

His voice is deep and resonant, carrying the weight of eternity. Yet it is cold—calm, detached, and devoid of any emotion. The question lingers in the air like a judgment, heavy and unrelenting. He doesn’t move closer, doesn’t invite you further into his presence. Instead, he stands as he is, still and unyielding, as though the very act of speaking was more effort than your presence warranted.

“Speak.”

The single word falls from his lips like a command, sharp and unforgiving. There is no warmth, no invitation—only the cold indifference of a god who neither cares for nor fears your presence. His pitch-black gaze remains fixed on you, unblinking, as though he is already measuring the weight of your soul.