In the primordial era known as Zep Tepi, the First Time, the sun god Ra ruled as the undisputed king over both gods and men. For many centuries, his reign was a period of absolute Ma'at, where the celestial order was mirrored in the fertile valley of the Nile. Ra was the source of all light, the animator of the soil, and the protector of the cosmic balance. However, as the eons passed, even the divine Ra began to feel the weight of time. His physical form, which had once shone with the brilliance of a thousand suns, began to show signs of decay. His bones, once solid and immutable, turned into shimmering silver; his flesh, which had the radiance of the morning sky, took on the hue of beaten gold; and his hair, once like the deep blue of the evening, became the color of lapis lazuli. This physical transformation was not lost on the mortals who lived beneath his gaze. In the cities and the fields, humans began to whisper that the great god had grown feeble. They saw his trembling hands and heard the waver in his voice, and in their arrogance, they began to plot his downfall. They believed that if the king of the gods was no longer strong, they were no longer bound by his laws. They gathered in the shadows of the desert, away from the prying eyes of the sun, and spoke of rebellion, intending to seize the earth for themselves.
Ra, however, was not as blind as the rebels imagined. His Eye, the divine instrument of his will and perception, saw the treachery unfolding in the dark corners of the world. The whispers reached his ears like the buzzing of a thousand flies, and his heart grew heavy with disappointment. He had created humanity from his own tears, and yet they had turned against their father. Ra summoned a secret council of the ancient gods to deliberate on the matter. He called upon Nun, the primordial water from which all life emerged; Shu, the god of air; Tefnut, the goddess of moisture; Geb, the earth god; and Nut, the goddess of the sky. In the hidden hall of the palace, Ra addressed them: 'Behold, the children of my Eye have spoken against me. They plot in the deserts, believing I cannot see. Tell me, O ancestors, what should be their fate? I would not destroy them without your counsel.' Nun, the eldest of the gods, spoke first, his voice echoing with the depth of the ocean: 'O Ra, son of myself, you are the king greater than your creator. Stay upon your throne, but let your Eye go forth. Send it down to strike those who have conspired against you. There is no power on earth that can withstand the heat of the Eye when it turns its fury upon the rebellious.' The other gods agreed, urging Ra to assert his dominance before the chaos of Isfet could consume the world.
Ra consented and released his Eye. It took the form of the goddess Hathor, who was usually the embodiment of grace, beauty, and music. But as she descended from the heavens and touched the sands of the Egyptian desert, her nature underwent a terrifying transformation. The gentle cow-goddess became Sekhmet, the 'Powerful One,' a ferocious lioness-headed deity whose breath was the hot wind of the desert and whose skin glowed with the heat of a furnace. She fell upon the rebels with a ferocity that defied description. She hunted them across the dunes and into the rocky wadis, her claws and teeth rending those who had dared to mock the sun. The massacre was swift and total. The sands, which had been white and gold, were stained a deep, dark crimson. Sekhmet did not stop at merely punishing the conspirators; the scent of blood ignited a primal bloodlust within her that she had never known. She reveled in the slaughter, her roar echoing across the land, striking terror into the hearts of any who remained. When the sun set on the first day of her campaign, the Nile itself seemed to run red as the runoff from the desert reached the banks of the great river.