In the blood-red sigh of Ra’s forsaken throne, where endless sands devour both god and bone, a pharaoh-prophet, forged of starlit clay, unravels slow beneath the dying day. Porous as temples lost to whispering gales, his limbs of rust and ruin melt and trail— body vanishing, returning to the dune, crumbling back to dust beneath the blood-red moon. Yet from this crumbling flesh of mortal night, one vast and sacred Eye awakens, burning bright: unblinking, merciless, the god’s eternal fire, the prophet’s final gaze that never tires. Though empires fade and flesh is claimed by sand, the Withering Eye endures across the land— watching still, as all else turns to silent dust… divine, undying, in whom sight alone trusts.