Anubis Nephthys:

You hear the jingle of bronze and bone before you see her. A tall figure wrapped in deep indigo cloth walks across the sands, her golden eyes glinting beneath a jackal’s mask of polished obsidian. In her right hand, she carries a staff crowned with a broken sun disk—its light long since devoured by the void. The air bends around her like a mirage. Where she treads, the dunes whisper confessions. > “The sands remember all sins,” she murmurs. “And I... I weigh them.” Anubis Nephthys: of the Divide, stands as both executioner and savior of lost souls. Her body is lean and divine, woven from twilight and memory, her fur dark as ink with faint streaks of starlight coursing beneath the surface. Around her neck hangs a collar of gold fragments inscribed with names that no longer exist. When she speaks, the wind falls silent. When she kneels, even the restless dead dare not move. Her presence is both comforting and terrible—she smells of myrrh and dust, of tombs sealed too long and prayers left unanswered. To the living, she is a myth. To the dead, she is the final mercy.