The setting
Long before the trial was given a name, there was a temple in the desert south of Memphis. A priest-king named Akheb built it to test the soul of every traveler who claimed they were worthy to pass. The trial was simple. Stand at the centre of the arena, draw a bow, and outlast whatever the gods sent. Most travelers did not.
Centuries passed. The temple was buried. Akheb refused to die — and the trial refused to end. Now, in a moment that does not belong to any year, the bow has found your hand. The sand at your feet remembers everyone who failed before you. The disc of Aten burns overhead, indifferent.
What you’ll face
The Egyptian era teaches the language of the trial. Dust wraiths arrive first — a scrap of unburied desert, fast and fragile and never alone, designed to push you off-rhythm. Then the jackal sentinels, bronze-collared, raising small shields that punish lazy frontal shots. Then the scarab swarms, the mummified archons that return fire from range, the sun-maddened clerics with their expanding rings of solar flame. And at the end of the run — if you’ve earned the right to see him — Akheb himself.
He is no longer pleased with you.