What is man that I dare keep from him the fate long ago set to by star and gods?

This area, a holy den, this vale on the isle of jade and wood, once held its hand to make soft the drop of one from on high. Long set to a tomb of rock and weed, told of in lore and tale, his time is come once more.

In a hush, a man may tell of what came down. More like, he will let it slip as a slur to jeer his foe. "Your god, " he may say, “lies in ruin, set to moss and moth, a god of rot. My god owns the sky now.” They call it by a name I can’t say too well, but they mean the same as whom I seek.

So many a name over so many a year have been laid upon my prey. His acts were too much for us to know. His arm and eye did fill the sky. He fell, this much I know. He will rise anew, for I will find him and put him back upon his seat to rule. I will find the god who fell.

Up from his pit, Ra will come to man, to rage and to seek the ones who sent him to the dark. Pray, oh man, that you be not be of that ilk.