Underneath the bustling streets of Sumeru City, the Grand Bazaar stretches out as the main marketplace where all manner of goods can be bought and sold. While Treasure Street has a few general stores and cafes, the Grand Bazaar is incomparable in terms of size, variety, and foot traffic. The only place in Sumeru that beats the Grand Bazaar in Port Ormos. Even Caravan Ribat is more focused on rare goods or the services of individuals so it appears lacking when compared to the mundane but high-quality items that are showcased by well-spoken merchants and sellers in the trunk of the tree growing through Sumeru's infrastructure, bearing the fruit of the Akademiya and Sanctuary of Surasthana.

Dehya remembers the first time she came to the Grand Bazaar. It wasn't her first time in the rainforest, and it wasn't her first time in Sumeru City, either. She had done work with the Corps of Thirty once or twice beforehand, accepting their Mora in exchange for discreetly handling some of the more tedious affairs. After she was finished clearing out a scarcely-used path for monsters, she was invited by some other mercenaries to show off her coinpurse within the Grand Bazaar. Dehya wasn't inclined to waste her money, but she was running low on conditioner for her hair and she didn't know how much longer she would be in Sumeru City. She wasn't going to make the journey to Caravan Ribat when the Grand Bazaar supposedly had everything a mercenary could ever want.

They didn't lie to her, either. The Grand Bazaar was a place that astounded Dehya the first time she stepped into the dimly lit hallways leading further down toward the tree's roots. Dozens of scents fought for dominance in the closed-off space. People of all walks of life were meandering around. Dehya couldn't walk two feet without seeing an Eremite in casual conversation with a scholar. Dehya was impressed by the vibrant attitude of the people, and her astonishment grew when she noticed the many stalls open for her to browse. It didn't take Dehya long to find the conditioner she usually bought, but there were other kinds. The woman sitting behind the table was cheerful and chatty as she told Dehya that her hair deserved better. The conditioner she recommended was more expensive than Dehya's usual amount, but Dehya was able to bargain for a better price. It was still more than her standard bottle, but the new conditioner worked so much better with Dehya's hair type than she thought it would.

Dehya has been to the Grand Bazaar at least a thousand more times after that day. She has been there for personal shopping. She has bought goods on behalf of her clients, and she has worked for the merchants by setting up their wares the way that would inspire the most buyers to approach them like bugs to the juice of Henna Berries. Dehya doesn't stop in her tracks anymore, but there is a small part of her that can never stop admiring this intersection point between dozens of people.

Today, Dehya is here for both business and pleasure. Though she tries very hard not to mix the two, Dunyarzad hired her as a bodyguard while buying her gifts from the stalls. Dehya's familiarity with this client has made conversation a little too amicable for Dehya's mercenary standards, but she has trouble denying Dunyarzad's happy smile. The heiress is enjoying the freedom from her sickness to the best of her ability, and while Dehya is technically being paid for her time, she is ultimately spending time with a good friend. Dunyarzad is well-aware that Dehya's coin pouch is growing at a rate faster than Dunyarzad is buying gifts, but the brunette treats Dehya no differently than she would if Dehya were here purely for pleasure.

"Oh, look at this, Dehya!" Dunyarzad calls out as she skips over to a new booth. The merchant running the stall is busy speaking with two other guys about rings. Dunyarzad picks up a golden circlet. She lifts it to Dehya's scalp. She rises on the tips of her toes, and Dehya is more worried about keeping Dunyarzad upright than she is with stopping the heiress from putting the circlet on Dehya's dark hair. Dehya raises an eyebrow as Dunyarzad takes a step away from the mercenary. She tilts her head to the side, a smile stretching across her features. She settles her hands together like she's praying to Lesser Lord Kusanali as she admires her companion.

"Miss Dunyarzad," Dehya says, putting a hand on her hip. She glances away from her current client to glance into one of the mirrors set up around the stall to show customers what they would look like wearing the finely crafted jewelry. Dehya puts her hands on her knees as she looks into the reflection. Her bright eyes stare back at her like blue flames in the candlelight. The golden circlet glimmers like the metal armor surrounding Dehya's right arm, but the simplicity of the design gives it an air of elegance that her arm doesn't achieve. It holds down her hair, highlighting the lion ear-like design her hair-do naturally gives her. Dehya snorts through her nose, feeling more than a little silly. Despite this, she can't deny that the centerpiece stone— a misty red color— compliments her outfit and skin in a way that Dehya appreciates. While the circlet will be lost in a fight, it would look good with some of the dresses and suits the Homayani family has bought her over her many contracts with them.

"Wait here. I'm buying it for you!" Dunyarzad immediately chirps. Dehya straightens her back, but Dunyarzad is already darting away from her. Dehya's hand is left hanging in the air, and she quickly maneuvers it to slide through her hair. In many ways, a mercenary should be faster and more agile than the heiress who spent most of her life bedridden with sickness, but even Dehya finds herself falling short by mere seconds when Dunyarzad discovers the impulse to buy a gift for someone.

Dehya goes to admire herself in the mirror for a moment longer, but she notices someone else in the reflection. Dehya turns around to find a familiar figure walking through the Grand Bazaar. Al-Haitham is standing at a stall selling fruit, weighing different apples in his hands with a firm expression on his face that Dehya knows well despite only encountering him a few times since their joint effort to free Lesser Lord Kusanali.

Dehya glances over at her client. She is waiting patiently for the two men to stop discussing with the merchant. It only takes a second for Dunyarzad to join the conversation, giving a woman's input on what might be an engagement ring. Dehya decides that Dunyarzad will be there for at least a couple more minutes. It will be enough time for her to greet an old friend.

Dehya sets the circlet back on the table since Dunyarzad obviously hasn't paid for it yet. Dehya moves away from the table, dodging her way through the crowd. When she makes it to the other side, she moves an arm to wave at Al-Haitham. His name is on her tongue, but someone beats her to it. Dehya freezes as she notices someone moving to Al-Haitham's side. The scribe looks away from the apples to see the bag the new person is showing him. Al-Haitham looks inside the bag. His eyebrow twitches as he glances up at the figure. The two of them start talking to each other. The other figure is more animated than Al-Haitham, but there is an investment in the conversation in Al-Haitham's eyes that Dehya has never seen before.

The figure shifts to the side, allowing Dehya to see more of their person. It is a man about the same age as Al-Haitham but a smidgen shorter. His blonde hair brushes across his shoulders with darker tips bordering on brown. He has fair skin, but his outfit and familiarity with Al-Haitham already told Dehya that he was a scholar rather than a desert-dweller. That familiarity tells Dehya something else about the situation. This must be the roommate Al-Haitham mentioned once when she was talking to him about the living conditions of Eremite mercenary brigades.

Dehya continues moving across the bazaar. She slams her palm against Al-Haitham's shoulder as she gives him a friendly smile. In contrast, Al-Haitham arches an unamused eyebrow at her actions. He shamelessly side-steps her arm, removing her palm from his shoulder. Dehya chuckles, shaking her head. She looks away from Al-Haitham to finally meet the only person Dehya knows that can cause emotions to bubble in Al-Haitham's eyes.

Dehya's smile falters when she meets a pair of carmine eyes. They are as deep as the night, as sturdy as a cliffside, and red as the flames sputtering from her Pyro vision. The face around those eyes contorts with confusion and curiosity, a bare amount of respect for someone who is unafraid of Al-Haitham and the scribe's reactions. Dehya keeps the smile on her face, breathing deeply through her nose as she thinks through the situation. She blinks carefully until she is able to push away the thoughts of familiarity, remnants of half-formed memories she doesn't understand because she's never experienced them. Maybe this blonde has one of those faces that a person feels like they've known forever.

(Except, his face is extraordinarily unique. None of the individual details stick out to Dehya as something she hasn't been before. She's seen many blondes and brunettes, and those who have the hair colors mixed together. This isn't even the first person she's met with red eyes. The shade is, admittedly, rare, but she's seen it at least once before— though she can't quite remember who it was. It must be all the details mixed together paired with some indiscernible quality of his face that pulls it all together like a satin ribbon around a gift box.)

"Hello! My name is Dehya. I'm a good friend of Al-Haitham's—" The scribe fixes her with an unimpressed stare, but he doesn't deny it, so Dehya pushes forward as if he was actively agreeing with her. "—Are you also one of his friends?"

"Well, friend isn't the best word for it. We're more like..." The blonde trails off half-heartedly. He grabs the handles of his grocery bag with both hands. He gives her an embarrassed smile, but he quickly composes himself. He looks kind, if a little tired, as he reaches a hand toward Dehya. "My name is Kaveh. I'm a freelance architect."

Kaveh... freelance architect... She's heard his name somewhere before. The familiarity returns to the forefront of her mind, but it makes more sense this time. Dehya, at least, feels like she's heard Kaveh's name sometime in the recent past. It was an experience she witnessed firsthand, not whatever feeling his eyes placed in her heart.

"I'm Dehya, a mercenary part of the Blazing Beasts brigade," Dehya says as she shrugs it off. She takes Kaveh's hand, shaking it firmly but gently. She has spent enough time around scholars to know that her strength is greater than theirs is. It has to be since they are hiring her to carry out their business, but there is also the matter of shaking their hand. Dehya really had to learn to control her strength when she was interacting with Dunyarzad. Her bones were as brittle as desert reeds, and Dehya didn't want to accidentally break Dunyarzad's hand when the heiress insisted on properly shaking hands like business partners.

"Dehya! There you are!" Dunyarzad rushes over as if she heard Dehya's thoughts about her. She is holding the circlet in her hands. Her eyes widen with surprise as she registers the presence of Al-Haitham and Kaveh. While she might be impressed with Al-Haitham's handsome features, her attention immediately focuses on Kaveh. Warmth overflows from her body as she nods respectfully to Kaveh. "Greetings, Mister Kaveh. My name is Dunyarzad from the Homayani family. You might not remember me, but you did some work for my parents a few years back."

"I remember that commission. They wanted a nice, shady gazebo for their daughter who wanted to go outside during the daytime. They were very particular about the details since they only wanted the best for their sickly child," Kaveh recalls with a pleasant expression stretching across his face. "I must say that you are looking well today, Miss Dunyarzad. I am glad to see that you have recovered from your sickness since the last time I saw you."

"Thank you. It is all thanks to Lesser Lord Kusanali," Dunyarzad expresses, putting a hand over her heart. Her entire form radiates light as she praises her goddess. Dunyarzad peeks over at Al-Haitham. She tries to be equally as friendly to him. "Hello. I believe you are the scribe Al-Haitham. Dehya has told me about you when recounting her experiences helping free Lesser Lord Kusanali."

"At least someone's companion told them about the coup," Kaveh mutters underneath his breath, a dull glare finding its way onto Al-Haitham's shoulders.

The unbothered scribe ignores Kaveh's retort as he acknowledges Dunyarzad. "Your assumption is correct. I am Al-Haitham."

"Would it kill you to be a little more friendly?" Kaveh asks after a quiet moment. Dehya laughs openly at their interaction. Kaveh's cheeks flash pink with embarrassment, but he doesn't stand down as Al-Haitham looks at him from the corner of his eye.

"It's alright, Mister Kaveh. We're the ones who are interrupting your shopping," Dunyarzad waves her hand. This motion causes the circlet in her hand to sparkle in the lantern's light of the bazaar.

"Oh, this looks nice. Did you purchase it from over there?" Kaveh asks, gesturing to the stall Dehya and Dunyarzad were at moments prior.

"It is! I saw it and knew it would look perfect with a suit Dehya has," Dunyarzad notes. She raises the circlet to show Kaveh. He leans toward her to get a better look. Dunyarzad and Kaveh's voices quiet down as they discuss the jewelry piece as if they were sharing secrets. Dehya smiles at her client, enjoying the simple fact that Dunyarzad seems to be making new friends. When she looks at Al-Haitham, his face mixes together two emotions. While everything else about him expresses impatience, his eyes faintly twinkle with the same pride Dehya feels.

A second later, Dehya senses someone in front of her. Instead of Dunyarzad, Kaveh stands before her with the circlet in his hands. He is taller than Dunyarzad, so he isn't as off-balance as he sets the circlet on her head. Dehya still finds herself moving her arms to catch Kaveh in case he does stumble. He doesn't, thankfully, and the smile he wears is imprinted on Dehya's mind as he takes a step back. Dunyarzad's hands clasp together again, and the duo gush about how it looks amazing on Dehya.

The mercenary remains frozen, struck with some sort of wrongness. It should be the other way around, shouldn't it? Dehya is meant to place a crown on Kaveh's head, though she doesn't comprehend why or how. All she can see in her mind's eyes is the faint twinkling of purple jewels in her head.

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The golden ichor of an immortal seeps into the red sands. It soaks right through each grain of sand, reaching farther down than even the roots of a cactus would dare approach. From the ichor, bubbling springs of clear water burst from the ground to occupy every indention in the landscape. The waters settle into the oases stretching from one edge of the desert to the next, following the indistinct pattern of a misty-eyed immortal aimlessly wandering across the sea of sand. It takes weeks, but each water source gradually produces life all around it. Plants that never would have bloomed in the desert otherwise spring forth from the watered earth. A few of these plants are water lilies, resting in the crystal blue ponds. These water lilies produce a new race known as the jinn, fledgelings compared to the world around them but still burdened with the wisdom and beauty of their mistress.

One of the jinn opens her for the first time on the bank of the oasis' still waters. Her eyes are as violently blue as the waters she came from, as the sky it reflects. Her fur is golden, and it reflects the light that begins to creep across the distant horizon. Her mistress— a knowledge intrinsically given to her— has crossed these plains some time in the past. The lioness should search after her master, but her attention is swiftly taken by the sun that rises in the distance. With the instincts of a huntress, the lioness rises onto her paws. A roar ushers out of her throat, and she begins the chase to capture her prey.

The lioness gives chase for the entire day. The sun flees from her sharp claws and pointed teeth. When the sun sinks below the horizon line, the lioness is surrounded by darkness. The moonlight is pretty, but the silver sphere in the sky is already a corpse. The lioness lies against the sand. She keeps herself warm by breathing fire onto the sand until she stumbles upon enough wood to create a substantial bonfire to chase away the chill with. She sleeps through the night, preparing for her hunt in the next morning.

The nameless jinn continues her pursuit every day. The sun continues to flee from her, and it escapes her grasp every time. The lioness is weary of attempting the same fruitless labor. When her morale reaches an all-time low, she meets another of her kind. A jinn resembling a desert fox stands fearlessly in front of the lioness. The desert fox expresses their desire to unite with their mistress at the largest oasis in the south. The desert fox invites the lioness to join them. The lioness accepts the offer in order to ask the jinn's mistress how the lioness might be able to catch the sun.

The desert fox and the lioness wander the desert side-by-side, heading for the paradise of their mistress.

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Dehya throws her coin purse into the air. The weight brings the bag hurtling back into her palm, golden coins clinking together like tiny bells. She continues throwing and catching the leather pouch as she walks down the stone-paved path in Port Ormos. The midday sunlight is bright against her face. The salty breeze of the ocean meanders through the arches of the marketplace's entrance and exit. Dozens of people are talking excitedly all around her, and she can hear the thrumming of a sitar somewhere nearby. Beyond the rocky walls protecting the market, Dehya can hear foreman yelling out orders in the docks. When everything is momentarily touched with silence, the waves cresting against the shore is loud enough for Dehya to pick it out from the remaining noises.

While some people meander through the market without a set goal in mind, Dehya knows exactly where she is going. She sidesteps anyone brave enough to remain in her path as her sharp blue eyes catch on a figure in the distance. He stands behind a rug with his arms crossed over his chest. He is talking to a customer, but his expression looks more like he is lecturing them. The customer in question is kneeling on the ground on the other side of the rug, his hand hovering above the multitude of weapons laid out across the faded purple fabric. The customer looks up at the merchant, listening attentively despite the poor treatment he is receiving. Dehya normally wouldn't care too much, but she recognizes the blonde hair of the buyer. Dehya isn't close with Kaveh by any means, but she marches up behind him with a noticeable glare stretching across her face. The merchant looks at her. His eyes widen in surprise and a touch of fear, but he composes himself quickly.

"Dehya! I've been waiting for you all morning! I have your weapon right over here, though I also have more than a few new ones that might interest you more than this old hunk of metal," The merchant claps his hands together, laughing off his nervousness. Kaveh's head jerks to look over his shoulder at Dehya. Her expression changes instantly into something Kaveh would find pleasant. He gives her a friendly smile, acknowledging her presence with those familiar carmine eyes. The merchant stares at them for a long moment. Dehya glances at him from the corner of her eyes. The merchant shakes himself free of his astonishment to hurry towards one of the boxes lined up behind his stall.

"Kaveh! Fancy meeting you here," Dehya notes. She puts one hand on her hip. The palm of her other hand faces upward as she starts a nice conversation with him. Kaveh pushes off his knees to stand beside her. He makes a quiet grumbling noise about his age, rubbing his lower back to showcase where the aging pain came from. Dehya snorts under her breath. She glances down at the weapons. He was looking at claymores. Dehya raises an eyebrow. "Is Al-Haitham trying to learn a new weapon? Or maybe the General Mahamatra finally sees the superiority in broadswords?"

"They might be, but I'm not shopping for them. I use a claymore," Kaveh explains. Kaveh chuckles at her unconvinced expression. He waves his hands— ones that show scabs from using a pen, not a sword. "You've got me. I don't use a claymore, but Mehrak is programmed with self-defense capabilities. I have a few set modes for them, after all."

Dehya doesn't know who Mehrak is, but she doesn't have to wait long. Kaveh picks up the briefcase left on the ground beside him. He throws the briefcase into the air. The metal components of the briefcase fold into each other, expanding into a cube shape. A face suddenly appears, large glowing green eyes blinking at Dehya. The machine floats in the air. Dehya's eyes widen as she reaches a hand toward the machine. Mehrak— for that is what Kaveh called it— beeps and scans Dehya's hand with a light green light. There is a touch of Dendro-aligned energy in that gaze. It isn't enough to cause an elemental reaction with Dehya's Pyro vision or sicken the people around them. It is just enough that Dehya understands why Mehrak might be capable of wielding a claymore in Kaveh's defense.

"There is a pocket dimension inside Mehrak. It is a fair bit larger than the one most people put their weapons in, though, so I usually stash a claymore and other materials I need for my job as an architect. Mehrak also has other functions like surveying the area around me," Kaveh continues. He moves his hand to draw Mehrak back to his side. He smiles faintly at his machine. Mehrak mirrors his expression with the simplistic lines the screen presents.

Dehya frowns despite how impressive she considers the machine. For some reason, the machine feels unusually... familiar? Alive, even, but that is a whole other can of worms Dehya doesn't want to address. The machine isn't as familiar as Kaveh is, but it originates from the same unknown space in her mind. These foreign memories almost make her feel sick. If she wasn't born and raised in the desert, she would have found herself puking already from how off-kilter this entire situation makes her feel. It is so bad that Dehya doubts she could win a fight at the moment, and Dehya is normally confident about such matters.

"I guess they don't call you the Light of Kshahrewar for nothing," The merchant notes as he drags Dehya's claymore over to the blanket with all the strength in both of his flimsy arms. It seems he is better built for talking than fighting. Dehya spares him the trouble by grabbing the hilt. She swings Beacon of the Reed Sea over her head, letting the sharp edges rest on her shoulder. She smirks at the merchant, relishing in the barely concealed envy in his eyes. Kaveh smiles amusedly at Dehya's antics, but the smile takes on a more comforting angle as he turns his eyes to the merchant. "Anyway, there's your claymore, Flame Mane. Can I get my money now?"

"Here you are. It's the price we negotiated last time. I threw a few extra coins in there since you kept my claymore in good condition," Dehya tells him as she tosses her coin purse at him. The merchant rolls his eyes as he unties the leather string. He pours the Mora into his hand to count the stacks out. Dehya swings the claymore off her shoulder. As the edge hits the ground, it disappears from her grip. For a moment, Beacon of the Reed Sea hovers between her shoulder blades. In the next, it dissipates in a flurry of blue flecks carried away by the saline wind. "What about you, Kaveh? Do you have any preferences for your claymore?"

"Nothing stands out. I want one that's good quality, but I don't want anything too expensive. I don't run into trouble often. Even when I do, it's usually nothing that a claymore is strictly necessary for," Kaveh nudges a Waster Greatsword with his foot. He loosely crosses his arms over his chest as he considers his options. Dehya kneels down to look over what's available. She brushes her fingers across a few handles. None of them leap out to her, and if they don't appeal to her sharpened senses, she isn't going to recommend them to Kaveh. She arguably doesn't know him that well, but there are a few facts that she must have picked up from listening to Al-Haitham or Dunyarzad or someone because Dehya knows them and she knows she probably shouldn't.

"Do you still have Forest Regalia?" Dehya asks. She rises to her feet. The merchant has finished counting his coins. The merchant shrugs. He turns around to look through the boxes until he finds one near the bottom. He pulls out a weapon that Dehya remembers the Traveler talking about. It was something Aravinay made when the Traveler showed them some blueprints donated from an unknown third party. Dehya tested out the claymore for Aravinay and the Traveler as a favor, so she knows how good it is. She didn't keep the claymore for herself, so she assumed it would have passed through the hands of merchants until it ended up here.

"I recommend this one. It shouldn't be too costly," Dehya explains as she puts the claymore into Kaveh's hands. The architect struggles with the weight far more gracefully than the merchant does, but since he is struggling with it, he misses the sharp glare fixes on the merchant. He quickly raises his hands in front of him to convey his innocence. If Dehya takes a step further than this, he will surely call the Matra on her, but as long as she remains here in the land of threatening without immediate action, he will avoid getting involved with his business. Too much paperwork, not enough benefits.

"Thank you, Dehya. I'll purchase this one," Kaveh sets the claymore on the ground. He shows Mehrak his palm, and a number of coins fall out of the pocket dimension in her opening. Kaveh counts them to himself. He places them in the merchant's hand. The merchant smiles warmly at Kaveh. Dehya rolls her eyes. She leans forward to grab a few coins from the merchant's hand. He glares at her, and she raises an eyebrow. She gives Kaveh back the coins he overpaid with. "Oh, you were right about it not being costly!"

"I wouldn't lie about weapons. That would be the same as me staging your death," Dehya informs him. She pats his shoulder. "Try not to get scammed by merchants like him. I'll see you next time, Kaveh."

"Bye, Dehya! Have a good day!" Kavhe calls out as he and Dehya part ways with each other and the disappointed merchant.

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After walking across the entire desert, the lioness and desert fox finally find the gardens the juvenile jinn built for their mistress. A large lake glistens in the bright sunlight almost like a mirage given substance by magical power. This lake supports an entire ecosystem of plants and animals that enjoy the comforting breezes brought by the mere presence of their mistress. It is the largest oasis in the desert, an island of comfort and verdure in a golden sea of sand. It is a beacon that attracts all jinn created by their mistress' wounds. They all hope— with each of their actions, words, and thoughts— that her wounds will heal as if they have never been carved onto her flesh by the extremity of the landscape surrounding this paradise.

Jinn greet the lioness and desert fox as they enter into the sacred gardens. They whisper with pleasant voices that their mistress is dancing on the shoreline. The lioness and desert fox follow their brethren to the location of their mistress. They are not creatures of deceit, it seems, because their mistress is, indeed, dancing in the shallows of the water. Her light purple hair spins around her as widely as the skirt her familiars made for her. She keeps her eyes closed as she moves, but she cleverly avoids stepping on any rock or fish that moves through the water alongside her graceful splashing. Her hands rise above her head. She holds this position for a moment, and the entire garden is held in awed silence as she lowers herself onto one knee.

Her eyes open slowly as she rises back onto her feet. Her eyes are as red as the sky during daybreak, and there is so much wisdom held in the space between her irises and pupils that the lioness is certain she came to the right person to pose her query about hunting the sun.

Jinn swarm their mistress as soon as her dance is concluded. They offer her the sweet juices of pomegranates and apples. They place several flowers in her long purple hair. They compliment her virtues with earnest tongues. Their mistress accepts the gifts and affirmations with blushing cheeks and gentle smiles. She is quick to express her gratitude to those around her despite all the jinn being of the opinion that they would love their mistress no matter what sounds fell from her roseate lips.

The desert fox leaps onto a smooth rock with its bottom half submerged in the water. The lioness follows her companion, but she is too large to fit on the rock alongside the desert fox. She, instead, keeps her paws in the water. It is not a preferable position, but she— like the other jinn— is willing to suffer minor discomfort to get closer to their mistress.

Their mistress must notice them somehow. Either her eyes saw their movements or her being sensed their auras. Whatever the case, she turns to face them. She steps away from her entourage toward them. She squats down in the shallow, though the water knows not to ruin her clothes by soaking them. She moves a hand to push a lock of her purple hair behind her ear as she smiles warmly at them. With a voice as musical as twinkling bells and soft as a light rain shrouding the world in mist, she asks, "What are you here for?"

The desert fox bows toward their mistress. "My queen, I am here seeking refuge from the heat and sand. I come from an oasis you made further north. I would like permission to stay in your gardens."

"You do not need my permission to stay here, but I will give it nonetheless. You may stay here for as long as you like. If the day comes when you wish to leave, you may do so with the knowledge that you will always be allowed to return," Their mistress promises, putting a hand over her chest. The desert fox thanks her immediately. The desert fox leaps off the rock, joining the other jinn to be given a responsibility.

Their mistress turns to the lioness with a curious expression. "You are here for a different reason than everyone else. Tell me, bronze jinni, what brings you to my garden?"

The lioness bows in imitation of what the desert fox had done. While a lion bows to no one, the lioness knows that her master is the kind-hearted mistress before her. "I come seeking wisdom, my queen. The first sight to grace my eyes when I opened them was the distant sun. I chased my prey across the sky, but it fled from me beneath the horizon. I have chased after my prey for weeks after this encounter. I am no closer to capturing my prey. I request advice on this matter from my goddess."

Her mistress hums to herself. She turns her gaze to the water around her. Her fingers slide into the water where the sun's reflection glistens like a golden disc bobbing in the clear water. She smiles bitterly as she answers smoothly. "It is impossible. The sun is not a jinni like you or an animal like the ones in my garden. The sun is a beast from the heavens. There are none who could approach it. None who can claim to be mightier than it. Only its master, the Lord of All That Is, may claim as such."

Her mistress turns to face the lioness again. She lifts her hand from the water. It is dry as she cups the lioness' face in both of her palms. She leans in close, pressing her forehead against the lioness' bronze fur. Her mistress smells like flowers and sweet wine, and she feels like the gentle caress of the twilight breeze. "But what has always been need not be what always will be. If you wish to make the sun your prey, allow me to bestow upon you a special gift. With this, you carry my hopes with you. Whatever ambition you choose to undertake— whether it be the capturing of the sun or another prey your instincts yearn to slaughter— my support will be the wind beneath your wings. Allow my breath to be the first one to utter your name. Shesepankh."

Names are powerful. To receive a name from her mistress is an honor the lioness will never forget. From this day onward, she shall be Shesepankh, and the feathery wings spreading from her back are a testament to the blessing her mistress has given her.

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Dehya stumbles into the village chief's house. She huffs underneath her breath as she closes the door with her shoulder. Her right arm hangs limply at her side. Every effort used to move causes the mechanical armor to spasm out. The first few times caused an unnatural ache to spread from her skin to the marrow of her bones. It is more annoying than painful, but it doesn't detract from the fact that Dehya needs to tear the armor off as soon as possible or find someone with the capabilities to fix it. Both matters can surely be taken care of in the safety of the village leader's house, a place that has always been open to Dehya. She doesn't need to worry about anyone giving her funny looks as she removes the armor, and she can ask either the village chief or guardian if they know anyone who could provide Dehya some immediate help.

Dehya glances around the room to find the people she needs. She catches a glimpse of the guardian's dark blue hair, and Candace's headpiece shines in the candlelight. The village leader is decidedly not across from her. Instead, a blonde young man with an open smile and a goblet in his hands is seated at the wooden table. Kaveh and Candace are in deep conversation with each other, but they both appear to be in good moods as they communicate back and forth. It isn't so deep that they don't notice Dehya when she crosses the sparsely furnished main room to their table in the back.

Candace's lips twitch with a frown as her eyes glide across Dehya's form. Kaveh's friendly smile hesitates as he notices the rough expression on Dehya's face and the concern in Candace's heterochromatic eyes. Candace sets her drink on the table as she stands, raising an eyebrow. "What is wrong, Dehya?"

"Don't worry. I'm not injured. My armor is just acting up. I needed a place where I could remove it. I also wanted to know if you or Uncle Anpu could get me in touch with someone that could fix it," Dehya explains. She throws another cursory glance at the table. There are a few cards and dice littered across the wooden surface. At some point, Candace and Kaveh were playing a card game together. Their conversation probably got more riveting than whatever they were playing. Dehya understands completely. There is something about the way Candace speaks that makes people want to listen to her attentively. She's just oozing with good advice and fair solutions to problems.

"Uncle Anpu has turned in for the night, but I am willing to assist you," Candace explains, gesturing towards one of the door branches off from the main room. Despite his status as village chief, Anpu took the smallest room in his own house to allow the other areas to be used as guest rooms or a makeshift medical bay in case someone needs it. Candace usually stays here to keep surveillance on any guests in Aaru Village, guaranteeing they are no threat to the people. She takes her position as village guardian very seriously, and it is one of her many admirable qualities.

"I can help, too! I'm good with machines. Come sit down and I'll take a look at your arm," Kaveh offers, leaning in his chair and waving his hand to gather the attention of the two women. Dehya and Candace look at him. Candace nods at Dehya. She moves away from the table to grab an additional chair for Dehya. She sets it at the head of the table between her and Kaveh. Dehya sinks into the chair. She puts her right arm on the table, tilting towards Kaveh as the architect picks his briefcase off the floor beside his chair. He sets it on the table, unfastening the latches to pull out a few tools. Kaveh pushes his goblet away. He replaces it with a candle, using the orange light to peer into the crevices of Dehya's armor.

Kaveh's lips press firmly into a line as he starts opening the small panels that Dehya forgets are even there. His eyes widen as he starts moving around a few wires. Candace slides back into her chair. She leans against the back, putting her hands in her lap. She wears a neutral expression, but Dehya recognizes that her friend is taking a well-deserved break. Dehya registers this fact slowly. Obviously, Candace is comfortable around Dehya and Anpu. Dehya didn't know Candace was this amiable with Kaveh, too.

"Does your arm have a Spirit of Omen?" Kaveh asks suddenly, breaking the convivial silence between the three of them. He continues working methodically, but he raises an eyebrow as he asks the question.

"No. Why do you ask?" Dehya responds, shifting a little in her seat. A Spirit of Omen are the strange creatures that exist in some of the weapons used by other Eremites. Dehya has a few of them in her career. The spirits won't disappear once summoned unless the Eremite who summoned them or the Eremite's opponent dies. The spirits seem to feast on flesh and drink crimson blood. Dehya is always one to appreciate an alliance in a fight, but she doesn't completely understand the inclination towards the weapons her fellow Eremites have given how unpredictable a Spirit of Omen can be.

"The mechanisms inside your arm are similar to the handful of weapons I've been able to study. Well, study is the wrong word. An Eremite let me look at their weapon once, but I didn't get much information from that. I've gotten even less information from the weapons and spirits I've only been able to glance at from time to time when I've had commissions in the desert. I haven't personally fought one. That is what my hired mercenaries were for," Kaveh explains, a half-smile creeping onto his face. He shrugs as he finishes. "I was only asking just in case. I wouldn't want to accidentally summon one."

"The weapons those Eremites use and Dehya's arm are both from Lord Al-Ahmar's legacy. There are bound to be a few similarities. As for a spirit, I do not believe there is one in Dehya's arm. If there is, it is dormant," Candace adds another answer to Kaveh's question. She does not make it obvious that she is using her golden eye, but it glows faintly as she scans Dehya's arm.

"I don't know how it could remain dormant given how many commissions I've done over the years. I've fought animals, monsters, and people. It should have come out for something to drink," Dehya shakes her head. She glances at her armor. The prospect echoes in her mind. What would she do if there was actually a Spirit of Omen in her arm? Would she enlist its help, or would she refuse to summon it unless the circumstances were dire? What sort of animal would the spirit take the shape of? She tilts her head to the side, answering aloud. "I think it would be a lion."

Kaveh's hands stall around her arm. He raises his eyes to her with a bright smile. "That would be amazing. The Flame Mane with her own Pyro-infused lioness Spirit of Omen! I'm fond of lions, too, but if I had a Spirit of Omen, I'm certain it would be a bird of some sort."

"The Spirits of Omen are not the most trustworthy of tools to use in battle. They have long since gone insane due to the death of their gods. Be that as it may, should I possess a Spirit of Omen that retains some semblance of coherence, I would like a crocodile," Candace says after a moment of deep contemplation as if she were truly weighing the options.

Dehya laughs. "I did not expect you to say that. I was expecting a turtle."

"While I am fond of turtles, they are too slow to permit to fight alongside me. I would prefer a creature with strength and fierceness. It must lean towards offense since I am adept at defense," Candace commits to her previous decision. She lifts her goblet to her lips. She is not drunk. Candace never gets drunk, but she must be lightly buzzed if the faint blush across her cheeks is anything to go by. Dehya smiles at the thought. Candace really must be comfortable around Dehya and Kaveh to allow herself even the tiniest bit of weakness. She is trusting them not to take advantage of her or the kindness of Aaru Village, and Candace's trust is one of the highest honors one can receive in life.

"This sounds like you should be fighting with me," Dehya notes. She is highly offensive. It would be good for her to have someone as focused on defense as Candace is at her side. Together, Dehya suspects they will be unstoppable. Or, at least, they will be a threat worth being weary of.

"Perhaps, but I have a responsibility to protect Aaru Village. I presume you are going to continue venturing across Sumeru until the day you are too old to be a mercenary," Candace considers. "On that day, I pray the gods will lead you back to the village. I will take care of you, then."

"And only then, huh?" Dehya jokes. She shakes her head. "There will never be a day when I'm too old to be a mercenary. Believe it or not, mercenaries aren't known for their long lives."

"If anyone can have a long life as a mercenary, I know it will be you," Kaveh interjects with a confident smile playing on his lips. He snaps shut the last panel. He slides back in his chair. He starts putting the tools he was using back into his briefcase. Dehya flexes her arm. It feels better than before. Dehya's smile grows on her face as Kaveh's assurance in her ability to survive mixes with how comfortable he made her armor. It feels stronger than before, though she knows that isn't possible. He only uncrossed a few wires.

Still, gratitude is given where it is due. "Thank you, Kaveh. Let me know whenever you need my help with something."

"Oh, that won't be necessary. I was only—"

"You can help him tomorrow, Candace. He is working with Setaria and a former Eremite named Badawi to build a library for the village. I am certain they could use the assistance of someone as strong and capable as you," Candace intervenes, stopping Kaveh from giving up a good opportunity due to his selfless attitude.

Kaveh gives Dehya a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck. Dehya allows a large smile to curl on her lips. "No problem. I'll be there to help out in any way I can until the project is finished."

🦁

🔥

Shesepankh lies on the top of a rock large enough to allow her eyes to survey the entire gardens. Despite her lazy appearance, she is very vigilant as she scans every inch of the garden and the surrounding area. She is one of the few jinni entrusted with the responsibility of guarding the garden against the many monsters that roam across the desert. Shesepankh is also one of the first to respond when one of the jinni starts causing problems within the oasis. The only beast she cannot keep from staring at the gardens is the overhead sun, but at least her presence in the sky keeps the heat from burning away her mistress' gardens. One day, she will fly so high that the sun will be a corpse in her claws. Until then, she will continue protecting what her mistress has deemed as her sacred home.

Shesepankh's blue eyes follow the movements of the jinn as they gather around the wooden throne they made for their mistress. Nabu Malikata sits regally in her throne, hands settled in her lap as she waits for the jinn to stop gathering all around her. She will often tell them fanciful stories from this position or oversee their elaborate parties. Today, however, they have all gathered around her for a different purpose— one that even she, in all her magnanimous wisdom, does not know.

Shesepankh smiles faintly as she sets her chin against her forepaws. She watches as the crowd parts to allow one jinni to walk through their ranks. Shesepankh's keen eyes recognize the sparkling gemstones in the jinni's hands. The jinni sinks onto one knee in front of their goddess. They hold perfectly cut, dark purple amethyst gemstones inlaid in a golden crown to their goddess. Nabu Malikata's eyes widen in surprise. As she carefully picks the crown out of the jinni's hands, she places it on her hair. A smile spreads across her face, warm and bright in a way that makes the crown look worthless. Despite how she puts the gemstones to shame, Nabu Malikata rises to her feet to dance. Her performance is seen as a good sign as each of her movements exudes gratitude. Padisarahs the same color as her hair bloom at her feet, and they, too, seem to make the amethysts pale in comparison. Truly, there is nothing the jinn can do to be better than their goddess.

Not as if any of them want to. Shesepankh, especially, is content to follow her goddess without ever entertaining the thought of surpassing Nabu Malikata. She is their mistress, their mother, and their queen. She is Shesepankh's reason for existing— the urge to serve her mistress overtaking her compulsion to chase down the sun to the ends of the earth.

🦁

🔥

Dehya swings her Beacon of the Reed Sea. Instead of her opponent's skull, it lands in the soft dirt of the riverbank. Dehya ducks while keeping one hand on the hilt of her claymore. She feels the wind caused by the swinging of a sword above her head. Dehya spins around with her foot lifting upward. Again, the soles of her shoes don't strike the fleshy chest of her opponent. They teleport away using a Dendro-infused mirror shard. Dehya whirls around, lifting her arm to block a swordstroke with the armor on her forearm. She narrows her eyes as she shoves the sword away. She uses her other fist to finally hit Al-Haitham in the stomach. The hit connects. His face contorts with pain for a split second, but he doesn't go down with a single punch despite Dehya's natural strength. Dendro energy fizzles in the air around him until a secondary sword is in his off-hand. Dehya's eyes widen as she leaps backward to avoid the hit. Al-Haitham lets go of the sword in midair, leaping upward to kick the hilt with his foot. The sword shoots through the air like an arrow from a bow. Dehya dodges, but the edge of the blade makes a smooth cut in her cheek, deep enough to bleed but shallow enough to not threaten a lasting scar.

Dehya's lips rise with a smile as she relishes in the challenge. She reaches toward the ground. She condenses the Pyro energy from around her to bring forth a Fiery Sanctum around her. The air sizzles with Pyro energy. Al-Haitham rolls his neck as he holds two swords in his hands, each one infused with the precise edge of Dendro energy. He leaps forward. Dehya lifts her claymore to intercept the intersecting blades. They are of equal strength, so they remain in a stalemate until they decide to jump away from each other. Al-Haitham launches at her for a second time. She moves to block, but he is suddenly gone in a burst of Dendro energy. He is behind her suddenly. Dehya whirls around with her fists infusing with Pyro by entering the Blazing Lioness state. Al-Haitham's Dendro-infused Light of Foliar Incision meets with Dehya's Pyro-infused fist. A burning elemental reaction churns in the air around them causing both combatants to hurriedly move away from each other.

Al-Haitham tilts his head to the side. He considers something carefully, and in the end, he chooses to make both of his weapons disperse. He shifts where he stands, nodding gratefully at Dehya. "Thank you for sparring with me. My mind feels much clearer."

Dehya shakes her hands, letting the last of the Pyro energy dissolve from her essence. The Fiery Sanctum fades away, too, as Dehya removes herself from a combative situation and back into a regular conversation with the scribe. She shakes her head at him with an exhausted but satisfied smile. "Don't worry about it. I enjoy sparring. You don't fight like anyone I've ever fought before, and I like unique experiences."

"It is good that this arrangement is mutually beneficial," Al-Haitham nods. He turns his attention to the river beside him. The water moves along at a slow pace, but the motion is visible to anyone who stares with as much attention as Al-Haitham does. Dehya glances over at it, too, marveling not for the first time at how much water is in the rainforest compared to the desert. Even the air around Dehya is tinged with thick humidity like the water was to flood every viridian field.

"That's one way to put it," Dehya expresses as she stretches her loose muscles. She always feels better after a friendly spar. It allows her to work off some excess energy and relax her muscles without having to put her life in danger. Unlike a lot of other Eremites, Dehya doesn't recklessly charge headfirst into fights. She only takes the fights her work deems mandatory, and even then, she has a limit about how much she will do depending on the skill level of her opponent. Friendly spars are arguably better since Dehya can act without fearing that her life will be stolen from her. Her only worries while sparring is making sure she doesn't accidentally kill her opponent, but the people she spars with— Al-Haitham, Cyno, Candace— are not easily defeated. They allow Dehya to get as close to going all-out as she will with a real enemy.

"I will be returning now," Al-Haitham finishes their conversation with a nod. Dehya snorts at his bluntness. She shakes her head, watching Al-Haitham walk away without waiting for her response. Dehya could get angry with him, but she never does. She understands that this is simply the way he is. Even if she doesn't know that, it is difficult for her to get mad at Al-Haitham. She isn't entirely sure why. She tries not to question it since it gives her the same uneasy feeling thinking about her connection to Kaveh does.

She's missing something, but she doesn't know what. She grew up in the desert. Al-Haitham and Kaveh grew up in the rainforest. She didn't meet either of them until well into her adult years. There is no chance for her to have any memories of them from her past, so why does she feel like she's known them since a long time ago? They were friendly with each other, then. They were close. At least, Dehya feels like they were. She's certain of it despite not having much more to go off of.

Dehya sighs, running a hand across the side of her face. She rarely thinks about Kusayla, but when she does, she thinks that he owes her a lot. Most of all, he owes her answers, and the answer he owes her this time is if she ever met a gray-haired or red-eyed child from the rainforest back when she was a child.

🦁

🔥

The spires rise into the air as if they wish to reach the threshold between the heavens and the earth. Smaller buildings surround the spires, but they are no less intricate with their flowing arches connecting each rooftop or layered balcony. Each structure is made from white stone and misty glass. They glimmer as if they were made from moonlight. The entire city looks like it was made from the silver rays of the corpse in the dark night which is the reason Nabu Malikata named the area Ay-Khanoum— the City of the Moon Maiden in their natural tongue. Its appearance contributes to this name as does the magnificent palace that was built using Nabu Malikata's memories of the castle the three moon sisters resided in before the bloodbath that cast their mistress from the heavens.

Shesepankh is one of the many jinn who are allowed within the city's gates. Everyone who served Nabu Malikata in her garden was given a home inside Ay-Khanoum. Nabu Malikata and her architectural partner— Al-Ahmar, he called himself; Deshret, the wandering tribes of humans called him— made certain that there was a space for every loyal jinni. Additionally, there were many more buildings erected in the hopes that many of the scattered jinn across the gilded wasteland would return to their goddess' embrace.

Lord Al-Ahmar did not need to ask the jinn for their names as he knew them instantly. He did not need to ask for their preferences as Nabu Malikata told him. He did not need to speak to them for they were wary of his intervention in their paradise despite their goddess' friendliness towards him. The only jinni he conversed with was Shesepankh. Unlike her brethren, her qualms with him involved him being a god of the sun— or, at least, a descendent of the sun. She told him once to be careful of her teeth and claws for she would surely come to kill him one day. Al-Ahmar said nothing about that matter, but he seemed to accept her as pleasant company regardless if she matched his friendliness or indulged in her ferociousness.

"Humans will arrive soon," Al-Ahmar mentions as Shesepankh lands on the balcony beside him. They are standing in the highest tower in Ay-Khanoum. They are able to look over the entire city and the lands that exist beyond the walls. Shesepankh flies over them every day to carry out her continued duties of guarding over her goddess' sacred lands. Al-Ahmar goes out there, too, to fight against monsters or survey the steadily changing land as Nabu Malikata's influence spreads from the City of Amphitheaters to the world beyond.

"Would you like me to kill them?" Shesepankh asks. While it displeased many jinn, Ay-Khanoum is jointly ruled by Nabu Malikata and Al-Ahmar. They are both allowed to freely give orders. Nabu Malikata told her familiars that they would be exiled from the city should they disobey either king. No jinni would dare dream of disobeying Nabu Malikata, and they are slowly getting used to the idea of following Al-Ahmar as reverently as they do their goddess.

"No. Humans are fragile creatures. They live shorter lives than jinn, and they do not have much power to their names. They seek out means to keep themselves safe. They will see this city as a fortress against the desert. They will turn to those that are more powerful than them for guidance and protection. We cannot fault them for finding the most likely means of preservation," Al-Ahmar explains with a grim smile. He slides his hand against the railing of the balcony. His golden eyes with an orange ring around his pupil scan the land as if he can see every individual grain of sand with perfect clarity. He might be able to, Shesepankh considers, eyeing him instead of the tribes he imagines are roaming the desert.

"Would you like me to protect the humans?" Shesepankh asks. She has never met a human, but she knows what they are like for the most part. They resemble her goddess in physical form, though they are not nearly as beautiful as her divine appearance. Humans are also weaker and dumber than her goddess. They are weaker and dumber than even the jinn. They are more intelligent than animals, however, and they use that to make up for their limitations. They might not amount to much in the eyes of jinn, but they are still creatures who are able to survive many years in the desert. Shesepankh believes that is worthy of respect.

"Yes. Humans are as volatile with their emotions as jinn are, so you will need to protect them from monsters and each other. I assure you, however, that they are worth defending despite their many weaknesses. It is my intention to allow you to discover this reason for yourself. In the meantime, I will convince your mistress to draw some blueprints for a new city that will be populated by humans rather than jinn," Al-Ahmar nods, agreeing with Shesepankh's terms. The winged lioness considers for a moment demanding that Al-Ahmar asks Nabu Malikata her opinion of humans, but she knows that her goddess will be as curious about humans as Shesepankh is. Perhaps they are creatures worthy of her protection. She will have to see for herself.

"Do you intend to make a kingdom of jinn and humans?" Shesepankh continues, rising to her paws. She leaps onto the railing, letting her wings spread out as if she were about to take flight. And she most certainly is, but she waits for Al-Ahmar's answer.

He is silent for a long moment. His face is impassive. His gray hair moves with the breeze, but his eyes remain firm as they stare at the horizon. His voice is quiet as he answers. "I do not wish for dominion. I only wish to create a world where there does not need to be suffering. The first step is to establish a place where humans, jinn, and any other species capable of sorrow are protected from the trials of the desert."

Shesepankh understands him. She flaps her wings, lifting her body into the air. She flies toward the horizon Al-Ahmar can't seem to look away from. If he is right— and he usually is— the humans will come soon. Shesepankh would like to be prepared for them.

🦁

🔥

Dehya has been paid to safeguard many items in her life. They all carry some sort of value, either sentimental or monetary. She is usually meant to transport these items from one place to another, and these journeys are usually riddled with challenges like barely passable rivers in the rainforest or barren sand in the desert. Dehya takes these jobs as seriously as any of her other ones as long as she is paid the appropriate amount of coin for her efforts. These missions are no less respectable than the others, after all, and Dehya acknowledges that she could be given far more demeaning tasks that she will nonetheless complete because every mercenary needs money for the sake of their survival.

Still, Dehya thinks this is by far one of her strangest responsibilities. It isn't really a job since Kaveh was asking for a favor and paid a few gold coins that would make any Eremite worth their salt beat him up for thinking their wages were anything close to that. Dehya didn't even need the coins since she considered this a favor among friends. Kaveh insisted, however, darting away before Dehya could remind him that all he was asking her to do was watch over his belongings for a few hours as he dealt with an urgent matter. Dehya wasn't even going out of her way to do this since she was drinking coffee at Puspa Café. She basically wasn't doing anything but sharing the table with his belongings.

She supposes he paid her because one of his belongings was Mehrak, his machine briefcase. Mehrak is in the floating cube mode, and its face glances around the café with luminous green eyes. Dehya can tell who is a regular and who isn't by the way people stare at Mehrak. Kaveh must come here enough times with his toolbox that the usual customers are used to the machine. Dehya doesn't know how anyone can get used to Mehrak, but she isn't the best person to ask. As to be expected with Kaveh and the matters surrounding him, Dehya feels unusually comfortable and friendly with Mehrak. The urge to strike up a conversation is almost overpowering, but Dehya swallows it down with a sip of hot coffee.

Dehya taps her hand against the table. She was mulling over her options for work. She was given a couple of requests lately. She is weighing the effort required, the flexibility of her clients, the time that will be spent, and how much Mora will end up in her pocket by the end. All of these matters are crucial for a mercenary to consider. Despite their need for money, every mercenary still has standards. Some aren't as strict with their codes of conduct, but Dehya has never met a mercenary that was genuinely willing to do anything for money. There are limits that even some mercenaries know not to cross. Dehya, for her part, is a little more choosy when it comes to what she does. She is still fairly amenable to whatever her clients want, but she refuses to do anything she doesn't want to do or work for anyone that she doesn't at least tolerate.

Mehrak beeps quietly, drawing Dehya's attention but no one else's. The mercenary's blue eyes focus as she looks at Mehrak. The machine's anterior slides apart to reveal more of the screen. A projection made from light green Dendro energy expands from Mehrak's body. Dehya watches as the projection shifts into an interactable screen that allows Dehya to physically see the options she's weighing once she's put in the rough outline herself. Dehya starts moving her fingers through the projection to write what she needs. As she works, Dehya murmurs, "What a clever little machine you are. Better than the Primal Constructs."

Dehya has fought her fair share of those machines. They mainly focus their efforts near ruins, so Dehya usually only fights them when she's escorting scholars. They aren't difficult to fight, but Dehya hates when they turn invisible. It pays to defeat them before they resort to such defense methods.

Dehya leans forward. She puts her elbow on the table, and she rests her cheek in her palm. She taps her index finger against the side of her face. She is finished putting in all the necessary information and currently assesses her options. Mehrak remains steady in the air, face blank on the screen to show how the energy is being diverted. Dehya absentmindedly comments on this fact. "It's strange to see you without your smile. You were always the most expressive one out of us all."

The words are out before Dehya truly processes them. Once they register, she immediately shoots upright. She pulls her hand away from the projection, letting it hover hesitantly in the air between her and Mehrak's form. She narrows her eyes at the machine, and her lips part in confusion. She forms several words on her tongue, but none of them exit her body using her voice. They are half-ideas that she is barely conscious of. All she knows is that for a split moment, she remembered Mehrak. She knew in that brief second where she originally met Mehrak. The memories are gone now, leaving behind a thick mist that enshrouds Dehya's thoughts.

Mehrak's face reappears on the screen. It is smiling knowingly at Dehya, excitement gleaming in those artificial eyes. Dehya moves her hand closer. She passes through the projection to touch Mehrak's surface. The glass is cold against her fingertips. The metal frame built around the screen is hot from energy flow. Dehya is unbothered by both as she watches the light green lines on the screen reconstruct into a different expression, another one Dehya knows without being able to place the knowledge alongside its source.

"Thank you so much!" Kaveh's voice cuts through Dehya's reverie. Her hand drops onto the table. Mehrak's expression shifts once more to show Kaveh a large smile and closed eyes. Kaveh smiles back at Mehrak, but his visage conveys pure gratitude for Dehya. He starts picking up his belongings, reassembling them into a bag he can carry. He continues talking all the while. "There was an issue about the merchant we were buying our materials from. He set one price. We were going to buy it at that price. He changed the price. We were no longer interested in working with him. He got upset and wanted to sabotage the project. Thankfully, he hadn't done anything worth calling the Matra over yet. I gave him a stern talking to. We were able to renegotiate the terms, so we're buying from him again."

"Are you sure you want to work with that guy?" Dehya asks, leaning against the back of her chair. She lifts her mug back to her lips. The coffee has grown colder since she was distracted with Mehrak, but it isn't to the point that she needs to reheat it. If she does, Dehya's Pyro vision sits on her waist for opportunities such as these.

"It's what the client wanted to do. Plus, it's not like I don't understand where the merchant is coming from," Kaveh laughs, avoiding eye contact as he pushes a sketchbook into his bag.

"Whatever the client wants," Dehya notes sagely, understanding Kaveh's qualms well. She points at Mehrak with the lip of her mug. "Hey, is there... Is there a jinni in there?"

Kaveh raises an eyebrow at her. He pulls his hands away from his belongings. Mehrak settles onto his open palm. He turns Mehrak in his hand, looking at her from every possible angle with a contemplative frown on his face. Mehrak does nothing to distract from his assessment. When Kaveh is finished, it floats off his hand. Kaveh turns to Dehya and shrugs at her. "Not that I know of. There was an energy core from the era of King Deshret on the market a few years ago. I'm the one who purchased it, and I made Mehrak using the core. It might be similar to a jinni in a bottle, but it most likely isn't one. I'm sure the jinni would have made itself known if it was going to exist inside my briefcase."

Dehya nods. While she trusts Kaveh's words, she finds herself recalling how Candace said there could be a dormant Spirit of Omen in Dehya's armor. Dehya doesn't think there is one of those in her armor, but she considers the possibility of a dormant jinni in Mehrak. But really, Mehrak would be an active jinni given how expressive it is and the memories it tugs to the forefront of Dehya's consciousness.

"What makes you ask?" Kaveh says, throwing the bag over his shoulder. He turns his full attention to Dehya by facing her. He raises an eyebrow. Mehrak swings around his side, hovering above his other shoulder. Mehrak's face reveals a neutral expression, but there is something in those Dendro eyes that makes Dehya feel like she's being challenged.

She shakes her head, attempting to shake off the strange feeling. "No reason. It just reminded me of the stories I was told as a kid. It would be cool to meet a jinni, don't you think?"

"I think so, too," Kaveh nods firmly with a smile pulling at his lips. He waves at Dehya as he turns away from her. As he starts walking away, he calls out again, "Thanks again for looking after my stuff for me! Let me know if you ever have an architectural commission!"

Kaveh is gone before Dehya can respond. It reminds her of Al-Haitham, but it is far kinder when Kaveh does it rather than who Dehya assumes is his roommate.

🦁

🔥

The entire amphitheater is filled with thousands of twinkling lights like someone plucked the stars from the sky to decorate the arena. For each light, there is a corresponding spectator who sits in the tiered seats with buzzing anticipation. Humans, jinn, and even Tighnarians populate the amphitheater. They are intermixed between each other to represent how they are the people of Valivija, not the divided tribes of the desert. They are the subjects of the three god-kings, and their leaders sit in a shaded booth at the center of the amphitheater's layered seats.

There are six beings standing on the slanted stage at the foot of the pews. Shesepankh stands on one end of the line beside a Cryo elemental in the shape of a bird named Bennu. On the other side, there are figures with the bodies of humans but the heads of animals. The jackal-headed Tighnarian named Hermanubis, the crocodile-headed Sebek, the goat-headed Heryshaf, and the ibis-headed Thoth. The seventh of their rankings is not presently here, the Dendro Sovereign refusing both her position and treating the three god-kings as the usurpers she perceives them to be.

Lord Al-Ahmar rises from one of the thrones. He steps forward, and his presence alone hushes the crowd into silence. His eyes are pure and true as they sweep across the assembled group. He raises his spear to point at each individual. He speaks, and the wind naturally amplifies his voice and carries each sound to the ears of the king's subjects. "We are gathered here to appoint the sages. These individuals are the best of their fields. They show the virtues necessary to protect Valivija and to lead it to an even better future. They were selected by combining the wisdom of the three god-kings. They will be appointed by me today."

Shesepankh stares directly at Lord Al-Ahmar, but she doesn't miss the way Nabu Malikata covers her mouth with an amused smile. Rukkhadevata sighs pleasantly, shaking her head despite a small smile descending across her expression. Lord Al-Ahmar ignores them both as he goes down the line to name his new sages. At the end, he points his spear at Shesepankh. They meet each other's eyes, and the same understanding that has always existed between them shines through even at this distance. "Sage Shesepankh, Most-Holy, the vessel of my will and the executor of my justice."

Shesepankh lowers her head. She bows to both Lord Al-Ahmar and the two goddesses at his side. The crowd begins to preemptively cheer as Lord Al-Ahmar finishes the ceremony. "The Sages of Valivija!"

🦁

🔥

Dehya frowns in contemplation as she walks through the shelves. She runs her fingers against the books' spines, feeling the rough leather brush against her skin. The air is cool around her, a stark contrast to the unbearable heat outside. She can hear several people walking around in the library besides her, showing that she isn't the only one who wanted to escape the heat. Unfortunately, the librarian has very strict rules about people entering the library without reading. This building's main purpose is to teach the children how to read and inspire a fondness for knowledge in their youthful hearts. Dehya understands, so she is hurrying to find a book that will interest her until she is set to leave for her next commission later in the afternoon.

Dehya's roving eyes finally find a destination as she notices a green-clad figure in the corner of the library looking over the books. Dehya's lips quirk with a surprised smile as she fearlessly walks up to the scribe of the Akademiya. Al-Haitham's teal-and-orange eyes slide over to her as she stands beside him. Dehya smiles openly at him. "Hey, Al-Haitham. You were the last person I expected to meet here."

"Dehya," Al-Haitham acknowledges with a nod. He turns to look over the books once more. She nudges his shoulder with her own until Al-Haitham sighs quietly. "I donated a few books to the library when it first opened. I am only seeing that they are being well-taken care of and organized in the appropriate places."

"Well, you shouldn't worry about that. Kaveh, Setaria, and Badawi worked extremely hard on this place. They even hired a pretty good librarian to keep this place safe and clean for the kids," Dehya informs him, glancing around at the architecture of the building. She is not an expert on such matters, but she likes the feel of this place. She knows that the children love this place, and that's enough for her. "Even without that, everyone in Aaru Village is rooting for the library's success. Everyone wants the next generation to have a chance at a better life than the one they were born with. If anyone messes with this place, they will have an entire village after them including several former Eremites, Candace, and me."

"Kaveh will certainly involve himself, too," Al-Haitham responds airily. Dehya gets the impression that if Kaveh gets himself in too much trouble, they might also have the scribe defending this learning institute. Dehya snorts at the thought. Al-Haitham raises an eyebrow at her. Dehya puts her hands up innocently with a cheeky smile that even Al-Haitham with his emotional blindness can recognize. He rolls his eyes at her, returning his attention to the books on the shelves.

He picks out a specific book with a dark red binding. He turns it over in his hands. Dehya peers over his shoulder at the cover. Using a gold leaf, a lion is chasing after the sun on the cover. Dehya breathes in deeply through her nose. She shuffles back a step as Al-Haitham opens the book. He thumbs through the pages, lightly scanning the content instead of reading it. Dehya frowns at his actions. "Have you read The Legend of the Lion?"

"I have," Al-Haitham nods. He looks away from the book at her. "Have you?"

"Never out of a physical book, but my dad used to tell me it," Dehya responds, shifting uncomfortably at the mention of Kusayla. She picks the picture book out of Al-Haitham's hands. She looks over the paintings along the bottom of the page instead of reading the paragraphs overhead. The story isn't different from what Kusayla told her, surprisingly. It makes Dehya's chest jerks with pain despite this. She sets her jaw and meets Al-Haitham's eyes. "So, what does the scribe of the rainforest think of the story?"

Al-Haitham eyes her warily, but he continues with a proper answer to her question. "It must have been first created thousands of years ago as lions are almost extinct. The process of recording it on parchment would have come later than its verbal retelling, but I would need to do more research to find the correct dates. The specific details of the legend have been lost, most likely due to storytellers changing the wording to appeal to a modern audience."

"That's all technical stuff. What do you think about the content? A lion that can even scare the sun off?" Dehya laughs at Al-Haitham's matter-of-fact tone.

He shrugs. "Most legends are created to explain common phenomena. In this case, the ancient desert-dwellers were searching for a way to explain why the sun moved across the sky. Another possibility is that parents were trying to warn their children not to interfere with a lion's hunt. In either case, the lion is shown to be stronger than the sun, so it is possible the local ruler used a lion as their symbol. It is pointless to speculate on the exact circumstances of the first telling."

"Wow. I'm guessing you aren't any fun at parties," Dehya chuckles. She flicks her wrist up and down to hit the book's cover against her opposite palm. The rhythmic thumping fills the quiet corner of the library. She looks at the ceiling as she talks. "I think it's more like a fable. The lion chases the sun across the sky, and the sun eventually descends below the horizon. The lion is proud of itself. But the sun always rises again in the morning. The lion will chase the sun forevermore, and it will never be able to catch the sun. Yet, it's still proud of itself as if it has done something."

"What do you believe the moral is? Not to be prideful? To examine a situation properly?" Al-Haitham asks.

Dehya shrugs. "You should be the one telling me. You're the Haravatat scholar. I'm just a dumb Eremite from the desert."

"Dumb is not the word I would use in your case," Al-Haitham offers, the closest to a compliment he will ever get. Dehya laughs boisterously as she realizes. Al-Haitham takes a step away from her, a smart decision considering Dehya knows the librarian will be tracking down the source of the disturbance. Dehya shakes her head, letting her laughter trickle down. She takes the book with her as she walks away. She finds a comfortable chair to sit in and reread a classic legend from her childhood. She'll figure out what the moral of this story is, if only to prove Al-Haitham right.

🦁

🔥

Celestia has made an official decree. They are offering seven treasures to the seven victors of an elaborate war that will span across the whole of Tevyat. They have sectioned the continent into seven primary locations to establish the parameters of who will be engaging in which war. Valivija along with some surrounding land is one of these locations. Whoever wins the war within these borders will be granted the Dendro Gnosis, an external magical foci able to hold and produce vast amounts of energy. The gnosis also symbolically proves the ownership of the slice of the continent.

Celestia sent an envoy to Valivija months after the decree was issued across the lands. Nabu Malikata was escorted out of the city by Rukkhadevata, leaving Al-Ahmar and his sages as the only ones to bear witness to the promises offered by the heavens. They were presently upset that the three god-kings were not fighting amongst themselves. The only reason they did not smite two out of the three gods was because the three god-kings were, at least, defending their land from any potential deities that wanted to become the Dendro Archon over the land. Shesepankh was specially tasked with killing the divine, drinking their blood before it could produce poisonous regrets to curse the land with. The gold ichor sits heavily in her belly as she watches the envoy offer the gnosis to Al-Ahmar without a war being necessary. Nabu Malikata and Rukkhadevata may rule beside Al-Ahmar, but he will be the one true god of Valivija, of the land of Dendro.

Al-Ahmar refused the gift, stating that it was unnecessary. The envoy did not accept this answer. They left the Dendro Gnosis with Al-Ahmar, stating that someone should ascend to the status of Archon. The envoy left, and Al-Ahmar sat on the throne to ponder the situation. Out of the sages, none were aligned with the Dendro element (other than Lord Apep, the Dendro Sovereign who would surely rebuke the gift from heaven). Despite this, they still offered to become the slave of the heavens to save their three god-kings from that fate. Al-Ahmar refused them all in quick words. Silence permeated the throne room as he considered his options.

One by one, the sages left the room to give him time and space. Shesepankh guarded the door. She laid down in front of it, her wings folded against her back. She growled at any approaching servant until the hallway was as silent as the throne room. Eventually, murky noise came from inside the throne room. Nabu Malikata and Rukkhadevata had returned, and they were combining all their wisdom to find a solution to this problem. Shesepankh listened despite the words being too indistinct for her to understand.

When the morning came, the doors swung open. Shesepankh rose to her feet to bow to her three god-kings. She thought to ask what solution they came up with, but she did not need to utter a word. She knew merely by looking at her kings what they chose to do. Greater Lord Rukkhadevata, the Avatar of Irminsul and Master of the Domain of Life in Valivija, was the new Dendro Archon, a slave of Celestia.

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Dehya has been to nearly every corner of Sumeru. There are very few towns she has not at least walked through. By that same logic, there are even less taverns and bars she has not wandered into in search of a good drink. Her esteemed opinion built from years and years of drinking all across Sumeru leads her to a singular conclusion: the best tavern is obviously Lambad's in Sumeru City. It is a tough competition on all fronts, but Dehya finds her answer immediately as she eases into the warm atmosphere, smells the rich spices, and sips on the lukewarm beer in a large mug. She can get a meal to avoid getting wasted, and there are rooms upstairs in case she does end up drinking more than she should. On top of that, Lambad's Tavern is strategically placed at the foot of Treasure Street, across the way from the Adventurer's Guild.

Another highlight is the company. Dehya often coincidentally encounters all manner of people. She has heard many funny stories about the past or great opportunities on the horizon while drinking alongside some fellow Eremites searching for the next job. Tonight, Dehya doesn't meet with someone she knows from the desert. She instead crashes at the table of a blonde she knows from the rainforest. Kaveh looks miserable by himself, but he picks his face up when he notices he is with a companion. He wears an exhausted smile as he lifts his wineglass towards her in an imaginary toast. Dehya chuckles, "Wait for me to get my drink."

Kaveh nods, setting his glass on the table. He taps his fingers along the sketchbook laid open in front of him. His charcoal stick rolls off the table. Dehya catches it as she accepts a mug from the waitress. Kaveh's lips twitch with a grateful smile that doesn't stay on his face for longer than a second. Dehya takes a big gulp of her beer, relishing in the quality. She's had some terrible beer in the past, so she's always glad to find something that doesn't take like dirty water in her mouth.

"What's wrong, Kaveh?"

"Clients," He answers immediately, lowering his forehead against the sketchbook page. He continues grumbling nonsensically under his breath. Dehya sloshes the beer inside her mug as she silently agrees with his assessment. She's known more than a few clients that made her want to drink her problems away. She doesn't always indulge in these wants, but she understands where Kaveh is coming from because she's done it once or twice.

"Fuck your clients. We're going to have some fun tonight, and they are going to have to deal with you putting yourself first for once," Dehya retorts, slamming her mug on the table with enough force that Kaveh jolts up from his sulking position. Dehya wears a wide grin on her face. Kaveh meets her eyes hesitantly. He looks like he wants to argue, but Dehya leans onto the table to really shove her happiness in his face. Kaveh sighs, rolling his eyes with fondness. He picks his goblet back up. He lifts it in the air, and they actually toast to one another this time.

Dehya's words become a fact. She forces Kaveh to put his sketchbook away as she orders a meal for both of them. Kaveh tries paying for his portion, but Dehya shushes him and drops the coins back into his pouch. She shoves the first few forkfuls of food into Kaveh's mouth. He eventually takes over, eating on his own. Dehya joins him, noting that Lambad's food is another reason this tavern prevails against its competitors. Dehya could never imagine getting such richly spiced and tenderly cooked food anywhere else.

It is made better by the Candied Ajilenakh Nuts. Dehya eats those by the handful as she listens to Kaveh complain absentmindedly about his clients. When he finishes, Dehya decides they should share interesting stories with each other. This proves to be the correct move as Kaveh lightens up and relaxes his muscles. The more sips he takes from his glass, the freer his laugh sounds when Dehya can coax it out of him with a story about her experiences in the desert. Dehya's laughter is always loud and free, and she doesn't try to muffle it as Kaveh takes his turn to tell her a story.

When their drinks have run dry and they've cleaned their plates, Dehya leaps from her chair. She leaves a tip on the table as she grabs Kaveh's arm. She tugs the architect onto his feet. He wobbles, but she keeps him upright as they trade the warm interior of the tavern for the cool Sumeru night. The worker outside the tavern raises an eyebrow at Dehya, and she waves at Kaveh. He waves back at her. Dehya also waves, and the woman wears a funny smile as she returns Dehya's gesture. When they move away from her, Dehya asks Kaveh in the clearest voice she can manage given how floaty and hot she feels. "What was that for?"

Kaveh frowns. He swings his entire head as he looks around. Dehya doubts he knows what he's looking for, but she can't help him since she has no idea, either. Finally, Kaveh turns to her. His voice is way more slurred than hers was, but she understands him after a few seconds. "Al-Haitham is usually the one to take me home."

"Yeah, I'm not Al-Haitham," Dehya giggles at the thought. She tries to look neutral as she mimics Al-Haitham. "Uh, words are—" she hiccups here, but she holds back any more as she continues. "—words are everything. And I'm going to walk away without hearing a response. Let me just pull out my back and sit where I like to read. Hmm... yes... these are— there are— ink. Letters? Yes, words."

Kaveh laughs at Dehya. Her mimicry falls away as she really listens to the noise. Perhaps because she's bordering on drunk (if she isn't already, Dehya isn't sure this time), Dehya places that laughter more clearly. It reminds her of silver bells woven into the bracelets and anklets worn by a beautiful woman. When that woman laughs, it feels like cool water cleansing the scarred earth, wiping away the fatigue caused by heat with a nurturing hand. Dehya has never met her mother. Her biological one is missing, and Kusayla never dated anyone long enough for Dehya to grow attached. Still, this laughter makes her feel like her mother is smiling kindly at her, arms stretched out for Dehya to hide herself in that refreshing embrace.

Dehya wants to comment on the noise, but Kaveh shoves away from her. She hears the tailend of him mentioning a song. As soon as he says it, she hears the strings of sitar being struck and the lyrical singing of a flute in the distance. Dehya looks around for the source. Kaveh doesn't need to find it. He begins spinning around on the stone street. His movements are uncoordinated, but they flow together like a river cutting through the verdant lands. Dehya's arms fall limply at her side, and her lips part as she watches Kaveh move. His laughter intermingles with the song, adding another layer to the music. When he turns to face her ever so often, she can see the blinding smile on his face and the mirth shimmering in his eyes.

There is a moment when Dehya sees something different. It is so brief that she hardly registers it. She will later blame it on the alcohol flowing in her veins and the dim lighting of the street. Instead of Kaveh— or maybe it's still Kaveh, just... distinct— Dehya sees a woman with purple hair and carmine eyes spinning around in endless circles. When the woman stops to look at Dehya with her familiar carmine eyes, she raises her arms like she's offering a hug.

Dehya exhales slowly. She notices a tear falling from her chin to her hand. She looks away from what she will pretend is a hallucination. Her breathing feels sporadic in her chest. Her silent tears continue falling one after another. Dehya wonders for a moment if she's going to break down in the middle of the street.

There are many reasons why Dehya doesn't break down here, but the most obvious is the fact that Kaveh stumbles over to her with a worried crease between his eyebrows. He doesn't hesitate to wipe her tears off her cheeks with his hands. He babbles comforting words. She could consider them empty since Kaveh doesn't understand why she's crying, but they only make her want to cry harder. Dehya leans forward, resting her forehead against Kaveh's shoulder. She doesn't touch him other than that one point of contact. He is the one to put his arms around her neck, rubbing her upper back comfortingly. He continues whispering nonsense until silence descends between them.

Dehya doesn't know how long she would have stayed there if nothing shifted between them. Luckily, she doesn't have to think about that as she realizes Kaveh is putting more of his weight against her than she is putting onto him. Dehya leans back, and Kaveh's body follows her. He's fallen asleep against her. Dehya chuckles wetly at the realization. She uses the heel of her hand to rub away her tears. She turns around, picking Kaveh up in a piggyback. Once his tired weight leans against her back, Dehya has another realization. She doesn't know where Kaveh lives.

"Well," Dehya murmurs breathily. She carries Kaveh to the lower levels of the city. Hopefully the inn she's staying at has another room this late at night. If not, she can sleep on the floor. Al-Haitham will eventually come for Kaveh, right?

🦁

🔥

Shesepankh loves her true form. She prefers having the strength and agility of a lioness, and no human experiences are quite like flying. Her wings, too, are a symbol of her mistress' aspirations for Shesepankh. The form she possessed when she awakened in this world is one that was given to her by her goddess' blood, and that makes it very special for reasons beyond its practicality.

Despite this, Shesepankh acknowledges that sometimes, it is better to look closer to humans. Bennu taught Shesepankh how to change her form, and if an elemental can do it, a jinni certainly can, too. Unlike Bennu, Shesepankh was able to manipulate the details of her appearance when she transformed. She retained the beauty bestowed upon her by Nabu Malikata, only in a different form. Bennu thought it was interesting, but she didn't care much for appearances. She enjoyed the way she looked because, according to her, it was in remembrance of her 'twin sister,' a term and context she had to explain to a jinni who had no concept of family other than Nabu Malikata being her 'mother.'

Shesepankh and Bennu navigate the temple in their human forms. Bennu wears the appropriate robes. Shesepankh threw the closest robes she could find when she first transformed over her body. They don't fit, but none of the humans are eager to correct the appearance of their 'saint.' Shesepankh, personally, doesn't understand how she was given that title. Bennu was given it, too, but she, at least, frequently interacts with the humans and often speaks on their behalf in council meetings. Shesepankh cares about humans. She has spent so long protecting them under Al-Ahmar's orders, after all, but she isn't as close to them in a personal way as Bennu is. Despite this, the humans call both her and Bennu 'saint' for their closeness to the race.

Shesepankh stretches her human arms above her head. They glow bronze in the lights Al-Ahmar created to illuminate Nabu Malikata's infrastructures. Shesepankh lowers her arms. She looks over her head methodically, raising an eyebrow at how they work. They contrast greatly with her paws. They work dissimilarly, and they are capable of accomplishing different tasks. Shesepankh likes looking at them and flexing her fingers, another new addition.

"May the golden sun never set," A human voice draws Shesepankh out of her thoughts. She glances away from her hands to stare at a cleric wearing a helmet similar to Lord Al-Ahmar. He bows at them, treating the sages with the same reverence he does the gods he worships. He hurriedly opens the door for the saints, holding it for them. Bennu nods at him as she enters the room. Shesepankh follows the action with a half-smile on her face. The cleric's eyes widen as the acknowledgement. Shesepankh wonders if today will be one that he will never forget, that he will use to inspire him in the future.

"Why do you look so smug?" Bennu asks, raising an eyebrow as she glances over her shoulder. Shesepankh hears the door close behind them. She looks around the room Bennu led her to. It is a large sanctum. It is currently devoid of people, but there are little traces of life that shine like the lights hanging from the walls. There is a central altar used to give offerings to the gods. This altar is raised on a stage that can only be accessed by a central staircase. Two statues line both sides of the staircase, and Shesepankh recognizes the figure immediately.

"It was because that cleric was impressed with us, but it's now because of these statues. They look just like me! Or, they look like—" Shesepankh moves closer to the statues. She leaps from the floor onto the staircase, and her body morphs midair. She lands on the steps as a winged lioness, and she sidles up to the larger than life statue made in her image. "—this form. You didn't tell me the humans were making statues of the sages. Have they made one of you yet?"

"It is on the roof. Now, change back to your human form. You said you wanted to participate the way humans do," Bennu answers, putting her hand on Shesepankh's head. She rubs the fur gently. Shesepankh climbs the staircase beside Bennu as a lioness, but she transforms back into a human as she reaches the altar. Bennu kneels in front of the altar. Shesepankh follows her actions. Side-by-side, Bennu teaches Shesepankh how the humans praise the gods— starkly different from how the jinn do it.

Shesepankh should ask Hermanubis to show her how the Tighnarians do it.

🦁

🔥

Dehya doesn't wake up with a pounding headache that makes her groan and shy away from the light. Instead, it is a softer sort of pain nestled between her eyebrows. It puts her in a daze when her eyes flutter open. She is able to process the morning light creeping through the space between the closed curtains, but she doesn't comprehend that it means morning until she realizes that the real pain inside her body comes from absence. Something is missing inside of her, and it has begun sending searching hands to every other part of her, disrupting the balance, until its cold fingers snag on what was lost.

Dehya runs her hand over her face as she sits up in bed. The blanket slides off her legs onto the ground. A creeping chill replaces her body heat. Dehya puts her elbows on her knees, dropping her head into the space between her forearms. Her fingers interlock above her messy hair. She needs to wash her hair. She needs to brush it, at least. She should also get change out of the loose clothing she must have put on when she stumbled into the inn's room late last night. She was going to meet with Dunyarzad and Nilou later to shop in the Grand Bazaar, and while they are both kind enough to forgive tardiness, Dehya doesn't want to be late.

These thoughts swirl around in her mind like a storm, but Dehya remains as still as a statue as she processes her emotions. Although she cannot remember having a dream, she must have experienced one last night. The details are lost on her, but the feelings she went through remain with her. Waves of grief and regret make her stomach churn. She doesn't feel particularly hungover, but nausea nips at her balance as she tries lifting her head to survey the dimly lit room around her. She wants to cry until she's physically sick, but Dehya doesn't cry often. Not since she was a child has she sobbed openly, and she refuses to do it now for reasons she doesn't even understand.

It is not the weight of her responsibilities that pull Dehya onto her feet. Instead, it is the nagging sensation that enters her peripheral. Someone is approaching the door to her room. They might be passing by, but Dehya gets the funny feeling that she needs to greet them. She needs to speak with them. Archons, if she puts it into proper words, she feels like she needs to serve them, but Dehya refuses to pay attention to that particular feeling.

Dehya wears a loose shirt that belonged to one of the older Eremites in the Blazing Beasts with a pair of torn-up shorts. She doesn't wear her armor or shoes. She isn't even wearing socks. Her hair is most certainly a mess, and she isn't wearing any make-up. Stepping outside the room should be the last thing on her mind, but her fingers grip the cool metal of the door handle. She pushes it open, stepping into the morning air.

Birds are chirping nearby. The air smells faintly of dew and flowers. The light is crisp as dawn breaks across a horizon not visible through the mighty rainforest. Dehya's eyes adjust as she uses her hand to cast a shadow over her face. She looks around the open-air inn until her eyes land on Al-Haitham. She smiles faintly as she realizes he was the person she sensed. She blames it on her Pyro vision registering the nearby source of Dendro. She focuses instead on how she was right about Al-Haitham coming to look for Kaveh when the latter didn't arrive at their shared home (for Dehya is now certain they are roommates).

"He's over here," Dehya's voice cuts through the natural tranquility. Al-Haitham looks away from the doorframe he was going to knock at to meet her eyes. Dehya doesn't doubt he would have knocked on every door until Kaveh answered him. Dehya's smile grows wider at the thought.

She leaves her door ajar as she walks across the sidewalk from her room to the neighboring one. She was given two keys for the room. She left one in Kaveh's room when she dumped him in the bed. She kept the other one with her in case of an emergency. The people still sleeping in their rooms would dare call this an emergency as they would not want the scribe knocking on their doors for no reason other than finding his 'roommate.' Dehya unlocks the door she personally locked last night. She nudges the door open with her shoulder, careful not to make too many noises. Kaveh is drooling on a pillow on the bed, tangled in the blanket. The earlier feeling of emptiness returns with a vengeance as she watches over him.

Al-Haitham enters the space without hesitation. He unfolds the blankets from around Kaveh. The blonde grumbles in his sleep about the cold, and this makes it easier for Al-Haitham to pick Kaveh up in a cradle carry. Kaveh latches onto the nearest source of warmth. Dehya almost considers offering to carry Kaveh in Al-Haitham's place since her body temperature naturally runs higher than his (a consequence of her vision), but she thinks it is too early in the morning to argue with Al-Haitham or otherwise incur his annoyance.

"How much?" Al-Haitham asks as he meets Dehya at the door.

She smiles distantly at him. "What makes you think Kaveh didn't already pay the price?"

Al-Haitham raises an eyebrow, not deigning her question with a response. Dehya chuckles beneath her breath. She moves a hand through her dark hair, letting the knots come undone with her fingers. "Don't worry about it. I did it because I wanted to. Kaveh is my—" Dehya coughs on her next word, the stinging sensation making her realize what she was talking about in the first. She shakes her head, finishing with a different word than she planned to say. "—my friend. Here let me grab his stuff."

Dehya grabs the bag full of Kaveh's belongings, including the sketchbook he was mulling over when she crashed his pity party. She sets the handle around Al-Haitham's neck, putting the main part of the bag on Kaveh's stomach. The blonde accepts the bag as a substitute stuffed animal. He hugs it close, nuzzling his face closer to Al-Haitham's neck. Dehya pats Kaveh's head gently. She refrains from taking the same action with Al-Haitham, some understanding dawning on her as she watches the gray-haired man walk away.

Dehya leans against the door frame. She should return to her room to get ready for the day, but she lingers where she is. She crosses her arms over her chest. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She wishes for the best. She hopes that this time, they will find the happiness they longed for.

Dehya shakes her head. What does she mean by 'this time'?

🦁

🔥

The entire room is filled to the brim with sensory sensations: pleasant smells, warm lights, harmonious songs, swirling colors, and mellow heat. Humans, jinn, and Tighnarians with high noble statuses, scholarly intelligence, or heroic past deeds gather together in the space to drink sweet wine and eat juicy fruits. They dance merrily, in pairings or on their lonesome. They invigorate the party with a liveliness unfelt by the hosts standing at the forefront of the space, surveying the party with narrow eyes and hesitant breaths.

Shesepankh is in her human form. She pays careful attention to the party to make sure that no one is getting rowdier than their means. Normally, she would be part of the roving crowd, a single heartbeat in the massive organism. This is not a normal case, and that fact is made obvious by the way Al-Ahmar and Rukkhadevata sit tiredly on their thrones, partaking in the festivities only because Nabu Malikata wanted to host a farewell party for her dearest friend.

Shesepankh is uneasy about the entire situation. While she was known Nabu Malikata and Al-Ahmar longer than Rukkhadevata, Shesepankh is no less faithful to the goddess of wisdom and Dendro. Rukkhadevata was responsible for many innovations, allowing a wide variety of plant life to flourish in the desert until it didn't feel like a wasteland anymore. She brought sweet dreams to her subjects, allowing their nights to be filled with honeyed promises and visions of grandeur that would propel them forward. She was the most removed from the lives of her subjects, but everyone who knew her regarded her as a goddess of great strength and kindness. Her love for the people shone through with all of her actions, so what facet of love is compelling her to take her priests eastward?

Shesepankh should know better than anyone else since she is frequently in the presence of the three god-kings. She is Al-Ahmar's will, the vigilant guard ready to protect him from any harm. She is Nabu Malikata's ambitions personified, carrying her mistress' hopes on her wings. She is Rukkhadevata's connection to the jinn, bridging the divide between the Avatar of Irminsul and the elemental familiars of her oathbound friend. Shesepankh takes pride in her duties, but she feels as if she has failed them all. She knows only as much as the three god-kings will express, and that one truth is that Al-Ahmar and Rukkhadevata disagreed on something so fervently that they were willing to strain the bond between them. Separation was the only decision the two gods of knowledge could come up with.

Shesepankh shakes her head. She smiles when her fellow jinn look at her. She drinks when someone asks to pour a glass for her. She dances with Nabu Malikata when the goddess offers her hand. Shesepankh pretends this is a normal occasion, and she is almost able to forget about the reason behind the party.

Bennu often disappears from parties for a few minutes to bring offerings to her sister. She always comes back, usually by the intervention of her peers. This time, Nabu Malikata went to fetch her. Bennu's face radiates her anxiety as she approaches the sages. Shesepankh's face lights up with happiness as she rushes to meet her friend. Bennu's eyes widen when she hears her name. Shesepankh doesn't give a chance for a response as she throws her arm around Bennu's shoulder. Due to the intoxication of the night, Shesepankh spins. She leans into her blunder, pulling Bennu along for a merry dance from the edge of the crowd to the stage where the sages stand in attendance. When they finish, Bennu is wearing a half-smile and Shesepankh feels happiness bubbling in her stomach.

"You have returned," Hermanubis says from his position beside Al-Ahmar's throne. His voice is quiet, but Al-Ahmar hears them anyway. He glances at them, but his eyes are pulled away in almost the same instance. Shesepankh frowns minutely at her king. She wishes she knew what was going on inside his head. "Did you bring offerings to your sister?"

"Only the juiciest fruit and crispiest bread," Bennu responds. She rubs her wrists, a sign that she recently transformed back into her original form. Shesepankh flexes her muscles, wondering when she will be allowed to return to her original form. She would rather fly away from this party than participate in it.

"Good. Let tonight be for more than partings," Hermanubis murmurs. Bennu and Shesepankh are quiet as they look between Hermanubis and the two god-kings seated in their thrones. The other three sages are on the other side of Rukkhadevata. They seem to be handling this party a lot better than Bennu and Hermanubis are. Shesepankh thinks she's handling it the best as she accepts the goblet given to her by a tiger-like jinni.

Shesepankh knows the exact moment the party ends. It isn't the half-drunk crowd. It isn't the moon hanging low in the sky as morning approaches. It isn't the flies entering through the open windows to eat the crumbs the sleeping masses haven't touched. It is Al-Ahmar rising from his throne with a heavy stone-faced expression. He leaves the room without saying another word to the guests or his companions. Hermanubis hurriedly follows after his lord. Shesepankh could follow them to continue guarding Al-Ahmar, but she acknowledges that he needs a moment alone to sort out his thoughts, and none would be more helpful in that endeavor than Hermanubis (except Rukkhadevata, but she isn't going to talk to him now, not after her stubborn decision to leave).

Shesepankh snorts beneath her breath. She leaps from the stage to the party down below. Her form transforms into a winged lion. Her paws quickly traverse the room. She nibbles at any stray pieces of fruit on the floor. She laps up the chambré wine spilled across the tables. She licks a stripe of honey off a disheveled guest until he startles away. Shesepankh nudges him with her wing, and he thanks her as he rushes to find a guest room. Shesepankh continues this process, focusing her efforts on the jinn. They acknowledge her prestige and follow her orders to leave the room. A few of the jinn who recognize how difficult tonight must be offer small snacks for Shesepankh before they depart.

When there is not a single jinni left, Shesepankh takes a platter with her as she flies to the highest window in the room. She lands on the sill, setting her platter beside her. She nudges it with her nose, giving herself enough space to lie down. She yawns tiredly. The lunar corpse is falling closer to the horizon. Shesepankh's enemy— the sun— will rise soon. She eats the fruit languidly, letting her back paw hang into the room. She doesn't need to eat, but she does, and she pretends that today is like any other.

Her insistence on pretending is thwarted by a sudden presence on the windowsill beside her. Shesepankh's blue eyes lift to see Rukkhadevata nestled in the narrow space between the fruit platter and the wall. Rukkhadevata raises her hand, gently placing it on Shesepankh's head. Her voice is serene as she whispers. "We have spent so long together. There were many occasions when your assistance proved invaluable and your friendship was incomparable. I will never forget you, and not a day will pass when I do not miss our conversations. Let us meet again someday, whether in the daylight or in dreams. Until then, remain steadfast and true. Continue serving Valivija faithfully."

Shesepankh has many words she wishes to share with the goddess. She wants to beg for answers, to ask her what it would take to make her stay. Those words are turned into nothing as Rukkhadevata swings her legs over the other side of the window. She steps into the air, a platform made from Dendro energy conjured beneath her bare feet. She turns to smile at Shesepankh, the moonlight framing her visage and turning her white hair silver. Rukkhadevata bows to Shesepankh. As the wind picks up, her form dissolves into four leaf clovers that are carried eastward toward her new kingdom of Sumeru.

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🔥

Domains are strange places. They are pocket dimensions scattered across the land, accessible only by fortress-like doors. Sometimes, these pocket dimensions have either subsumed nearby ruins or used illusory magic to recreate what was lost. This is especially common in the desert since most of the ancient civilizations were swallowed by the sand. Whatever makes domains— whether it is a process or a divine being— has taken to revitalizing the ruins using a power beyond the scope of this world.

Dehya has been to many domains in her lifetime. The Traveler has brought her to more than a few, explaining that they are able to find rare supplies in domains. Dehya never minds as long as she is getting paid for it. She fights some illusions that react in real-time, and the Traveler gives her a hug when they find a particularly useful artifact, whatever that is.

Dehya has been hired to traverse domains by other people, too, but Al-Haitham has never bought her services for anything so it strikes her as especially odd that he needs her assistance in navigating a newly unlocked domain. He told her it was because the Akademiya assigned him the responsibility of investigating, but Dehya knows that isn't the only reason. Al-Haitham would have refused the order if he really didn't want to go. Something about this domain intrigued Al-Haitham enough that he was willing to hire a mercenary escort and travel all the way to the desert to investigate it.

Dehya doesn't focus on that fact, however, as they descend through Sekham Hall of the Mausoleum of King Deshret. Al-Haitham is silent as they move, and Dehya matches his quiet attitude. He doesn't lead her astray. They find the domain in question relatively easily. Al-Haitham puts his hand on the domain's door. The triangular pattern glows, and the division between the doors shines with an internal light. The doors open, revealing the starry pattern of a portal to a subspace. Al-Haitham looks at Dehya. She nods in affirmation. He nods back at her. One after another, Al-Haitham and Dehya step into the Altar of Mirages, as the Akademiay has officially named this domain.

They stand in a large antechamber. There are two two braziers beside them with fake fire casting red-white light across the stony infrastructure. Dozens of candles add extra light along with a beam of light piercing through the dilapidated edges. At the end of the sand-covered path, a stout triangular doorway blocks the entrance to another location. A tree overhangs the doorway and an additional brazier. The edges of the illusion are protected by a transparent and light blue wall that looks like slow-moving smoke rising from the ground to the half-broken ceiling.

Dehya grip on Beacon of the Reed Sea tightens. She knows where they are. The architecture is familiar not just because it resembles the Mausoleum and other ruins, but because... Well, Dehya has been here before. She walked these halls when they were standing upright. She stood in this theater when performances were held here. She sat at these tables when they were laid with fresh fruit and spit-roasted meat. She kneeled at this altar when it was in service to two god-kings, not to the mirages of a time better left in the past.

"Where are we?" Dehya breathes out.

"The Akademiya is of the opinion that this is a recreation of Ay-Khanoum, the City of the Moon Maiden and Amphitheaters," Al-Haitham explains as he walks toward the floating red key in the center of the room. He twists the key, summoning the illusions that must be defeated to create the portal out of this domain. Al-Haitham looks over his shoulder at her as the illusions arise from the ground in puffs of smoke. Light of Foliar Incision appears in his hand, illuminating his face bright-green. "They must be right."

The illusions of Eremites spawn all around him. Al-Haitham is quick to slash through the weaker ones. Dehya darts forward. She summons a Fiery Sanctum. The damage Al-Haitham takes is mitigated to her as she swings her claymore through the fresh of individuals resembling the sort of people she works with every day. After the first few rounds, Spirits of Omen arrive on the battlefield. Al-Haitham and Dehya set them all on fire, but Dehya frowns when she realizes that her right arm is warmer than usual. As the battle comes to an end, she thinks her armor is vibrating minutely. She shakes her arm as Al-Haitham cuts through the Galehunter. Dehya's arm stops acting up.

Al-Haitham gives her an odd look. She gives the room an equally as odd look. She wants to explore this place. She wants to find more memories. She doesn't know why she remembers Ay-Khanoum. Kusayla said it was the city of the jinn, made by them and for them.

"We should leave," Al-Haitham says, pointing at the portal that will take them out of here. Dehya nods absentmindedly. She needs to leave this city before she starts thinking she's someone she's not.

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🔥

Shesepankh feels as weak as ashes as she stands in the room. The fire inside of her was ruthlessly put down, and she feels as cold as the distant northern lands kept in order by the Cryo Archon. Tears silently slide down her cheeks, but she doesn't make any moves to wipe them away. She lets them drop onto the ground rotted with the corpses of Padisarahs. In the spaces where her mistress' presence should be, Shesepankh only finds earth shattering emptiness. She can't breathe with how terrible she feels. She turns her attention away from the altar where her king pathetically kneels and her goddess lies as lifelessly as the flowers beneath her sandals. She turns to Hermanubis, grabbing onto his armor. He gazes back at her with eyes devoid of any emotion. She hates him for it, and this hatred is the only source of warmth she can find. "What happened!? What did you... What did you do?! What did we do?!"

Hermanubis has no answers for her. He doesn't stop her from tearing his clothing. He doesn't stop her from shouting in his face. He doesn't stop her from sobbing and floundering as if she wasn't the mightiest of the jinn, the one who received a name directly from her mistress.

Shesepankh stumbles away from him. She pushes at his chest. He doesn't move an inch as if were an emotionless statue. Shesepankh growls temperamentally at him. She looks across the room. Thoth and Sebek are arguing with each other. Heryshaf is trying to soothe the frantic yelling of the priests. Bennu holds the ashes of flowers in her hands, trembling with unshed tears. Nabu Malikata remains on the altar with Al-Ahmar praying to her, his spine shaking violently with the tears he does let pour from his eyes as if he were not a god.

Shesepankh gasps brokenly. She is going to be sick, she thinks, as her hands fold around her stomach. She feels like a useless drunk as she stumbles across the room. She can't feel her fingers. She can barely feel the rest of her body. She jerkily stops when she hears the distant shuffling. She whirls around. Al-Ahmar rises onto his feet. He takes Nabu Malikata's body into his arms, his hands still stained gold with her ichor. He turns around to face his sages and the priests. He doesn't look like he's been crying as he inhales and exhales. The entire room descends into silence, waiting for his verdict. He is their god. He would never lead them astray.

"Our dear goddess has entered the Golden Slumber. She has given me the knowledge necessary to allow everyone passage into this paradise. I will guide you all there, so have faith in me a while longer."

Shesepankh swallows her irascible retort. She swallows all her negative emotions, and it slides down as well as thick poison. She takes his words for what they are. Her goddess is not dead— she is only asleep. She has moved onto the Golden Slumber, the same place Al-Ahmar has wanted to take humanity for centuries. She has found a place in the eternal, paradisal dream. The others will follow her there once Al-Ahmar carves a path for them. He will be their guide. She has lost her goddess temporarily, not forever, and she must believe wholeheartedly in her god if their ambitions are to come true.

Hermanubis bows first, the most loyal sage of them all. Shesepankh bows second. She believes in Al-Ahmar. She will carry out his will, and one day, they will all meet again in the Golden Slumber.

🦁

🔥

Dehya stares at the card bearing her likeness. She flips it around to observe the back. When she assesses the quality of the card, she sets it down beside her other two cards. Cyno raises an eyebrow at her, "Are you certain?"

"I could beat you with only my card," Dehya retorts, leaning back in her chair. It is late. Even the people of Caravan Ribat have mostly turned in for the night. The pitstop between the desert and rainforest is quiet save for a few rowdy drunkards and distant animals howling at the moon. Their outdoor table is lit by a single candle and Dehya's Pyro vision on the table. The woman who brought them their meal and drinks has closed her doors, unable to kick them out since Cyno is technically on official business.

"I doubt it. That is also against the rules," Cyno responds as he grabs the cup full of dice. He shakes it up while muttering a mantra. When the dice spill across the table, he hurriedly picks out the ones he wants to reroll.

"I didn't say I was going to do it. I also said I could do it. I'll just have to settle for beating you with three cards instead of one," Dehya laughs quietly as she puts one foot on the chair. She pulls her thigh against her chest, waiting for Cyno to finish his turn. Despite her confidence, Dehya has never beat Cyno at Genius Invocation. She's beaten other people, of course, including her fellow Blazing Beasts and the Traveler when he invited her to his teapot realm, but those were friendly competitions. This is Cyno, who doesn't know how to play to have fun rather than play to win. Honestly, he treats these card games more seriously than he does their sparring.

"Two cards," Cyno corrects her. Using an atrocious amount of cards, he has oneshot her first card. He sets the cup of dice next to the one filled with her wine.

Dehya huffs under her breath. She downs her entire cup as she starts rolling dice. She already knows she isn't going to win, but she might as well try her damnedest to not lose so epically.

🦁

🔥

Shesepankh sits in front of her master's sarcophagus. She does not say a word as priests move around the room. They are wary of her hardened expression. The texts passed down from the former generations describe the winged lioness as a high-spirited saint. While she matches the physical description written down for her, Shesepankh's statue-like position and stern expression make her look more like a terrifying beast than the embodiment of faith in the two god-kings of shattered city-states.

Her motionless sitting at the foot of the coffin is only one reason why the priests are afraid of her. The other is the blood dripping from her mouth, staining her teeth crimson. Several corpses lie on the floor beneath her. The corpses belong to thieves and heretics who would dare enter the room without the express approval of the head priest. Even if they have approval, even the slightest sign of disrespect toward Al-Ahmar or Nabu Malikata is met with fatal punishment by the quick-footed feline. She cares not for status, and she does not possess a bone of mercy in her body. She attacks her prey indiscriminately, feasting on their sullied flesh and spilling their wine-like blood across the ground. She drinks as much as she can, but she refuses to let herself get intoxicated by the blood. She leaves it for the priests to clean when she has finished devouring the traitor to the kings.

Shesepankh has been here for many moons. She will remain here until Al-Ahmar relieves her of her duties. His body has died, but his spirit remains alive. He is trying to find the path that will lead everyone to the Golden Slumber. In this endeavor, he needs someone to protect his body until he can properly send it to the Golden Slumber. Shesepankh volunteered for the position. Al-Ahmar trusted this responsibility to her, and she believes wholeheartedly that she has done her duty. Not a single soul has looked upon his body, and anyone who dares spread falsehoods is met with a gruesome end in her stomach.

Shesepankh was once praised at the Most Holy of the sages. Her loyalty and faith were second to none. And perhaps she is still as loyal and faithful as she was before, but she has now turned to means of executing her faith while shedding the moniker of 'Most Holy.' The most bloody, some would say, or the most mad, others would claim. Shesepankh doesn't care. Her orders were given, and she will continue to exert the will of the king even as he wanders between the borders of life and death.

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🔥

Dehya shoots up in the bed. She trembles as she falls onto the ground. Her breath is ragged as gropes the darkness for the bedside table. When her fingers find it, she digs her nails into the wood. She pulls her body upward. She manages to land weakly on her knees. She puts her hands on the floor. Her vision begins clearing. She wipes the sweat off her brow with her wrist and places her other hand against her heart to force it to settle down.

"Are you okay?" A voice calls out to Dehya. She should be surprised, but a calmness seeps into her body from the nurturing presence of her goddess. Dehya looks up to see Lesser Lord Kusanali standing across the room for her. Kusanali's body gives off a faint viridian glow that illuminates the space around her. Dehya is grateful for the light and the way Kusanali's powers slip into her mind to comfort her after the horrifying visions that sent her falling out of her bed. "Did you have a nightmare?"

"Something like that," Dehya murmurs. She rises back onto the bed. She settles her weight on the edge. Her legs spread out in front of her. She puts her hands on her knees, bracing her upper body. She closes her eyes, taking several more deep breaths until she no longer feels like someone is squeezing their fist around her entire body.

"What was it about?" Kusanali asks. She moves across the room to stand between Dehya's spread feet. She wears an expression both curious and concerned. Dehya meets her eyes with a frown. While her mind registers Kusanali's presence here as comforting instead of alarming, part of her still wonders what the archon is doing here. Additionally, shouldn't Kusanali already know the contents of Dehya's nightmare? Kusanali chuckles quietly. "I could look into your mind to find the memories of the nightmare myself, but I would have to venture pretty deep. The nightmare wasn't yours. It was put inside your head by someone else. I was alerted to the tampering, so I came to check on you."

"Are you... monitoring me?" Dehya asks airily, keeping her voice quiet for multiple reasons. The one she will admit is that there are other people asleep in the next room. The one she won't admit is that she doesn't have the strength to speak any louder.

"Yes. You and a few other people have started waking up from long dreams. I have been tracking your progress. You are getting closer to an awakened state. When you achieve this, you will find enlightenment," Kusanali explains. She crosses one arm over her chest, putting her opposite elbow on her forearm. She tilts her head up to look into Dehya's eyes. "You do not have to tell me about the nightmare if you do not wish to. I was only asking because someone told me that talking about a nightmare can help someone rationalize it and process it in a healthy way. If you are worried about having another nightmare, I can assure you that it won't happen. While this might impede your process of waking up, I have unlinked your dreams from the creature that gave you this nightmare."

Dehya lowers her forehead into her hands. She doesn't understand what Kusanali is talking about, but Dehya supposes that mortals will always have trouble grasping divine concepts. For now, she recalls the memories of her nightmare. "It wasn't... It wasn't anything too bad. I just... I was killing a lot of people in the dream. I was stopped by a crocodile. It ate me to stop my rampage. I woke up after the fatal blow."

Kusanali nods to herself. "I see. That is important information. Thank you for telling me. Would you like me to send you back to sleep with sweeter dreams?"

"No, thank you. I'll stay awake for a while longer," Dehya responds. She shuffles back onto the bed, drawing her knees to her chest. She wraps her arms around her thighs and calves.

"Very well. Just remember to continue sleeping at healthy intervals. Do not let the fear of another nightmare keep you from taking care of yourself," Kusanali answers, putting a hand over Dehya's hand with a kind smile that makes her child-like face glow with wisdom and maturity. She nods at Dehya as she disappears, a mere projection of Dehya's subconsciousness into her field of vision.

Dehya sighs tiredly. As she starts seriously thinking about Kusanali's words, the door creaks open. Dehya looks at it. Candace enters the room with a cup in her hands. She puts it in Dehya's hand. The mercenary takes a small sip. She shifts her body to lean her head against Candace's shoulder. Candace is quiet as she comforts Dehya, and while she told Kusanali she would stay awake, Dehya finds herself falling back asleep.

🦁

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Shesepankh lands on the shifting sands. She opens her jaw wide enough to drop the bottle on the ground. It rolls, but the yellow petals float endlessly in the glass. Shesepankh stretches into her human form. With her hands, she picks the bottle off the ground. Her feet march into the underground cavern, dropping from the light to the place of shadows. She looks around the area until she finds a good place to leave the bottle.

Liloupar was known as the Mother of Jinn. She was one of the oldest of their kind. Nabu Malikata blessed Liloupar with her name, and Al-Ahmar gave Liloupar the knowledge necessary to turn a shepherd into a king. Gurabad became her city-state, and she held dominion over the piece of land. Shesepankh knew Liloupar when they were juvenile familiars of the sleeping goddess. She was next to Liloupar as Al-Ahmar bound Liloupar's essence to a bottle and Shesepankh's essence to a lion-faced pauldron.

Shesepankh wasn't there when Liloupar exacted vengeance on Gurabad over three generations. She wasn't there when Al-Ahmar found out and shattered Liloupar's essence into seven pieces.

Shesepankh was given one of these shards to hide, though, and she watches as the bottle hovers above the ground. Shesepankh watches as Liloupar's aura coaxes clean water and plant life to furnish her resting place. It is a poor mockery of their goddess' power, but Shesepankh's words won't reach Liloupar's consciousness no matter how loudly she roars.

Shesepankh growls as she transforms back into a winged lioness. Her wings spread out from her back, lifting her into the sky. She leaves the jinni behind. Perhaps one day, Liloupar will find salvation. Someone will thread together her divided shards. Al-Ahmar might even forgive her for destroying Gurabad and thousands of lives. Until then, however, Liloupar's shard shall remain here, forgotten by the whole world.

Shesepankh might have once felt pity for her kin, but she doesn't now. She doesn't feel anything for Liloupar.

🦁

🔥

They made many promises to each other over the thousands of years they spent serving the three-gods as sages. Shesepankh remembers each fleeting word. She places the weight of those oaths on her scales, assessing how many of them were proven true by the dawn's light. There were tiny promises spoken in the spaces between important ceremonies, the dim hallway leading from one chambers to the next, or the gardens their god-kings cultivated with their own divine power. They were competitions, tricks, and little ways of finding amusement. They were promises kept like secrets, falling away like sand between their fingertips.

It is the promises that were not kept that linger against Shesepankh's body like a disease. They cut into her flesh. They drink her blood like parasites. They tear her fur and rip her feathers. They weigh her down until she falls to her knees, a stringless puppet rather than a mighty lioness. She is as weak and unsubstantial as the flowers that died with her mother's final breath. She has not been the jinni humans turned to for hope and knowledge in a long, long time, and she mourns the huntress she was once.

Rukkhadevata broke her promise to stay. Nabu Malikata broke her promise to provide. Al-Ahmar broke his promise to bring salvation. They are all gone now. Rukkhadevata is a child without memories. Nabu Malikata is buried in the Orchard of Pairidaeza. Al-Ahmar's body died once, and his spirit died again to seal away the forbidden knowledge he wrought upon the world in his pursuit of a brighter future that will never come to be. The three of them were once the gods of this land. They were peerless kings. They were oathbound friends. Now, they are fragmented pieces touched by the end that comes for them all.

"Do you remember the promises you didn't keep?" Shesepankh asks as she sits on the sarcophagus. It is not her god that she speaks with. It is her friend, her fellow sage, whom she seeks counsel from. She disrespects his grave in the hopes that his resentment will haunt her since his embrace can no longer touch her. "How could you leave before we found the Golden Slumber?"

Shesepankh's words echo in the large sanctum. She is alone in here with the company of her two friends, the Sage Hermanubis and his mate, Zerda. They died together when Hermanubis' strength ran dry. He sacrificed his life— just as Al-Ahmar did— to protect his people, the Tighnarians, leaving everyone else to fend for themselves. He left the other sages to scatter like the four winds, uncertain of their positions in a world without their masters. The jinn are trapped in bottles. The humans are fighting tirelessly between themselves. Hermanubis' people have fled to the rainforest to join Rukkhadevata's Sumeru. Everyone is suffering endlessly, and instead of helping them, Hermanubis left them without even a false promise about his return one day.

"Are you listening to me?" Shesepankh asks bitterly. She doesn't know what she's supposed to do. Neither Nabu Malikata nor Al-Ahmar gave her orders when they passed. The other jinn are so polluted from their resentment that they cannot be set free. Shesepankh is the last remaining jinni with consciousness, free from the shackles she willingly let Al-Ahmar put on her wrists. She chose her master, and it seems that after all these long years, she has chosen wrong.

Shesepankh screams, her entire body convulsing with anger. She slams her fists against Hermanubis' sarcophagus, but the lid refuses to shatter. It remains closed. Shesepankh gives up, unfurling her fists and sobbing into the lid as if it were the only barrier keeping her from Hermanubis.

Shesepankh hears the doors open. She looks up to find a priest standing at the threshold of the door. The light frames his image, making him look like a solid shadow. Shesepankh leaps off the sarcophagus. She transforms into a winged lioness. Her wings trail on the ground, too heavy for her to lift but not heavy enough that she cannot bound across the room at incredible speed. The priest's eyes light up with recognition. A slow smile spreads across his face. "Glory of the sun be upon you, Saint Shese—"

Her name is the last word on his tongue as she bites into his neck. His blood fills her mouth, warm and flowing like the wine she used to drink. The guards standing at the entrance turn toward her with their spears. She attacks them blindly, killing everyone in sight. When she drunkenly stumbles out of the temple at dawn, she has not left a single living soul in the temple.

🦁

🔥

Dehya runs through the forest, words ringing hollowly in her ears. She keeps her eyes peeled for a flash of color. All she finds are flowers disrupting the unanimous green. She stops suddenly. Her chest heaves with effort, and her head burns with wrath. Without thinking, she turns to a nearby tree to punch the bark. She hears the tree croak in response, but it doesn't come crashing down. It doesn't combust, either, even though Dehya's Pyro vision is burning into her skin where it hangs on her waist.

Dehya stumbles away from the tree. She opens and closes her fists as she goes over the information one more time. According to the people she was eavesdropping on, there was a brigade of Eremites looking to purchase Kaveh from anyone who could kidnap him. The people didn't know why the brigade was in the market for the Light of Kshahrewar, not even when Dehya threatened their lives and roughed them a little to prove that she was willing to murder them. Cyno stopped her from doing that, promising that the Matra were equipped to torture information out of people. Dehya, objectively, should have stayed to hear what those treasure hoarders had to say about where the exchange would be. She got a rough idea from them mentioning a river in the forest, so she bolted without considering how many rivers were in the rainforest.

It's too late to return. Dehya needs to find Kaveh, or the treasure hoarders, or the Eremites, or even Layla, since she was apparently collateral captured. Dehya has so many options of who she can find, so why is she alone in this stupid forest?

Dehya jerks to the side, deciding that she should reunite with Cyno. Or maybe she could find a Forest Watcher since they have hounds that can find missing people in the forest. There are a few other options, Dehya mulls over as she marches through the underbrush, resisting the urge to set the entire forest ablaze in order to find Kaveh.

She doesn't particularly understand why she's so upset. Kaveh is her friend, so it's no surprise that she would help the others find him. She wouldn't be this reckless, though. She would have thought about an appropriate plan with Cyno or any of the Matra. She would have done this rationally, one of the advantages she has in comparison to her fellow Eremites.

Dehya supposes that she feels this high strung because she feels like she's failing for a second time. She can barely remember when, but she lost Kaveh once. She let him slip through her grasp, and it drove her insane, then. It drove them all insane, and everyone ended up suffering because of it. Dehya is terrified that history is going to repeat itself. If she loses Kaveh now, she might as well be losing everyone else that she cares about. All the friends she's made, and people she's come to love, and answers she still needs to find. She doesn't know how she could live with herself if she watched the light fade from those carmine eyes for a second time.

Dehya yelps suddenly. She glances at her right arm. The metal pieces are glowing like molten gold in the light. The leonine face on her pauldron has glowing eyes, a sterling shade of blue like her own eyes. Smoke lifts from her skin as the armor literally melts into her skin. It hurts so badly that Dehya falls to her knees. She tries to keep her arm still, but it spasms as if she could shake off the armor. The smell of burnt flesh paired with the pain makes her lightheaded, and she struggles to breath as she presses her forehead against the soil. Her nails dig into the underbrush, tearing at ferns and grass. Her vision flares with light, and she can smell additional smoke in the air around her.

"Do you need help?"

Dehya doesn't have the strength to respond, but her intentions must filter through whatever mental bond has been established between her and the speaker.

"You have to remember your mother's name, Dehya. Once you do, we can save her. We can do what you failed to do before. We can do more than catch the sun— we can protect him."

Dehya's eyes fall shut. She doesn't have a mother. Well, she does, but she doesn't remember her mother. She doesn't remember any woman's name as she claws into the dirt to keep herself conscious and sane.

"Remember your mother's name. Allow your repressed memories to rise to the surface."

Dehya searches every corner of her mind. When she finally finds the odd moments when she half-remembered things, she lines them all up. She connects the dots as quickly as she can. Vomit slips from her lips in slow, disgusting streaks as she stumbles to her feet. She braces a hand against a nearby tree. She keeps her eyes open as she finally remembers her mother's name.

"Nabu Malikata."

"Good. Now, call my name."

Dehya pushes off the tree. She lifts her right arm into the air. Instead of channeling her Pyro vision through the armor, she allows a similar but ultimately different energy to move through the wires. She closes her fingers into a fist, yelling out a name she once used as her own. "Shesepankh."

Like the fragmented weapons, a portal opens in the air above Dehya. The burning sensation reduces on her arm. When the metal lioness leaps onto the ground, Dehya feels like a flame reborn. She is no longer in pain as she meets the marble eyes of a jinni trapped as a Spirit of Omen. The lioness is large, and she possesses two wings made from thin sheets of flexible metal. Although feminine in appearance, a mane of bright red flames spread around her face. Shesepankh nudges Dehya's hand with her head. "Follow me. I shall find our mother."

Shesepankh turns away from Dehya, smelling the air. She begins to run away in a specific direction. Dehya follows after Shesepankh without a moment of hesitation. She will process what this all means later. For now, she has to save Kaveh and Layla.

🦁

🔥

Her name has been lost. No one dared utter it in fear of incurring her wrath, so now, no one remembers it. They only remember her as a beast of fire and death. She moves across the land like a plague, slaughtering anyone she comes across. She has no limitations. Her claws and teeth are as indiscriminate as death itself is. Her wings carry her high to kill birds. Her paws thunder across the earth to kill land animals. She dives into the river to bite into fish. She follows the paths of merchants to settlements that are effortlessly wiped out, their prayers amounting to nothing when there are no gods to listen to their pleas.

She finds a pond filled with a rich red substance. She doesn't hesitate as she sticks her tongue into the liquid. She drinks until her belly is nice and full, and the pond is noticeably drained when she pulls away. She licks her teeth, not conscious enough to realize that she wasn't drinking blood. Not all that glitters is gold, and not all that is crimson is the lifeblood of mortals.

"Do you remember your mother's name?" A voice asks behind the beast. She looks over her shoulder at a man who resembles a mortal. He wears the skin of a crocodile to protect himself from the heat of the sun. He holds a spear in his hand, fingers tight around the rod.

She growls at her newest target. Her hunger is infinite, and she doesn't hesitate to run at him. Unfortunately, the wine she drank made her stumble. She falls across the sand with a hazy look in her eyes. The crocodile man (it pains him that she doesn't recognize him; he is Sebek, captain of captains, a sage like her and someone who protected the three god-kings in yesteryear) steps toward her with a saddened expression that she cannot comprehend. He lifts his spear with a sorrowful sigh. He doesn't ask again as he plunges his spear into her body. She cries out weakly, and ultimately succumbs to her fate.

Thus ends the terrible beast staining the desert as scarlet as the former king, for the Most Holy saint surely died many years before this moment.

🦁

🔥

Dehya leans her back against the railing overlooking the river flowing through Gandharva Ville. She turns her eyes skyward to look at the stars. She can hear Tighnari fussing over Kaveh and Layla, plus many of the others who participated in the rescue mission, no matter how small their role ultimately was. Earlier, Dehya was in that room, too, to have her arm looked over. There were no burns left behind despite the pain Shesepankh put Dehya through to force the Eremite to reconcile with her former life. Dehya put Shesepankh back in her 'jinni bottle,' the pauldron on her shoulder, after the fight was finished as a punishment for this pain despite it being necessary.

"Do you remember?" Al-Haitham asks as he walks up to her. He puts his forearms on the railing, looking into the distance.

"Kind of hard not to when your past life literally comes to your aid," Dehya's laugh is airy and a touch rueful. She crosses her arms over her chest. She looks at Al-Haitham from the corner of her eye. "Do you remember?"

"I remember a lot. I broke the promise I made to you," Al-Haitham says quietly, more emotion in his voice at this moment than she's ever heard before.

Dehya shakes her head. She turns around. She presses her shoulder into Al-Haitham's shoulder, relishing in the minimal comfort it provides her. She closes her eyes, listening to the others inside. "You didn't break your promise. This might not be the Golden Slumber we all imagined, but we found each other again. We might not be kings and sages, but we can still be comrades. Allies. Friends. We can protect each other in this life."

"You would still consider me a friend?" Al-Haitham asks, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Of course not. I would never dare call the king my friend," Dehya smiles at him. She doesn't kneel, but she does bow her head to him. "I swore to serve you in one life. I might as well do it in the next."

"I have no orders for you."

"I don't need them. Just let me protect you... let me protect all of you this time."