Priscilla sat in a radiant meadow as butterflies flittered overhead. Her thoughts spun in a daze, but she focused on the largest of the critters resting on a flower in front of her. The white butterfly flapped its wings and spoke within her mind with softness. "How was it, child? The burden of protecting those you care for and fighting for a cause greater than oneself?"

  The butterfly's form blossomed, transforming into an ethereal figure of a woman in white, her face obscured by a radiant glow that drowned out her features. "You've endured through hardships and solitude. Life has shown you the ugly side of humanity, but it has also shown you what it means to be free. At times, you may want to resist it, feeling it's unfair and a burden. But remember, when shadows fall, crops die, and people suffer. If the starlight doesn't shine, only darkness shall remain. You must grow ever-so resolute, my child, and fight on, wake up, and fight."

  Priscilla bobbed her head, still in a daze. She laid down flat on her back, staring at the starlit sky, shimmering like grains of sand up above. "Freedom, huh?"

  "I thought death was a freedom worth rejoicing, as the flames scorned the life I lived up until then. Then I met Rin, and freedom became something else. More bright and beautiful. I don't desire to fight...I really don't." Priscilla said before sighing. She reached up as if attempting to grasp the stars, "But you're right. I must fight."

  "Will I get to see you again?" Priscilla asked toward the ethereal figure.

  The woman walked up to Priscilla and knelt beside her, placing her hand on Priscilla's heart. "Yes and no, but I'm always here, my child."

  "Okay," Priscilla nodded with a tear running down her face.

  ...

  Iron and steel met with flesh, singing a discordant tune. Weary Parthians fought bravely against the horde, backs bent and buckled against the pulsating flesh of the demons. Each strike of their crescent blades left only shallow, oozing gashes. Only Sharazz and the elite warriors fared better, carving deep wounds that drew putrid ichor from the bodies of the enemy.

  But for every demon felled, two more would surge forward, their eyes burning with malevolence and hunger.

  An unnamed warrior covered in blood and sand rushed forward, defending with his tattered body as the demons clawed his flesh. They could injure his body, but they couldn't injure his will.

  "Keep strong! Push the filthy creatures back!" Sharazz commanded, her voice resolute as she sliced through a grouping of three demons.

  "There's still so many of them, Holy Matriarch. We need to tighten the perimeter around the young imperial." The bloodied warrior said through hoarse gasps.

  "I know, Basir. We won't let the demons have their way." Sharazz nodded, her gaze fixed on the surging tide of frenzied beasts.

  The air grew thick with the stench of blood as it coated the coarse layers of sand. Casualties mounted for the Parthians, warriors fell beneath the relentless onslaught, their valiant cries drowned out under the thunderous din of battle, engraved in the hearts and minds of their people.

  A hulking demon, its flesh a mass of bubbling, pustulant growths, flung itself high above the battlefield and aimed toward the unconscious Priscilla with its outstretched claws.

  "Azhir, intercept it!" Sharazz shouted, her voice frantic as she cut down another demon before her.

  One of the warriors near Priscilla nodded solemnly. His hand trembled as it tightened around his spear, and he hurried toward the demon, attacking the hulking mass of flesh that aimed its claws toward Priscilla. "I won't let them touch her, Matriarch!"

  A faint groan escaped him as he clashed with the demon. Its claws grappled in the air as the beast tried to bypass Azhir's spear. The demon was so close that Azhir nearly retched from the foul stench of death and sulfur that permeated the demon's vile form.

  The creature pushed against the shaft of Azhir's spear ferociously, causing Azhir to struggle to keep his feet steady. His hand nudged higher toward the spear tip, putting pressure on it. Instinctively, he knew the creature was physically more powerful, but giving up was not an option. The demon bore down on Azhir with its weight, snarling with malice-glazed eyes. Sweat rolled down the man's back as he roared and edged his hand higher along the shaft.

  He gripped the tip with his hand, causing blood to flow endlessly down his wrist, but Azhir ignored the pain, gritting his teeth as he pushed down on the tip, causing it to press against the demon's head. "Die, foul beast. Die!" Azhir growled as his muscles flared and weight shifted into the spear tip. The metal and flesh gnashed against one another, causing the demon to screech frantically, its claws slapping against the shaft.

  But Azhir's spirit would not break under the pressure. He pushed, and the tip dug deep, slicing through the demon's head until the full brunt of the man's weight bore down, cutting the beast in half. The man's eyes burned with triumph as he raised his bloodied spear in the air.

  The Parthians roared—bodies flared into a frenzy as their battle-prone blood ignited, and they unleashed a visceral rain of carnage upon the remaining demons.

  "Attack!"

  "Protect the imperial girl!"

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  "For the Matriarch!"

  Their chants mingled in the air, dancing subtly intertwined with the dying wails of the frenzied demons.

  At the same time, Priscilla's eyes began to flitter as consciousness returned to her. She moaned as the world sharpened before her very eyes, the sandy hues mingling with the specks of blood. The stench assaulted her senses as she pushed herself up, reeling slightly. One of the demons rushed toward her, with Basir chasing after it. The creature reached toward Priscilla, but Basir stabbed into it from behind, causing the creature's body to slide across the sand lifeless.

  Seeing the girl, Basir cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, "Matriarch! The imperial girl has awoken!"

  Sharazz looked over with her face covered in putrid blood. Despite this, a radiant smile shone when she saw the little witch. "Great! Finish the battle! And let us return victorious! Fight on, Parthians!"

  Stars in the sky glimmered like the glow of starlight against sand. The battle came to an end as darkness enveloped the land, bringing forth a chill wind coursing through the area, sweeping away the stench and filth of enemies bygone.

  The warriors sat or lay prone on the sand, exhausted. While they rested, Sharazz came to Priscilla and sat beside her. "How are you feeling, little witch?" Sharazz asked as she tucked a rogue strand of hair behind her ear.

  Priscilla leaned back, gazing at the stars shining brightly overhead. "I'm fine, Sharazz. Quite lost for words, though. My mind is a swirling mess of thoughts. But I'm alive and well, and we won, didn't we?"

  "Indeed, we did. Unfortunately, Banshee escaped. But she's injured and shouldn't be returning any time soon." Sharazz said with a sigh. "But you, little witch. You were amazing in your battle against the brute. I only saw glimpses of it, but it was incredible."

  "That-" Sharazz paused.

  "That was our source that you used...it resonated with you, hasn't it?" Sharazz asked after a moment of hesitation.

  "Yes," Priscilla replied. "I'm not sure what your goal was when you brought me to it, but that's what ended up happening."

  "I see." Sharazz smiled. "It's close enough to what I expected would happen, little witch. My mother told me tales of the source all throughout the years before she passed. It is the culmination of our beliefs and a tying force that spans generations with a designated purpose—a purpose it found within you."

  Priscilla quietly nodded, her gaze focused above. Whether it was the memory of her mother, Zae-Rin, or the ethereal figure envisioned in her mind from the source, there was something there, a calling that inspired her.

  "Are you sure you're fine, little witch?" Sharazz asked.

  "Yes-" Priscilla said and turned toward the woman. She smiled softly, her eyes glimmering with warmth. "But can you stop calling me a little witch? It's Priscilla. Priscilla Valentine."

  Sharazz laughed, her voice a sweet, lilting melody. "Has it been bothering you this whole time? Oh, no. I'm sorry! Aren't you adorable, little Valentine?" Sharazz leaned in close and smiled brightly, "How about that one? Doesn't sound too bad, does it?"

  "Whatever." Priscilla huffed and playfully pushed Sharazz. "I'm sorry I asked. You can call me whatever you want."

  "That's what I thought, little Valentine witch." Sharazz chuckled. "Let's return to the palace before the cold sets in too deeply."

  Meanwhile, within the Ellis Empire, widespread panic plagued the masses as the Mad Emperor assaulted the imperial city as if it were his greatest foe in life. The ranks of soldiers and knights under the imperial banner split down the middle into those who supported the Mad Emperor's whims and those against him.

  The divide caused small battles to spread across the city. Whether it was for people, resources, or pride, the soldiers and knights became desperate to vent themselves on the other side. But this proved to be a nightmare for the common people who only desired to eke out an existence for themselves and their families without the fear of death striking them within their homeland.

  Just when the people believed that the soldiers and knights would relax their onslaughts, the Mad Emperor came out of the palace personally, assaulting the elite villas of noble families that argued against his right to the throne.

  Once the capital of prosperity—the grand Ellis Empire. Now, a city of death and ruin, brought upon by the very leader they relied on.

  The people cowered in their hovels, trembling and praying to the star and any deity that would respond. Someone save us! Bring damnation to the Mad Emperor who plagues us so. Their thoughts swirled with malice toward the emperor as they knelt and begged for an answer to shine down upon them.

  The emperor sat on his glorious throne within the palace, his gaze lifted as a long grin stretched across his face. A pulsing heat radiated from the man's robe as he pulled out a glowing eyeball that writhed within his palm.

  "What is it?" The emperor asked with a hoarse voice.

  "Auror's dead. There were two witches in the sand, not one."

  "What? That's impossible!" The emperor said, his body jolting in shock. "Everything was supposed to be perfect! How did this happen, Bella?"

  "Dammit, does it sound like I know? We had the sand's Matriarch in our clutches, but a young witch appeared, causing the battle to escalate. She used some desperate gambit and destroyed Auror. I had to sacrifice all of the children and target the young witch to escape with my life."

  "But that's not the main issue, Bea."

  "There's even more?" The emperor asked in disbelief. "What else is there?"

  "When the children assaulted the young witch...the sand Matriarch called her Valentine! Bea, you and Maxy need to keep an eye on Karthus. There's something not right here. Another witch appearing in the sand lands should have never happened after all the preparations we've made!"

  "Valentine... Surely not, Bella!" The emperor said. "It doesn't have to be the Valentine family name. It may be something else entirely, couldn't it?"

  "Dammit, Bea, how would I know? Stop being naive. Even if it's a slim chance, we must be cautious and vigilant. If Karthus is on the side of the Fallen Star, all of our plans could go up in flame."

  "I understand, Bella. Karthus should be coming soon for the next step of the plan. If he does anything funny, I'll stop him with Maxy." The emperor sighed.

  "I'm coming as well. But my injuries aren't light, so it might take some time."

  "I'll be waiting then. Stay safe, Bella."

  The emperor grasped the eyeball, causing the heat to dissipate and return to a still calm. He placed it back into his robe and shook his head. Setbacks after everything they had done weren't a good sign.

  But they had to keep moving forth for Divala's sake.