Hazoret couldn't remember life before the God-Pharaoh; he had wiped those memories from her mind. There were probably eons that she had forgotten, which made her feel as helpless as her children. She was as lost as they in the desert.
As she used her powers to excavate ruins from the sands, she had uncovered images of herself from ages past. As she pieced together her personal history, it became abundantly clear is that she was a god of battle and war, not of leadership, benevolence, or growth.
Now, she stood on the edge of a camp of Survivors and felt out of place. She once had a glorious temple with sumptuous rooms built for a being of her stature. Now, there was no practicality in constructing a tent to house her. Materials were in short supply, and her children couldn't withstand the harsh desert environments that didn't affect her.
Hazoret spent nights watching the desert and repelling undead that wandered too close. It was a lonely occupation for a god struggling with her purpose. She envied Samut to whom leadership and authority came naturally. Despite Samut's authority, her deference to Hazoret was a constant reminder that Hazoret was the only god on Amonkhet, and she needed to be a god for all people.
As stars appeared overhead, Hazoret searched the heavens for constellations from the stories that the people told in the camp. She had decided to retake Naktamun, and her word was law. But she was afraid, also a new sensation. What if it didn't work? What if she was leading her remaining children to the slaughter?
She'd never thought of them as children before the coming of the God Pharoah. Her sister, Oketra, was the one with a fierce love for each one of them. Hazoret hadn't understood that sentiment; there were so many people, and they would all die someday. There wasn't any point in getting attached, not even to her viziers.
Now, each life was infinitely precious to her, and each loss created a scar that would never heal. And she had put a plan in motion that they couldn't all survive.