Endless expanses of unfathomable oceans stretch to the furthest reaches of eternity while eddies of impossible colors and currents of indescribable beauty danced in darkness. The waves of reality broke upon dream and illusion and cascaded ever onward in enigmatic flows. Within this measureless paradox, tiny glitters of incredible light shone, drifting amongst the swifter tides at a glacial pace. They hung, suspended in the immense vista to all sides, far above and infinitely below, glittering like a thousand unique stars cast haphazardly into the morass of the dark and impossible sea.

A solitary figure looked out upon that vast kaleidoscopic swirl of chaos, his form unmoved by the miraculous panorama that spun around him. His gaze stretched to the sparkle of the farthest worlds, as if he could touch them from where he stood. This was a glory few would ever see, a vista seen only by those few blessed with that intangible essence of aether itself, the spark of a planeswalker.

The sound of echoing steps upon stone drew Zhiran from his reverie and he sighed, dreading the meeting he knew he was about to have. He did not know what it would be about this time, but he had had them quite often enough to know it would bring him no joy. The tall archmage turned at the impatient cough behind him and muttered a silent prayer to gods long dead asking for patience.

“Must you play with your toys at all hours Zhiran? Some of us are attempting to run the academy you so graciously gifted us.” An elderly and hunchbacked aven stood there, looking up at the towering silver haired mage. A pair of glasses perched on the birdman’s beak and he held a great bundle of scrolls beneath his arm. Zhiran dissolved the illusion around them, collapsing the replica of the tumultuous eternities. They swirled back into the gem embedded on the altar before him. The room crumbling back into being, a great dome of polished stone. Concentric circles of precious metals spread from the pedestal where the pair stood, each ring etched with arcane runes in thousands of languages. Small flitting crystals sank slowly to rest on the metal, jewels from hundreds of worlds, each a tiny captured piece of the world it came from. It was a masterful work, the work of lifetimes, but the duo standing at odds in the room gave it no mind.

“Your tenure is the only reason I bear your acerbic tongue you old vulture.” Zhiran smiled humorlessly. The plumes on the Marquis’s brows bristled at the insult and he clucked his tongue at the elder master of the school. Zhiran stood unfazed, clasping his hands behind his back as he stared down the winged scholar. “What draws you to me now d’Hyon? I am in the midst of something and wished not to be disturbed.”

“A pardon then, your greatness,” the Marquis hissed, “Mistress Seine wished to see you in the Artificer’s Quarter at your earliest convenience and I, myself, need approval for the expansion of the island’s archives. Of course, if your lordship is too busy to attend to such mundane matters, perhaps it is time he step aside to let another run this school. It would give you more time to pursue whatever fancy you wish.”

“Silence your squawking d’Hyon. It does not suit someone of your position.” Zhiran leveled a cold look at the aven and swept past him, leaving d’Hyon to hobble after the taller mage. Zhiran’s billowing azure robes flared as he strode out of the massive dome of the infinite orrery trailing the aven in his wake.

“If you wish I speak with respect, you should treat me with the respect my position merits! At least you could use my proper title.” The Marquis said as he waddled after Zhiran, his wings twitching with every step. “You brought me here and now you treat me like this. It’s an injustice!”

“You showed promise as a young one. You still do, if you could but control your ego.”

“Ego!?” d’Hyon sputtered.

“Yes, your ego.” Zhiran turned toward him, his tone suddenly firm. “You insist at your own greatness, and it has grown tiresome. Similarly, your peers have grown weary of acting as if you hold a higher rank than they.”

“Pfah! Peers… any time you scatter off, it’s left to me to run this school day to day! I am lord of the archives and keeper of your precious research. Thousands of years of arcane secrets are at my talons, and I deserve to be recognized for what I do.”

“You are recognized, master archivist.” Zhiran spat acidly. “Your position is recognition enough. You were always a willful student, but your recent tone has exceeded even my limits. I am done with these spiteful barbs. Your position has given you an exaggerated sense of import and my absence has only exacerbated that. If you continue I will strip from you your much vaunted rank and throw you to your peers for assignment!” Zhiran bellowed. The Marquis stood stunned, his beak agape. He had never seen such an outburst come from his master. Even in his youth, when he was admittedly an overly rebellious student, Zhiran had always been cool tempered. The elder mage sighed and rubbed the bridge of his large nose.

“You should find an apprentice d’Hyon. It would give you a lesson in patience. At the very least, you could use the help in the archives.” Zhiran strode down the darkened hall again, at a gentler pace, one which d’Hyon could keep up with. “You aren’t a spring hatchling anymore after all.” They strode together through the byzantine corridors for some time in silence.

“Something has caused you distress Master Zhiran.” d’Hyon finally said, breaking the hush. “I...” the Marquis scrunched his face, as if tasting something he did not care for. “I apologize, Zhiran. You have been unlike yourself of late. You seem… tired. If you must be preoccupied, I can handle things while you are away, as I always have, my Master.”

“As you will,” Zhiran sighed. He turned away, but stopped for a moment. “I suppose neither of us are hatchlings these days d’Hyon.” At that, he resumed climbing the stairs to the towers, leaving his ancient apprentice alone, feeling the first stirrings of concern for a man he never thought he would need to be concerned for.

---------------------------------

Zhiran sank into his chair, taking the rare moment of stillness to simply be. His apprentice, the most recent one, was due soon, but for the moment he wished things could simply cease. It had been easier in the past, before the cosmos had changed, before the wave had begun to leech his endless power. He was still left perplexed by the event, something that had altered the very fabric of Dominia itself in subtle ways. He remained powerful, thousands of mana lines would leap to his command at but a thought, but he did miss the tireless energy he once possessed. He found it a strange thing to be mortal once more, and though magics he’d learned in epochs past kept him from aging, he envied the young their lack of concerns. None more so than his latest apprentice, Terina. The soft clop of hooves announced her arrival, but he was reluctant to raise his head to greet her. With regret, he glanced up as the elfin maid entered the room.

“Any progress my student?” Zhiran looked at her expectantly. She favored him with a smile and nodded her head, the delicate horns sprouting from her brow making the simple gesture look more grandiose than it was.

“The seers have had great luck at tracking her movements using the gallery your grace.”

“It seems these eyes are not as acute these days as those of the young.” Zhiran chuckled, his deep voice rumbling with subdued mirth.

“We are all young compared to you, my Archmage.” She shared his smile, but it faded quickly. “You seem weary. Is the search that taxing?”

“No. It is not the search that has born me down, merely the burdens I’ve taken upon myself. Play something for me Terina, if only so I may pretend I do not carry the weight of worlds upon these shoulders.” He grunted and shut his eyes, his great bearded head leaning back and resting on the throne that sat behind his desk.

“As you wish Master Zhiran.” Terina grinned at him. Truth be told, Terina would never be as powerful a mage as the likes of the Marquis, but her skill lay elsewhere, in a magic unrelated to sorcery. She lifted a lyre from the wall, one of dozens, and she sat. Her fingers caressed the instrument and the air filled with the dulcet chime of strings. This was a magic all its own, her playing a complex tapestry of sound and beauty. It was enough to distract him for the moment. Her voice crooned to the gentle tune, the lilting beauty of her native tongue a foreign and delicate company to the peaceful prelude. This skill was why he had chosen her, but she was a fair mage in her own right. Zhiran could hear the weave of her mana as she played, the rare form of her spellcasting made manifest.

“Trying to put an old man to sleep?” the ancient wizard said, opening one eye to watch his student play. She stopped and smiled sheepishly at her master.

“No archmage, only a spell to ease your mind, it is one I learned from the fey. You’ve seemed increasingly troubled as of late and it seems to have trebled since you learned of her activity.” Terina spoke, with emphasis to leave no question of who “she” was. “Archmage… Why do you hate her so direly?”

“Must you know Terina?” Zhiran groaned and laid his head back.

“I only wish to help Archmage. If I knew, I could find some way to soothe your thoughts.”

“If you must know the tale Terina, I shall tell you.” Zhiran rose from his seat and strode purposefully towards the high arched door across the room. “It begins on a plane called Rabiah. A place that is a thousand places, and upon this world I spent a millennium living a thousand lives. This was some time before I established this academy, during a time in which mysteries intrigued me more than my later attempts to alter the past. I felt I could lose myself in the thousand variations of a single world, and to some measure I found peace. My curiosity changed during my time wandering the endless deserts of that world, and I’m ashamed to say that it might have been for the worse. I lost my focus and became too concerned with mastering the questions before me for no other reason to declare myself a sovereign.” Zhiran stepped forward into his great vaulted library. As in the orrery, thousands of delicate crystals chimed and danced in the air, their spinning forms twining about each other a dozen stories into the air.

No matter how often Terina was in this room, she was amazed at the scope of Zhiran’s archive. A central shaft of light shone through the dome of the ceiling and caught the light of hundreds of crystalline memories, scattering rainbows of light and etched script across the walls. Within this room, the music of epochs chimed and tinkled gently. It was mesmerizing, notes that spoke of ages and nigh-infinite knowledge.

Zhiran turned back to his student and held a hand out. A chunk of nearly opaque obsidian soared to his palm and he closed his fingers firmly around it. “If you wish to know the tale, it is best for you to witness how it played out those ages ago.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zhiran stood erect and proud on the dunes overlooking the vast ocean that stretched to the horizons. It had been days since he had last seen another being, or anything barring the seemingly endless sands. It was several moons ago when he had left Cairo, headed east. Tirelessly he walked across that great desert, knowing not fatigue nor hunger nor thirst. He had come to this world a pilgrim, a life he had lived many times before, and now he stood on the edge of Rabiah gazing towards the sea below. The winds gusted from the east and his flowing jet hair blew back as he shielded his eyes from the glisten of the sun reflected on the water, fascinated by what he saw. The great tear shaped island of Serendib sat on the edge of the world.

In all his time on Rabiah, Zhiran knew of only one place that felt like home. It was a joy to discover what each variation of Serendib held at its heart. It was one of the few things that could still stir anticipation in the ancient mage. In some worlds, the island was left barren. In few, it simply did not exist, wiped away by some terrible cataclysm. In most, though, it was home to fair beaches of brilliant cerulean tides and spirits of air, the powerful beings known as Djinn. For years he had studied them, but they had not been as fascinating as the kingdom he found now.

The massive island sat cloaked behind great white mists, but the fog sat strangely. It grew amongst the lush forests of palms instead of obscuring the greenery. All across the island, towers of clouds spiraled upwards, an empire that mirrored the abandoned world of his birth. Zhiran felt a sudden stab of nostalgia, a feeling he had thought forgotten for longer than he could recall. Seeing the cities of cloud the djinn had built made him uncomfortable. Memories stirred that he could not quite recall, shadows reaching far far back. He shook his head violently. He had not come to reminisce, he’d come to reap the secrets the djinn might have.

He had heard whispers in Alexandria of the djinn of this world. They had built a kingdom of power and secrets on distant Serendib. After his long trek, he had finally found a new source of knowledge, and it would be one which might put him in reach of his desires. These ancient beings might know the secrets of the thousand fold refraction.

Months passed. It had taken little time to ingratiate himself to the djinn, a display of power and his willingness to teach was all it took to intrigue the djinn, but as he worked with them, they began to open to him. Slowly, they grew closer and with that, his true goals were one step closer to reality, gaining their wisdom as his own. Their knowledge was tied to some strange philosophy that claimed all things were connected as one. It said the only thing that separated the mind from the great ocean of energy and enlightenment was the physical body. It was an odd philosophy for beings of air, and one Zhiran knew must be false. He had no body more than the one he wished, but the mysteries behind the beginning of creation were still beyond him.

Zhiran sat cross legged on the terrace of Sigiriya, the temple fortress where he had taken residence. Dawn had just crested the distant reaches of the sea and Zhiran let the light wash over him as he centered his mind for the day’s meditation. His awareness spread into the aether, his body becoming just the tip of his consciousness as he felt the stillness of the world around him coming to life in the day’s light. Serenity settled around him as his mind expanded, lightly touching the intricacies of the world outside himself. His understanding of the arcane, already staggering, had risen to heights he could barely fathom since the djinn had begun teaching him. He could feel secrets in the weft of the world, but he could only see parts of their shape, unable to understand their entirety. His concentration broke as he felt something move in the world, a sudden oily chaos that shattered the peace. He jerked and his eyes snapped open, he rose without moving, simply reforming his body by the roof's edge several meters away.

Below in the gardens, the islanders were milling about, many asking what they had felt. The air was suddenly filled with movement as members of The Seventy, the djinn rulers of Serendib, took to the air, their passage upsetting the palms that swayed in the morning light. Zhiran flew into the air himself and shot directly upwards. The clouds quickly fell below him as he climbed and frost coated his beard. There was no air at this chill height, but there was also little in the way of distraction. There was something of that momentary chaos that had seemed recognizable. Zhiran’s awareness expanded once more, growing in a different direction than before. Out of the corner of his eye, the veil of the world appeared… and there, a rent was sealing itself amidst a raging storm. Something had come to Rabiah from elsewhere. The tear was not deep enough to have pierced through the Blind Eternities, leaving only one answer. The intruders had come from a neighboring Rabiah.

The archmage returned to the physical realm, stepping into the world atop one of the enormous statues that dotted the island. The great edifices were monuments to past members of the Seventy, all of them shared the same pose of meditation and a serene look of enlightenment graced their features. Zhiran’s expression had little in common with the statues. Absently he raised his hand and a brace clicked into being upon his arm. An enormous diamond sat upon the steel of the bracer, a fine silver chain made of charms wrapped about the metal. It glowed briefly as he gathered a well of mana to him and cast it out to all corners of the islands.

At once, Djinn burst into being, smoke and lightning filling the air alongside the dull thump of their arrivals. Their genders were mixed amid their numbers and they stood apart from the islanders they ruled. Their hair was as white as their muscular flesh and seemed a cloud gathered about their head. Zhiran bore an uncanny resemblance to the djinn, but his raven locks lay still against his head and his body was far leaner than that of the djinn. They arrayed themselves about the statue, hanging in the air and looking down at the upstart archmage.

“We felt your call almost as strongly as the disturbance. What right do you have to summon us like mere servants?” The leader of the seventy fumed.

“Silence your nattering Asela, attackers are bound our way. We must prepare to meet them.”

“Why would you be so certain an attack is imminent?” another challenged. Indeed many of them seemed unconvinced, others bearing an obvious curiosity.

“The disturbance was too great for a single being, which means a group, and there is little in this place that would bring a group.” Zhiran crossed his arms and stared coldly at his accuser. As if on cue, the roar of an explosion sounded on the far shores of the island. Great plumes of smoke and debris flew into the air and the acute hearing of the djinn picked up the distinct sounds of screams despite the many kilometers separating them. “The battle shall be joined, come!” The world around him warped and he stood in a new place.

Zhiran appeared in the cobbled streets of the capital and took in the scene. All around, fire rained and scorched the greenery of the island’s beauty and the beaches were scorched to glass. Above, dark shadows stirred the deceptively peaceful sky and terrible roars split the air. Like meteors they fell, enormous creatures of hard muscle wrapped in the scale of a snake. Immense horns topped their heads and they wore no clothing but flame and darkness. Their faces were great bestial things, a lion’s muzzle wreathed in flame. Djinn appeared all around and began drawing mana from the land, but the invaders lashed out at their efforts and buildings were blown apart, the mists that held them together hissing horribly as they vanished. Trees exploded into towering infernos and stone shattered under the carnage of the efreet. The lands were razed and the djinn felt their magics shatter as their city was ravaged.

Still, the djinn rose against the efreet, the Seventy leveling themselves against the raiders, air and water clashing against darkness and fire. The djinn were powerful, far more so than their enemies, but what the invaders lacked in strength they made up for with a desperate fury, a barely restrained furor that overwhelmed the disciplined might of Serendib’s defenders. The djinn were slowly pushed back until their lines broke and with grim method the efreet swarmed amongst them. Zhiran deflected the attacks thrown towards him and the djinn were forced into the air, unable to match the efreets’ unholy brute strength.

The marauders roared into the morning and with great leaps, they launched into the air after their prey. As fiery comets they struck the djinn full front, slamming into them midair. A few fell to wildly thrown spells, but most met their targets in the sky. Djinn were thrown to the ground with infernal strength before they could cast again. All around him, elemental spirits wrestled, careening through the air and crashing into everything that fell into their paths. With only a glancing expenditure of his power, Zhiran exerted his will and efreet were knocked from their flight.

Dropping his hands, Zhiran strode through the tumult, growing larger with each step until he stood over the buildings around him. Brilliant azure lightning dripped from his fingers. Any time he passed a cluster of battle, he threw his hand out and efreet crashed to the ground, all the fight drained from their minds and their bodies withering to a shell of their once glorious frames. The Djinn did not waste the opportunity and efreet blood ran hot in the streets.

The tide turned in Zhiran’s wake. One by one, he dealt horrible wounds and the djinn rallied. Efreet tried to flee, and to those the archmage offered no mercy. The diamond upon Zhiran’s bracer glimmered with alabaster light and the efreet exploded into dark smoke and sopping wetness, but most were cast to their knees at his passing, an unearthly blue light glowing from within their eyes. Without a constant threat pressing against them, the djinn called upon their full power and slaughtered the remaining efreet. Zhiran stopped and stood over one of the hunched efreet, dismissing any who came near him. Slowly, the battle moved away from Zhiran and his prisoner.

The streets grew empty and the sounds of battle distant. Ruins settled under the archmage’s gaze and bodies laid crushed under the rubble. The beauty of the island had been marred and his own meditations interrupted. They had attacked the one place that reminded him of home and nearly brought it to ruin. Zhiran bent and one enormous hand closed tightly about the efreet’s neck. With little effort or exertion, the archmage lifted the efreet into the air. “Why have you dared to intrude upon this place!?”

“We… we had no choice, we were driven here.” The efreet choked “She came to the city and conquered it. If we had stayed, we would have been killed!”

“You would have been killed? By whom? Who drove you here?!”

“The Queen. The Queen of Black Sands…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was always hot in the deserts, but nothing could have prepared Zhiran for Dark Rabiah. The heat was terrible, but it was the oppressive inescapable presence of the mana pushing upon him from all sides that burnt his senses so badly. The sickly sweet cloying scent of decay clung to every breath and sank into his chest like an abyss within him. He simply ceased breathing, but the gloom still assaulted his other senses. He glanced to the heavens, dark red clouds stretched across the sky to the horizon. Lightning crackled within those clouds and it seemed to fear falling to the dark grounds. The dunes stretched as far as he could see, and true to the name, they were black. They smelled distressingly of blood.

He grimaced. What madness would choose to live in this place?

The invasion had been days ago and Zhiran wasted little time in setting out. The aether trail the efreet had left was effortless to follow, but finding the portal to their homeland had taken him far from Serendib. The worlds had shifted in the eternities, moving at a glacial pace but moving all the same. As planes collided they overlapped briefly and portals formed. Rabiah in particular was rife with portals as a thousand planes brushed against each other, constantly shifting and sliding together.

Zhiran took to the air and opened his awareness to the plane around him. The world dimmed with corruption, its claws sunk deep into the mana buried beneath the land. Above, he felt the touch of the dark storm that raged and he fell, unable to stay aloft with the oily darkness that stuck to the skin of his soul. This land was ill, but he had sensed what he had been searching for. To the far west an enormous mana source glowed in the aether. It radiated power and Zhiran blinked out of existence, appearing near the vast structure.

The energy it spilled rose into the aether, rippling like heat from the desert floor. Zhiran had seen much in his long life, but never anything quite like the city that lay before him. He had heard rumors upon the other Rabiah, legends of the city of brass, but he had not sought it out as he did now. Nothing had drawn him to quest for it, and now he regretted his oversight, if only a bit.

The city shone with a pristine brilliance, a beacon at odds with the dark skies and blackened lands. It dominated the plateau of the mountain upon which it sat, its gaze cast far to the ends of the world. A road stretched up the mountainside, wending through streets of metal that cut through massive towers and domes. As he stood far below, gazing up, it dawned to him that this was no city, but a single massive stronghold built to a queen’s glory. The road twisted through gatehouses and they all led to the grand palace. The buildings collected within its walls were not homes or businesses. No bazaar hosted a merchant’s wares, no children ran the streets, and no beggars lurked in the sparse shade of its molten walls.

Only courtiers came to dwell in the City of Brass.

Only pilgrims to worship its queen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rishima sprawled upon her cushions as she toyed with the latest in a long line of supplicants. She was only half paying attention to him as he blathered on about how he could serve her. Truthfully, she paid more attention to the random twitch of her tail than to the simpering fool. The novelty of her new kingdom had already begun to wear thin. It was dreadfully tedious to hear the same pledge, or some variation, for the thousandth time. She ran her claws across the cushions, the finest silks and velvet shredding to ruin under her caress. It was bothersome that the artisans were taking so long constructing her throne, it was unbecoming to be so close to the ground. Her wings drooped in boredom as she looked upwards at the ceilings of her great hall. A dusky haze hung about the pillars, the smoke heavy with the smell of incense.

“… and so I swear, to serve your wishes and demands my warlord-” The supplicant stammered.

“What!?” At once Rishima’s attention snapped back to the tiny mewling thing in front of her. She rose, her massive bulk growing dark. A growl erupted from her throat as she leaned forward, her pinions flaring. The muscles of her great arms bunched, claws showing clearly against her plinth. “I am no warlord, I am not one of those pathetic desert bandits you have known. I am your QUEEN. Say it! What am I to you!?”

“Y-You are my queen! Please forgive me great one! I did not mean to offend your majesty!” The man dropped to his knees and quivered, his head practically banging upon the floor as he debased himself. Rishima growled once more, much more softly than before. She settled again upon the great cushions.

“Good. Never again forget that. I am your queen. Should you slip again, I shall have you stripped and hung from the city walls. Now get out of my sight.”

“You are most gracious my lady, Most gracious!” He whimpered and then turned and ran. She began to purr at the sight of the flea escaping.

Yes, she thought to herself, she was being benevolent. He was right, she should have had him flayed, but she was reluctant to break her new toys before all of them had sworn loyalty to her. She chuffed and leaned back as the next courtier came forward and bowed. She had expected it to be more exciting than this. She had looked forward to the courtiers arguing and scheming, her subtle favors causing silent wars behind curtains. She looked out across the room at the terrified faces of the silent courtiers. She supposed it was still too early for them to begin their games. She grinned and the ignored supplicant stuttered at the sight of her teeth. She was still an unknown and they would begin plotting soon enough. Politics were always such fun.

Something tickled the edges of her mind and her smirk dropped. She raised her upper body as the disturbance reached her and her eyes narrowed. Something had come to her city. Something powerful and she tilted her head as she tested the texture of its presence. There was only one thing that burned with such power. A planeswalker had come to her kingdom. The smile returned to her mouth, much more predatory this time. He was coming. Perhaps she would not be as bored as she thought.

The great twin doors split, the massive slabs of stone swinging open as if under the hand of a giant. He stood tall as he strode in. She folded her wings behind herself as he came, the courtiers scattering from around him. Zhiran halted amongst the nobles and they held their collective breaths, shying away from the stranger as best they could. Rishima merely reposed, unconcerned with his examination. Finally, the wizard turned his attention to her.

She was beautiful, skin the color of fine wood and hair as black as the world outside the walls. Her claws scratched at the precious textiles and they were as dark as her hair. What struck him the most, aside from her size, were those great golden eyes that peered down at him. Kohl darkened her eyelids and there was a sultry, and unmistakably predatory, look about her.

“Welcome to the City of Brass, great world walker. Have you come to pay respects to its new queen?”

“No. I have come to avenge a wrong perpetrated against my peers upon the isle of Serendib.” Zhiran stared directly at the sphinx before him. Rishima quirked an eyebrow at the archmage and rose from where she rested. Slowly she padded towards him and between one step and the next, she assumed a new form. Her body resembled an angel, with wings darker than night, but there were feline features about her, features that screamed of danger. She sensually stalked forward, wings proudly spread behind, and Zhiran tried to ignore the fact that though she had changed her form, she hadn't added a single stitch of clothing more.

“There, perhaps now we can confer with less… aggression. I've taken this form so you can be better at ease. I’m afraid I can’t claim any knowledge of these wrongs of which you speak. Trust me, I have quite a good memory for the wrong things I’ve done.” She purred as she prowled around the archmage in a circle. He did not move, not even bothering to watch as she sauntered behind him.

“Serendib was attacked by an army of efreet who say that you sent them there. Do you claim you know nothing of this?”

“No. I don’t. I’ve never even heard of Serendib.”

“Are you, or are you not, the Queen of Black Sands?” Zhiran demanded. Rishima stopped her movements and an ugly sneer bared her fangs. A growl vibrated within her chest and her fingers stretched as if they were claws yearning to rend something.

“I am the Queen of Black Sands, world walker. Show me the respect I have earned.”

“My apologies.” Zhiran said flatly. “You are the Queen of Black Sands and that was the exact name the efreet gave. They said you would kill them.”

“Oh!” she laughed at that, a deep throaty sound filled with mirth, and her anger evaporated. “Yes, now I know of whom you speak. I did not send them to attack Serendib, my dearest compatriot. I told them they would die if they did not bow to me. I graciously allowed the ones who chose to flee to do so with their lives.”

She placed one hand upon her bare hip and snapped with the other, a dissonant sound that caused many to flinch. From the other side of the room, smoke spiraled down from the haze of the ceiling. As the smoke touched the ground, it took the form of several great fiery lions. Without a doubt, they were efreet. Zhiran shot her a look. “With my ascension to the throne, I felt the occupants left needed a touch of… humility. The others ran when I drove them out.”

“So you say they did not attack us because of you.”

“No,” Rishima said with care and patience, “I do not make that claim. They fled from me and apparently invaded your ‘Serendib.’ I did not tell them to, but they did so because of my mercy. I should have killed them.” She walked to face Zhiran directly, adopting a haughty air. “Allow me to make amends. I offer you the hospitality of my city for your trouble. Stay as long as you like. I shall look forward to speaking with you, but I have royal duties to attend. One of my handmaidens will show you to a room.” And she turned from him at that, hips rolling purposefully and sensually as she stalked away.

A courtier approached Zhiran as she made her way back to the ample cushions. The archmage shot a glare at the terrified lady and whirled, sweeping out of the grand court with a sweep of his cloak. The doors closed upon his back and Rishima watched the entrance. Finally, she threw herself back upon her pillows and a smile of genuine delight split her lips. A purr rolled in her chest as the court milled, whispers chasing themselves with talk of the stranger. Rishima knew this was not over, not by far.

And it would be so much fun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zhiran stood in a room atop one of the great towers of the city. He had little doubt that the sphinx that proclaimed herself queen had been insincere, but he was not to waste an opportunity to study the palace and learn what he could. There was a terrible power that inhabited the city, and he was loathe to throw away whatever advantage he was handed. He had spent much of the day walking, connecting to his surroundings and the mana that the great city shed. The archmage could feel the history that rested there in. The city spoke of pain and isolation, heartbreak and misery. Dark emotions had stained the aura of the bright city and it ran thick within the power that bled from the land.

Zhiran leaned forward against the window, a great cerulean pane of glass that ringed the room. It opened with the smallest nudge of his magic and stale air blew in. Zhiran appreciated the breeze, regardless of how badly tainted it was. The city was rank with the stench of incense, perfumes, and oil.

The wind also alleviated some of the persistent terrible heat the palace burned with. The warmth was as intense as the power that flowed through the halls. The archmage connected his mind to the city, but did not drink in its rich mana. He could feel the power lurking there, mixed with the tragedy. To touch that power was to open oneself to the pain that coursed through the walls. To tap into its energy was to draw that pain inside.

He withdrew, feeling no temptation to grasp any of it.

Zhiran glanced around as his escort finally found him again. He smiled at the supposed diplomatic attention he was garnering. The sphinx was hardly subtle. The archmage recognized that his guards were meant to watch him more than they were meant to protect him. He didn’t blame her for trying to learn more about him. He was trying to do that exact thing to the Queen of this auspicious palace after all. Of course, she had found ways to test him all the same. Spells were laid all throughout the city, traps put down for anyone whose power was great enough to perceive them. Some of them seemed set just to be broken, which he did easily. But it was the ones that were meant to keep him out that he was most interested in.

Zhiran was searching for something within the city that would give him an advantage if he truly had to deal with this so called Queen. Any place warded strongly enough had to be of interest, but he had not found anything that told him anything more of the woman who had usurped the throne. Few courtiers would even speak to him, fewer servants still. So far, all he had found was fear and loathing. What knowledge he could gather pointed to a power hungry despot, but it seemed no more so than the walker she had deposed. Zhiran grew weary of the escort that glared at his back and with a breath of his magic, he vanished from their sights. He sought solitude somewhere within the city, a chance to be alone with his thoughts, if only for a moment.

He reappeared elsewhere, coldly amused at leaving the sphinx’s spies. He looked upward to see where he had found and his brow furrowed. It was dark. The city had always shone with light, reflections gleamed from every surface, nowhere in the city was as somber as this. He extended his hand and ran it across smooth stone, recently carved from the heart of the mountain upon which the city sat. He tilted his head. The history writ in these walls was new and he reached out to the mana. He recoiled as he felt it, it lacked the brilliant radiance of the city. It felt only cold and empty as the touch of the grave.

Zhiran walked along the tunnel, the floor flat while the walls were uneven and the damp cool pooled anywhere it could rest. It was a short journey until he felt something ahead. Before him stretched a massive room, darkness hanging from the ceiling with only the flickering shadows of low burning braziers lighting the room. People were scattered inside, laying flat upon slabs as dark creatures moved amongst them. The dark beings seemed as living shadow and bent over their patients with practiced precision. They were being tortured, but they did not respond as Zhiran would have expected. They writhed in agony, but their faces showed a sublime bliss. The tell tale feeling of an enchantment hung in the air, delicate dark spider webs that strung around the room. Everywhere, the victims suffered in myriad ways, but the gentlest touch of their minds showed that they believed otherwise. Each of them believed they were bathed in pleasure. Hot pokers were thought a gentle caress of feathers, boiling tar seemed the finest oils anointing their flesh. They all cried out and one by one they were dying in pleasure. As he watched, one of the prisoners began fading and the web connecting him to the illusions snapped. He was suddenly painfully lucid and he screamed at the sudden realization. It was deathly chilling, for a madness of unimaginable loss mingled with his shrieks. Even as his body failed, he yearned for the illusion he had been ripped from. His mind was coming undone, ravaged now as his tortured body. His bleeding throat rattled as the last of his scream died and he collapsed.

This was horror unmitigated by crime. Whatever these people had done, if they had done anything at all, they did not deserve this. Zhiran took pity upon those souls and killed them all, snapping the delicate webs of enchantment that held them in illusion. As the last of them died, the shadowy figures turned to the archmage. A wave of compulsion swept into the room and the dark beings fell under Zhiran’s spell. They collapsed against the floor, rendered unconscious. The archmage stepped out of the dungeon and back into the city. He had let the allure of the city distract him, but Zhiran knew beyond doubt that if given the chance, the sphinx would conquer Serendib without hesitation. Her hunger knew no bounds, nor apparently her cruelty.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rishima let out a bellowing roar as she felt her enchantments break deep under the city. The echoing ripsaw of her voice threw the court into hysterics and she once again took on her angelic aspect. She knew the mage would be coming at any moment, and she was ready to deal with the interloper. She had extended her courtesy and hospitality to him and what had he done? He had meddled where he was not welcome. A copper staff materialized in her hands, its visage that of a great hooded serpent. She struck its tail upon the floor and the blazing efreets appeared by her sides, their fierce leonine forms roaring with flame. Her glorious form thrummed with dark energies and the court split, trampling each other to hide from the gaze of her terrible rage.

Slowly and calmly, Zhiran strolled through the open doors, his hands clasped casually behind him.

“How dare you interfere with a queen’s vengeance you insufferable trespasser!” she seethed. He merely stopped in his tracks and considered her, unaffected by her blustering. “I shall tear your bones from your body and see your still living head mounted upon my walls so that you can see what your insolence has wrought!”

“Allow me a question, my lady. Why do you choose to call yourself the Queen of Black Sands?” She blinked and grasped her staff with cracking knuckles. The efreet milled, waiting for the command that would free them to commit their terrible violence. After long moments she finally answered.

“I am a Queen of many worlds. Civilizations are mine, brought to kneel before me for all time. I find the title fitting then. Sand is a world’s first measure of time. The black sands are mine, and all the time of those who live upon them belongs to me. Their lives are mine.” She drew herself up again, reveling in the power that cascaded within the city. She drew her regal poise about herself. “I defeated the former mistress of this kingdom and slew the warlords that fought outside her door. By laws, I have earned these lands and their people by right of conquest.”

“I see, and where would your conquest end my lady?”

“End?” she scoffed. “Why would I ever stop?”

“When someone stands to stop you of course. I believe that must fall to me for no one else seems capable of it.”

“You?” She growled, her back arching and the claws of her fingers blackening as she sneered at him. "I have made tempestuous winds and devils obedient . . . I know all things in this land, and command all that I know! What hope do you have to stand against me? "

“I can stand against you because I must, and that is enough.” Zhiran snapped, cold authority echoing in his voice. Rishima simply roared, a terrible inhuman sound that knocked those few bravest of her courtiers away. The efreet answered her and tore straight towards the archmage, burning claws slamming into the floor as they raced for a taste of his flesh.

A circular rune bloomed into being as Zhiran’s hands cut through the air. Lines curled off the glowing glyph and with a loud command it burst into spellwork. The efreet, and every member of the court swayed suddenly and then collapsed, eyes rolling back in their heads at the power of Zhiran’s single cryptic word. The efreet tumbled, upsetting braziers as they fell and starting small fires where the coals spilt onto precious rugs. Rishima shook in fury and fingers of power stretched out, breathing dark life into the brass figures standing sentinel throughout the room. In total unity, they stepped from their positions, the ring of their marching feet a steady beat as they turned to face Zhiran. With smooth precision they raised their blunted fists and spikes sprouted from the metal.

Cobalt power wreathed Zhiran’s hand as they approached, his fingers bleeding aether like smoke from fire. Zhiran raised his fist and the air shuddered as a titanic effigy formed within the vast arch of the room’s ceiling. The spell glowed with the same azure light, a perfect replica of his upraised fist.

In a single sweep of his arm, he encompassed the room. The spellflesh duplicate followed the motion moments after and each being it touched was thrown from the throne room, knocked sideway from reality and whisked away to some distant destination the moment they were enveloped by Zhiran’s sapphire power.

The only being left standing, defiant of Zhiran’s spell, was Rishima’s proud form. The sudden silence was eerie after the roar of battle.

Her immense wings spread, the shadows of her feathers jumping in the growing fire and the only thing that could match the fury of the leaping flames was the utter hatred in the Sphinx’s eyes. Her once perfect, almost angelic, affectation was coming apart as her bestial nature showed through. The darkness of her wings seemed reflected in the total darkness of the shadows they cast and from those shadows came shades that could only be called nightmares. Skeletal figures whose eyes and ribs shone with a sickly wan light, they grew immense as they fed on their master’s darkest power. Shadowy flesh wove around their bones and they drifted into the high vault of the ceiling, filling it with their terrible stygian forms.

“Now!” At the shrieked command of their queen, they dropped from above, terrible claws reaching for Zhiran’s flesh. Zhiran bellowed in return and great walls of misty light rose from around him, swirling and engulfing his being with upraised arms. The coruscating mists whirled around him and shielded him from the shade’s onslaught, naught but light and aether in their clutching hands.

From within the blinding haze rose a figure, lean muscles stretched taut under his skin. A sigil burnt upon his forehead and long grasping claws slashed through the darkness of the shades. A fierce scowl wrinkled the djinn’s brow and his nostrils flared, the thick ring hanging from his nose jingling as he roared. The shades turned to him and they spiraled through the air. Aetheric flesh and misty blood flew while they tangled, tearing great gaping wounds open. With a final roar, they fell upon each other and the magics binding them broke, their bodies coming undone in silence.

Rishima stepped forward, pride and power gathered about her in more substantial raiment than any that covered her gorgeous flesh. The serpentine staff had come alive during the titanic struggle above and now it hissed as it lounged across her shoulders. The snake uncoiled from Rishima’s body and she threw it high into the air. As it sailed, it grew, its coils doubling and trebling until two enormous wurms twined together. The coiled serpent crashed to the ground with the hollow ring of a gargantuan bell, its metal body clanging loudly over the grind of gears. Its vast metallic scales were like teeth eating the precious marble of the floor, and its passage upset the fallen braziers as it slithered towards its prey. It reared and its great double maw split with a roar, metal screaming and sparking gears hissing in the enormous room.

It tore across the marble, metal scales and twisting bodies gouging great furrows through the priceless stone. A low growl of mechanisms vibrated through the floor as it roared, oil dripping from its glowing jaws like venom. It struck, tons of dark metal falling with deadly purpose, loosing another screeching roar as it careened at Zhiran.

Its head crashed heavily as its jaws snapped shut, Zhiran bellowing as the beast swallowed him. Its head tried to lift, but the shriek of metal abruptly broke and its head shuddered and crashed weakly on its side, body thrashing as light rippled down its body.

Leaves began to sprout from between its scales and with a great burst, its body was sundered, a tremendous tree sprouting from within the mechanical monstrosity. Its body was forced apart, coils cracking and coming undone as the plant continued to grow and upon its boughs, Zhiran rode higher and higher, the brace upon his arm glowing emerald. The terrible beast’s head snapped in twain and as the coils unhinged from one another, the bottom of its jaw turned and a new pair of eyes opened. The mechanisms that made the wurm continued to come undone and where once stood a single terrible beast, there now coiled the beginning of two beasts, each half the size.

Zhiran looked down from his verdant perch and gestured with a small flick of his wrist. The mechanical monstrosities slowed. Enormous chunks of their heavy scales flaked off and were reduced to aether as the bodies hissed and came apart. In seconds, the bulk of the massive wurm had dissolved, and it thrashed wildly, each move causing it to come further undone. The mighty beast tried to finish its transformation, but as it unzipped itself, it finally dissolved completely, leaving nothing but the damage it had wrought.

“Well, very impressive my lady. I dare say your floor may never recover.” Zhiran chuckled. The great sphinx growled her displeasure, a deep sawing sound that rumbled in Zhiran’s bones. Her only response was to abandon the glamour she’d held onto the entire time. She stepped from her plinth, the constant rumble of her anger shaking the air. Zhiran held his ground, looking level into her eyes from the height of the tree. She dwarfed him impossibly and the roll of the muscles within her body spoke of the terrible power she contained. Zhiran’s confidence was abruptly shattered as she approached, murder plain in her eyes. It took him but a moment to realize for all her terrible fury and towering power, she could strike more subtly than he could have thought. He pushed the mantle of the spell away from his mind and assurance flooded him once more. She was a horrific opponent, but he was an archmage of the highest order and there were people who would suffer should he fail.

Zhiran stabbed his hand and spat the same spell as before, the circular rune swirling into shape again, but as he spoke, Rishima struck, dark power bleeding into the world and the branches upon which Zhiran stood snapped. His spell came unraveled and he fell, shocked for a moment before he pulled the winds to him and slowed his descent. He watched in horror as the tree twisted in upon itself, withering as it rotted from within. The verdant green power that had pulsed within its boughs only moments before blackened and Rishima drew it in like a heady aroma.

That power seemed to swell within her as she growled out a language older than nearly anything Zhiran had ever spoken himself. He flung himself backwards on the zephyr winds that held him aloft and Rishima’s presence seemed to grow as her tail lashed meaningful behind her. Too late Zhiran realized the shape of the sigil she described and she lowered herself, wings spread as she whispered terrible secrets to the ground below. Zhiran felt the darkness of her magic spread throughout the bonds of mana all around, and he was suddenly awash in an ocean of her power.

He drew himself to his full height, severing the lines he had built to this desolate palace, unwilling to give her any power over him through them. Gathering the might of her city and the twisted mana of the land beyond, she reached out with the very essence of her blighted lands. The spell grasped at him, corruption so deep that the merest brush of its presence would shake his world. Mana seeped from the room around, forming terrible claws that drifted from the darkness. As one, they raked at him and he was forced to fall back.

Zhiran waved his hand and a shield of water fanned into being. The dome rippled under Rishima’s assault, but no blow fell upon him. It could not last though. Shorn of the power he needed, his defenses was starting to grow thin. For all his wisdom, he was starting to feel foolish for having confronted her upon her throne. His outrage had driven him and regret was starting to set in.

Rishima prowled outside his safe haven, waiting for the dome to fall. She lazily watched him, languid steps silent despite her size. All around, the claws of corruption hammered his aquatic dome, but each time they threw themselves against him, they withdrew with less substance. Smoke and shadow drifted in the air and it became apparent that Zhiran’s counterspell would weather her siege.

At last it broke and as the water fell, raining down upon the embers of the fire of earlier, a look of satisfaction spread over Rishima’s fangs. She barked several terrible sibilant words, curses that struck Zhiran hard before he could gather himself once more. He had no power at the ready left and he felt the terrible enchantments shape themselves around him, but no hammer fell. None was needed.

She had robbed him of his ability to cast, taken from him the one thing he had taken for granted. His reservoirs of mana began to swell once more, but it was useless. Pain ripped through his consciousness as he attempted to shape spells, the damage soul deep as he fought through. He pushed through the pain as he focused, the last ditch attempt and his only chance to escape.

She stalked forward, pleasure apparent on her face as she watched him struggle, ready to swat down whatever it is that he may throw at her, but as he began to fade from her presence she roared. He was planeswalking. A flash of power erupted into an enormous gate and he was gone with only the fading taunt hanging in the air.

This is not over Rishima. You will not always be in the seat of your power. On that day, there shall be a reckoning. I will be waiting.

She roared, sweeping her claws across everything in reach. Braziers flew and crashed against the wall as she rampaged, venting her wrath upon priceless heirlooms, treasures, and tribute. At last she stood, bristling and panting, outrage unabated but with nothing left to destroy. A single sky-quaking shriek echoed for kilometers beyond her walls as Zhiran slipped from her claws.

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The small black crystal dropped from Zhiran’s palm. A look of disgust twisted his face and he flexed his hand as if it felt soiled. The crystal slowed as it fell and then began to rise again, almost reluctantly, as it rejoined the vast archive of memories that made up Zhiran’s sanctum. Without saying another word, Zhiran left the immense room and the gems that swirled in its highest vaults. Terina hesitantly followed, hugging the lyre close to her chest as she trailed in the archmage’s wake.

He did not seek the comfort of his seat, but stepped out onto his balcony instead. He gripped the rails and leaned against them heavily, head bowed and eyes closed, the sprawl of his city of knowledge and learning stretching out beneath him, like an enlightened mirror of the queen's city from the memory. Terina stopped at the threshold and simply waited, struck by the scene before her. With a deep sigh, Zhiran turned back to her and all she could see was the fatigue her mentor carried. He was the most powerful being she had ever met, but for the second time today, one of Zhiran’s students looked at him with unexpected concern. He offered her a tired smile, and then straightened, features hardening with resolve and weariness vanishing as if it had been naught more than an illusion.

“In all my years, I have fought many duels and done many things. I have not been defeated often, and faced even worse foes than that, but never have I been so badly overcome as when I faced that woman. I made a mistake, and it is one that has weighed upon me, but it gave me lessons that I took to heart.” He raised his hand, the collection of rings glittering on his fingers. It was only then that Terina recognized how familiar they were, miniatures of the bracer Zhiran had worn in memory.

“So… you hate her because she defeated you?” Terina hadn’t quite expected that. For someone so majestic, for a conflict so obviously grand, Terina had expected something… more. Some reason to match the scope of the participants, but this seemed almost petty.

“The reason why I hate her so direly is not because I was beaten. I bear shame at being unable to stop her, that is true. She has killed countless people while I was unable to lift a finger to stop her, but so long as she dwells within the walls of her city, she is insurmountable. I have tracked her in the distant past, but rarely have I acted with enough haste. She flew beyond my grasp each time she stalked the eternities.” He grimaced and leaned once more again the railing. “There is more though to this tale. I hate her for the shame of the past, but also the shame of the present. I became further distracted by my pursuits and her tyranny faded from my memory like so much else. I was consumed by my desire for knowledge, blinded by my quest and it has allowed her to go unchallenged in all that time. I hate her because she is a reminder of something of myself that I do not wish to acknowledge, but which I cannot choose to ignore any longer. I must be a better man, strive to use the power that I have collected for the benefit of someone besides myself.”

Terina nodded, strangely reassured. “To do any less would lessen what you’ve accomplished.”

“Yes Terina.” Zhiran smiled kindly, the lines around his eyes crinkling pleasantly. “If there is anything that I can be proud of, it is the lessons I have taught you.”

“Thank you master. Though you shouldn’t feign modesty.” She gave him an affectionate and reproachful look as she shook her head. “Even if you were to retire tomorrow, you would have made our lives better. We’re your students and none of us would be half the person we are today if it had not been for your intervention. You saw our potential and bent worlds to see us realize it.” Terina smiled, a blush coloring her cheeks. “Come now, I think it is time to eat. You have other business to deal with besides doting on your apprentice. The headmasters would have my horns if they knew how much time you’d already given me.” Terina giggled and went back in, replacing the lyre on Zhiran’s wall.

“Bah, let them complain. I may be old, but I still run this academy.” Zhiran chuckled. “I think time is overdue for a meal though.” Zhiran rested a paternal hand on his elfin apprentice’s shoulder and squeezed. “You are too kind to an old man, looking after me.” Together, the pair left behind the memories of the past and the looming battles yet to come to another time. It was important for Zhiran to spend time with the lives he guided, it put things in perspective. When one could stride worlds, it was too easy to lose sight of the little things.