Soraya couldn’t sleep. Too many thoughts were plaguing her, refusing to let her go. Whether the Arani priests in Shiraz were following her orders, whether her messengers had reached Massoud and Parvana yet, if Roshani would attack the temple soon…

And then there were Dashna’s words, which still haunted her in the back of her mind. An entire city, disappeared into the desert. Her people’s suffering at the hands of these desert monsters, who she claimed were the daevas returned. The messengers she had sent to the Turani desert had yet to return. What would she do if they never made it back, as Dashna said? She had no idea, but somehow ignoring the problem felt too wrong.

Usually, Soraya preferred to frequent Mithra’s temple, or even one of the smaller shrines devoted to different aspects of the fire god. Tonight, she did not go to pray to any god, but to a human- her ancestor, in fact.

The great Shah Fereydun was the only mortal who had his own shrine in Azar-Atash, alongside the many hundreds of gods and goddesses. It was not a large shrine, but well-kept and beautifully designed. Soraya entered inside of it, admiring the intricately painted roof. It depicted Fereydun leading his armies in battle against the daevas. His hands were alight with flames, his gift from Mithra, and the fire god himself looked upon the battle from a cloud in the sky.

Soraya knew the story, the founding story of Parthia, like the back of her hand. Fereydun had won the battle against the daevas with the help of the gods. He divided his kingdom into three parts, each to give to one of his sons. Iraj, the youngest, received the most fertile land of the central plains and mountains. Tur, the eldest, received the eastern deserts and Kahl, the second eldest, the western jungles.

Of course, the older brothers had been jealous of their father’s favoritism. They declared war upon Iraj, killing him and conquering his lands. Only when Manu, Iraj’s son, killed his uncles and united all three of the lands again was the Parthian empire first born.

Soraya’s eyes roved over panels on the wall depicting this exact story. Though it had happened many thousands of years ago, the descendants of Tur and Kahl still kept to themselves. The descendants of Iraj and Manu- Soraya’s own people- to this day looked down upon them for their ancestors’ betrayal.

Soraya had never questioned the story when she’d been little, had never doubted that Manu had been just in his cause. But hadn’t Fereydun been unjust first, in showing such favoritism to his youngest son? She gazed upon the main statue of Fereydun, a well-built man with a thick beard and a sword raised high into the air.

Why couldn’t you have simply treated your children equally? Soraya asked the figure silently. Perhaps this world could have been a better place.

Soraya shook her head and turned away. The stone sculpture of her ancestor couldn’t hear her. The past was the past, and there was no changing it. She should get sleep while she could- the gods knew she needed it.

Soraya exited the shrine. The moon still hung amongst the stars, full and bright. Soraya began toward the direction of her chambers, before she froze mid-step. There, at the very edge of the temple, a familiar figure dashed between pillars and altars. It was Dashna.

Soraya frowned. Without thinking, she started after the girl, keeping a safe distance away so she wouldn’t be seen. Was the girl running away? Soraya felt a flare of anger in her chest at the thought. She’d been gracious enough to spare that thief’s life, and this was the repayment? She had rather liked Dashna, but now she wondered if she had in fact misjudged her.

Dashna made it to the very edge of the temple complex, and darted outside easily through a large crack in the stone walls. Soraya waited a minute before squeezing through as well, emerging outside.

A dusty road stretched out before her, surrounded by scattered shrubbery and small houses here and there. Not a single candle burned in any of the windows, and the silence was such that the chirping of the cicadas felt more like shouting.

Soraya frowned, glancing around her. Dashna had disappeared from view in the few seconds she’d taken to move through the wall. Soraya clenched her hands into fists, frustration settling in the pit of her stomach. The thief had disappeared, and Soraya could do nothing about it.

She turned around, readying herself to return and froze. Sitting atop the wall, her feet dangling off the edge, was Dashna. She stared straight into Soraya’s eyes, a knowing expression on her face. Soraya paled. She’d been aware the whole time that she was being followed.

“Your grace,” Dashna addressed her. She bowed her head and then jumped from the wall. She landed lithely on her feet before Soraya, a smirk quirking her lips. “What brings you outside of the temple walls this evening?”

“I should be asking you the same question,” Soraya retorted. “I was following you. Do you deny that you were fleeing the temple?”

Dashna’s smirk fell away, leaving behind a more serious expression once again. “I wasn’t fleeing,” she said. “At least not permanently. I needed to get something, something you need to see.”

Soraya frowned. “Me? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I know that magi of yours would have convinced you I was up to no good. I decided to get it myself and then bring it to you.”

Soraya chafed at the mention of Farnaz once again. Why did everyone assume that woman was in charge here?

“Well, I’m here now.” Soraya straightened her shoulders. “Whatever it is you say I need to see, take me to see it.”

Dashna paused, and for a moment Soraya wondered if she might find a reason to refuse. But she quickly nodded, her hesitation forgotten.

She nodded down the worn road. “Follow me.”

Dashna’s pace was quick and Soraya hurried to keep up with her. Her dress quickly became as dusty and filthy as the path they walked upon, the skirts dragging through the dirt.

The houses gradually thinned out, the bushes turning into trees. A small, but dense forest surrounded them. Soraya jumped in surprise when a man suddenly stepped out from behind one of the trees, as if he had materialized out of thin air.

“Yaru,” Dashna addressed him, immediately rushing forward to meet him. Soraya followed her hesitantly. The man was clearly also of the Turani people, his face dark and weathered, and his eyes the same light brown as Dashna’s. He looked tired and weary, hunched over by the weight of the great package he carried on his back.

“The journey was difficult, but I made it out,” the man- Yaru- said. His voice, low and tired, matched his appearance. His eyes darted to Soraya. “Is this her?”

Dashna glanced back to Soraya, as if she’d already forgotten her presence. “Yes, she is.”

Yaru nodded in understanding. With a grunt of effort he placed the wooden crate he was carrying onto the forest floor. It fell with a loud thump- the sound of whatever was inside it hitting the ground.

For a moment, none of them moved, all three merely staring at the box. Soraya felt nausea suddenly rise in her stomach, an unnatural fear taking over her thoughts. She had no way of naming the feeling- all she knew was that whatever was inside there was something terrifying, something that shouldn’t have been.

“Go ahead.” Dahsna gestured toward the box. “Look inside.”

Soraya took a deep breath and moved forward before she could change her mind. Getting close to the thing made her skin scrawl, made her whole body recoil. Fighting every instinct inside her, she lifted the crate’s lid.

Soraya looked inside and fought the urge to gag. Inside was the corpse of… Soraya didn’t quite know what to call it. It was a creature, its large body resembling that of a lion, but covered in glittering black scales. Its head was long and thin like a horse’s but she could see massive teeth and fangs inside the thing’s mouth. Its eyes though… Soraya shuddered. Where eyes should have been there were only empty black sockets, unseeing and dead. But Soraya realized, with a chill, that this creature would have no eyes. When it was alive, a blazing fire would have burned in place of its eyes, just like it did in every painting, every drawing Soraya had ever seen of it.

Stepping back from the thing, Soraya turned wide-eyed to Dashna. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words would come out. She did not know what to say.

Dashna’s face remained grim. “The daevas, your grace,” she said simply. “They have returned.”