Sobek's throne room, a grand hall constructed with the characteristic opulence of the Goa'uld. The walls were adorned with intricate hieroglyphics illuminated by faintly glowing lines of gold. Two towering statues of jackal-headed warriors flanked the entrance, their eyes glowing faintly as if watching every movement. The throne itself, raised on a dais of black stone veined with shimmering blue, was made of polished obsidian and gold, its high back carved with depictions of Sobek’s victories—both real and imagined. Behind the throne hung a massive banner bearing his sigil: a stylized crocodile with glowing emerald eyes.
Sobek sat on the throne, radiating an air of authority as several Goa'uld advisors stood before him. They took turns delivering reports, their tones deferential but clipped, each eager to present their part and move on. Sobek’s teal eyes scanned them impassively, his fingers resting on the gilded armrests of his throne. The atmosphere in the room was tense; whispers of Ra’s impending demise had not yet reached them officially, but the air was thick with anticipation.
One advisor stepped forward, a middle-aged Goa’uld with sharp features and a faint sneer. “My lord Sobek,” he began, bowing deeply. “It has come to our attention that your slave attendants have been permitted access to your sarcophagus. Forgive me, but such a privilege is—unorthodox.”
There was a murmur of agreement from a few others. Sobek’s teal eyes narrowed. The room fell silent under the weight of his gaze. Slowly, he rose from his throne, his footsteps echoing ominously as he descended the dais.
“You dare question my decisions?” Sobek asked, his voice calm but laced with danger. The advisor hesitated, then dropped his gaze.
“N-no, my lord, merely—”
“Enough.” Sobek’s voice cut through like a blade. “The sarcophagus is not a mere tool of vanity; it is a resource. If my attendants are to serve me effectively, they must be in peak condition. Do you think the other System Lords care for their slaves beyond utility? No. That is why their servants despise them. I forge a different path. Loyalty bought with care is loyalty that endures.” He let the words hang for a moment before adding, “Do not question me again.”
The advisor bowed low, retreating with mumbled apologies. The others quickly followed suit, eager to avoid Sobek’s ire.
Satisfied, Sobek returned to his throne and summoned his scientists. They entered the room in a tight formation, bowing deeply before approaching the dais. Sobek leaned forward, his gaze sharp.
“Gather all information you have on our empire’s technology,” he commanded, “as well as the biological nature of the Goa’uld symbiosis with different hosts. I want to know everything—advantages, weaknesses, and potential modifications.” He paused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “There is much we can learn, and much we must improve.”
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“Yes, my lord,” the head scientist replied, bowing deeply. “We will begin at once.”
Sobek dismissed them with a wave of his hand, watching as they hurried out. The room was now empty, save for Sobek himself. He leaned back in his throne, tapping his chin thoughtfully. There was much to do, but first, a conversation needed to take place.
He pressed a large button embedded in the armrest of his throne. With a soft hiss, a hidden compartment opened, revealing a cloudy bronze orb. Sobek placed his hand over it, the metal hand device glowing faintly as he activated the communicator. A ripple of light spread across the orb, and moments later, the image of Hathor appeared on the viewing screen in front of him.
She was lounging in a regal chair, her expression one of bored amusement. Her attire was intentionally provocative, the gold fabric draped elegantly to accentuate her beauty. Her crimson lips curved into a slight smile as she regarded Sobek.
“Ah, my dear Sobek,” she purred, her voice sultry. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Sobek inclined his head respectfully. “My queen, I wished to update you on my progress.” He gave her a brief overview of the past month, detailing the rapid construction of the settlement, the activation of the Stargate, and the first shipments of resources sent back to her domain.
Hathor’s eyes widened slightly, her smile growing. “Impressive,” she remarked. “You are establishing yourself far quicker than I anticipated. I am pleased.”
“Thank you, my queen,” Sobek replied, hesitating for a moment before continuing. “If I may, I have a request.”
Hathor raised an eyebrow, her expression curious. “Do not be afraid to ask, my child.”
Sobek hesitated again, then spoke. “I wish to request a supply of Goa’uld larvae—lesser-quality specimens will suffice—for experimentation and observation.”
Hathor blinked, clearly surprised. “An unusual request,” she mused, tilting her head. “But I see no reason to deny it. You shall have them.”
Sobek bowed his head. “Thank you, my queen. I also request an additional shipment of slaves to bolster our ranks and a contingent of warriors to maintain order as our population grows.”
Hathor considered this for a moment before nodding. “Very well. I will see to it that your requests are fulfilled.”
She leaned back, her expression turning more serious. “Sobek, there is something you should know. The System Lords have been summoned to an emergency meeting in three days. I must attend in person, though I detest such gatherings.”
Sobek’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Of course the other System Lords waste time with petty politics unlike you my Queen.”
Hathor raised an eyebrow but did not press further. “Be that as it may, ensure that your progress continues. We shall speak again soon.”
The screen flickered off, and Sobek leaned back in his throne, a satisfied smile on his lips. The pieces were falling into place, and he could feel the tides of change approaching. The death of Ra was imminent, and when the news broke, Sobek would be ready to capitalize on the chaos.