“Your majesty,” Ghazal asked with concern. “You said there was an urgent matter to discuss?”

Soraya nodded solemnly. The mobedin sat in a semi-circle before her, each of the priests wearing varying expressions of uncertainty and fear. Tall, sandstone columns carved with images of dancing yakshi surrounded them, the smiling dancers’ faces incongruous with the graying scowls of the gathered priests. She had not told them what the meeting would be about, only that the matter was crucial. This was going to be an uphill battle, convincing the priests that the daevas had truly returned. She did not need them to argue against her before she even had a chance to speak to them face-to-face.

In the middle of the gathered priests, the magi sat next to each other. Farnaz’s gray hair was tied back into a loose braid that hung down her back, her green eyes bright and attentive. Her gaze upon Soraya was calculating, curious. She too was in the dark about this matter, unsure whether Soraya’s next action would be to her benefit or not. Beside her, Shapur’s expression was more guarded. He regarded Soraya like a bird perched upon a high branch, unsure of whether to fly or not. Soraya tried to reassure him with her eyes. He merely pursed his lips, unconvinced.

“There is indeed a crucial matter,” Soraya said, turning to Ghazal. The elderly priest arched a brow in question. “One that required the mobedin meet at once. However, I believe that there is someone else more capable than I of explaining it.”

She stepped to the side, glancing behind her. The thick wooden doors to the chamber slowly opened and Dashna entered, carrying the wooden crate in her arms. A murmur rose up through the priests at the sight of her. Farnaz visibly snarled.

Dashna briefly exchanged a glance with Soraya before walking forward to stand amidst the mobedin. When she arrived, she dropped the crate to the floor with a resounding thud. Her hard, defiant gaze rose to look at the priests. Her chin jutted out, a clear gesture of indignation

Farnaz stood from her seat, the wooden chair scraping loudly on the stone floor. “What is this?” she demanded. She glared daggers at Dashna, the lines around her eyes creasing. “This Turani thief was spared execution, but she has no right to speak before this council. Your grace, I must insist that you to send her away this instant.”

“I disagree.”

Farnaz’s head whipped to the side to narrow at Shapur. He turned to Soraya and nodded once, then met Farnaz’s gaze. “If the empress believes she has something valuable to say, who are we to contradict her? We should hear her out, and then come to a verdict.”

“Dashna will speak,” Soraya chimed in, uplifted by Shapur’s support. “That is my command.”

Farnaz’s gaze was fiery, but she begrudgingly backed down. Soraya’s heart leapt, reveling in the small victory.

“I myself did not believe what Dashna told me at first,” Soraya spoke, addressing all of the gathered priests now. Her gaze met each of theirs one by one. “I thought it was insane, the result of hallucination or madness. I thought it was impossible. But now Dashna has shown me evidence that convinced me to believe her.” She paused, letting her words sink in. “I urge you all to hear her out and listen with open minds.”

Soraya stepped back, nodding to Dashna. The young woman inhaled deeply, then spoke.

“You may have heard of the horrifying stories I brought from the deserts of Turan,” she began. “Of cities vanishing into thin air, monsters terrorizing caravans, and strange magic running through the air. Of only one thing I am certain: the daevas have returned to Parthia.” Another loud murmur rose among the priests, louder this time. Soraya raised a hand and they instantly quieted.

“I know it is hard to believe,” Dashna continued. “I know that the daevas have been gone for millennia. But they are back. And now I have the evidence to prove it to you.”

In one fluid movement, Dashna removed the lid of the crate and tipped it forward, sending its contents spilling to the floor. A few priests gasped and jumped back in surprise at the sudden motion.

Soraya looked toward the contents of the box and froze, her eyes widening. A wave of ice moved through her blood, chilling her to the core.

“No,” Dashna murmured, her mouth falling open in pure disbelief.

The monster- the daeva- that had been inside the crate was gone. Only a box full of black, glittering ash remained, now staining the floor with its dark color. Soraya felt as all of her breath had left her at once. The only evidence of the daevas was gone… How could this have happened?

Farnaz smirked. Dashna still stood frozen in place, shocked, while Shapur frowned. The silence of the other priests quickly turned into annoyance and anger.

“You make a mockery of this council!” Farnaz stood from her seat in a rage, eyes blazing. She turned her fierce glare upon Dashna. “And furthermore you have tricked our empress into believing your lies. You will not be able to escape punishment this time, Turani sand-worm!”

“No!” Soraya moved to stand protectively in front of Dashna. “I saw it with my own eyes. There was a corpse of a daeva inside… Only it’s disintegrated since then. I swear to you, it was very real.”

“I’m truly sorry, your grace,” Ghazal spoke up, her hunched, small frame standing firm. “But your word alone is not enough. This is a serious claim, and the mobedin does not take it lightly.”

Soraya opened her mouth to speak. She was surprised that this time it was not Farnaz, but Shapur who interrupted her. His gaze, as it met hers, held a note of warning. Don’t go too far, he seemed to say. Or else Dashna may not be the only one their anger is aimed at. Soraya clenched her hands into fists at her sides and biting her tongue.

“Your grace, the priests cannot rule on this matter without evidence,” he declared. Behind him the other priests nodded along in agreement. Soraya glanced to Dashna, feeling her stomach sink. The tone of finality in Shapur’s voice was striking. “We will not hear of any claims related to the daevas again until there is solid evidence before us.”

“Your Grace!”

Soraya turned around, glad for any distraction from the mobedin’s harsh refusal. A winded messenger approached and bowed hurriedly. Behind him two imposing figures stood just beyond the chamber’s threshold.

“Massoud Imani and Parvana Pahlavi have arrived.”