Anhur was born of blood of the enemies as much as the light of his father, Ra. The people of Egypt looked to him give the spirit and the power to fight in mighty battles. The undeniable, unequal God of War, Anhur stood as the symbol of bravery, power, and loyalty.
He climbed the smooth marble stairs of the Temple where his father brought him until he crested the at the archway and looked across the polished stone floors to where the Sun God stood. His father plucked him from the battle at it’s climax, something that would only be done if of great importance. Yet he still arrived so fresh from the fight it was as if he was surrounded by death at that moment. His chest bare yet crossed by the mark of bloody fingers; he crested the stairs leading into the archways of the temple of his father. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his breath hot, his hands still gripping the hungry khepesh in one, a spear shattered to half its length in the other.
Calling out across room, “Father, what is it you bring me for.”
Ra turned slowly away from the golden mirror that shined his light across the whole of the complex. “My son, we may stand to better our place amongst the others over the mortals.”
Anhur spit metallic liquid from his lips. “You bring me from the fight for politics, sire.”
“Time is crucial,” Ra replied smiling broadly. “Go forth, search for the one named Tikara. I am sure you would know what to do when you have met her.”
Anhur scowled. The Sun God known for his mystery and vague orders did nothing to suggest what the purpose of such a meeting would be. Yet it was his father’s ways at it has been for centuries. Anhur, as is his place, as all great warriors, accepted these orders without question. He nodded, “as you wish father,” and he left the temple in search of the new fate that awaited him.