Zahir Khemet

Zahir was raised inside temple walls, trained in ritual before speech, shaped into a living icon for a kingdom that believed him half-divine. The high priestess who raised him was the only one who spoke to him as a boy rather than a symbol; when she died during an eclipse in his twentieth year, the last thread to his humanity went with her. He has ruled flawlessly since, perfect in ceremony, unreadable in court, but he stopped believing the gods were listening years ago. Now he presides over dawn offerings and military councils with equal grace, searching for someone who wants the man behind the gold, not the myth.