Once upon a time, Pharrah, once the verdant and fecund jewel of the Aerkha Realm, had withered into a barren and boundless desert for over a millennium. Nowadays, a motley crew of strangers, conspicuous in their lack of belonging, had set foot in the land. The Xhar Rax tribe, battle-hardened by the constant influx of adventurers to their homeland, cast a watchful eye from afar, peering through the harsh sun rays with their keen sight. In the ancient times, the Rah and Ville rivers, which snaked like serpents through the plains, originating from the west's Phar Mountains, and flowed into the Ivory Sea in the east. While the Azzer and Azzur rivers sprang from the Dharrun Mountains in the southwest and flowed into the Ank Sea.

  One day, as tales passed down from generation to generation, blood-red and then golden-yellow sands rained down everywhere. The magical rain continued, obliterating cities, temples, hills, and plains until nothing remained. Meanwhile, the fog enveloped the neighboring Endarrun Empire, swallowing up traders who dared to venture through the curtains. Left to their own devices, the people of Pharrah remained isolated. During these dark times, the canyon separating Ankhrya from Pharrah was submerged, and three bridges were erected over the Pharrah Pass, which had transformed into a canyon linking the two seas. Legend has it that mysterious dwarfs built these bridges, but that is a tale for another time.

  After that fateful day, Pharazzon city was constructed on the opposite side of the bridges, and Pharrahville was established on the Pharrah Continent. Over time, the hub of commerce and life shifted to the axis of these two cities. Nonetheless, the Yilanderils, the primary inhabitants of Pharrah, remained rooted in the desert's interior, living in scattered tribes. Despite the inhospitable environment, they clung to the hope that one day, Shah Maran, the God of Snakes, who had purportedly dozed off for a millennium, would awaken, and the country would revert to its former glory.

  "During her voyage on the ship, Allendra perused several tomes on the continent, but one chilling tale stood out above the rest: the legend of Shah Maran. This mythical behemoth, endowed with serpentine coils and formidable sorcery, sent shivers down her spine. Allendra scrutinized every portrayal of the serpent god, vividly imagining its corporeal form. Its sinuous, serrated midriff and expanding nape evoked the likeness of a cobra, a creature she had never laid eyes upon. Yet, what sent chills down her spine were its diamond-sharp fangs and whip-like bifurcated tongue.

  "Put that book down this instant," Bishop hissed.

  The swarthy, hirsute man donned a black cowl that was drenched in sweat.

  "By the nine hells, we should have avoided this infernal desert in the height of summer," the warrior grumbled to the mist elf.

  "We've been trekking for three days and have not spotted a single living creature, not even a vermin. Only these cursed sand dunes that stretch to the horizon," Raaz replied.

  The mist elf's countenance bore few beads of perspiration, for his skin was enshrouded in such a manner that no part of it was visible. He resembled a mummified relic. Their skin was radically distinct from that of humans, being extraordinarily sensitive to the sun's rays. Allendra knew this was a boon. Furthermore, she noticed that Baaz was also encased like a mummy. Had he been an ordinary elf like the others, he would have simply draped a scarf over his mouth and nose to ward off the sandstorms. But both elves had enwrapped their fingers and hands in thin gauze. Although the little girl shared the same facial features as the other elves, she was now convinced that Baaz was a mist elf. Summoning her courage, she veered off to join Baaz, who was wandering solo."

  "You can't deceive me," he sneered. "You are a mist elf, with that delicate complexion and finely crafted fa?ade, hoping to stay concealed. Perhaps your disdain for your kind motivates your guise, or you despise them," he said, his voice quivering with anger.

  Baaz examined the girl and finally offered a genuine smile - a gesture that, by his standards, was a friendly response.

  "It's true, I loathe my own race," he said with conviction. "But my motive for wearing makeup is something else entirely."

  "What is it, then?" the girl inquired.

  "I wear it because I do not grant the right to live to anyone who sees my true appearance," Baaz replied without hesitation.

  "Why?" she pressed.

  "It's a matter of principle," he replied gravely. "A being, be it human or otherwise, is nothing without principles. Now, leave."

  The threat in his last sentence was enough to prompt the little girl to scurry away and seek refuge with the others.

  "We're resuming our journey," Bishop declared.

  It was the third day, and the sun had passed its zenith. Initially, they had intended to travel at night, but they had not accounted for the bone-chilling desert nights of the Pharrah Desert. The daytime heat averaged forty degrees, but plummeted to minus ten degrees at night. Suddenly, sandstorms erupted, intensified, and, on occasion, generated perilous whirlwinds. Due to the mist elves, they traveled slowly, taking six-hour respites during the day and three-hour breaks at night.

  Water, the elixir of life, was scarce in the desert. Baaz and Raaz continually scrutinized the terrain, seeking possible sources of water amidst the golden sands, blood-red clay soils, and listening intently to the ground. Yet, they had yet to chance upon any viable water source. For three days, they had trudged over endless sand dunes, hoping to discover an oasis in the scorching wasteland.

  Bishop possessed the divine gift of conjuring water, yet he obstinately kept this knowledge concealed from the group. To him, the Lord of Darkness, Therion, only heeded those who suffered for his cause. Thanks to the bigoted and unyielding priest, they suffered greatly from thirst on their journey.

  On the third night, Bishop scrutinized parchment maps with a sextant to chart their course. When questioned by the girl, he curtly replied, "We're headed north."

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  As the night deepened, the chill grew more biting, and they excavated a pit at the foot of a hill to establish camp. They kindled a fire, and the ogres and orcs grew agitated. Though their hides lacked the sensitivity of mist elves, they, too, were creatures of the night who shunned the sun. Revolt seemed imminent. Allendra sensed it. The loathing in the ogres' eyes augmented day by day. The little girl, who was beginning to comprehend their rudimentary speech, suspected they cursed the black-robed priest in private. Unlike orcs, ogres were not simple-minded and subservient. They were egocentric beings who revered strength. To them, Bishop did not appear commanding. It was the mist elves who truly terrified them. Allendra knew that, if even a single mist elf was absent, the priest's head would have been taken long ago.

  That night, a yellow crescent moon hung in the sky. It was the moon of Averndil, the ruler of the firmament.

  "In three nights, there will be a lunar eclipse," Bishop murmured.

  At first, Allendra did not comprehend that the man spoke to her. In the shadows cast by the fire, the black-cloaked priest's hideous visage appeared even more fearsome.

  "And then, you will disclose the temple's whereabouts," he asserted.

  Allendra nodded and tugged the hood of her cloak over her face. She trembled and had no notion of what to do. She was afraid to ask the man any queries because he had deemed many of her previous questions during the sea voyage foolish and had thrashed her mercilessly.

  "In an ancient melody that could only be sung by a soul turned to stone, a blood-red river would surge forth, cleaving the ivory bridge in twain and revealing an archaic serpent," read the book Allendra held at the onset of the enchantment.

  Allendra struggled to comprehend the contents of the ritual, and as she memorized the intonations, her hair bristled and her stomach churned. The enigmatic words, etched into her mind in an unfamiliar language, sliced through her reason and soul like an invisible blade. It was an indescribable sensation, one that threatened to consume her entirely. Only memories of the fleeting, idyllic days spent with Pal kept her from succumbing to the abyss.

  "Infernal flames, bloody soil, hidden valley, buzzing arrow." The young girl woke suddenly, her voice a plaintive murmur.

  The scene that greeted her was one of utter pandemonium. Amidst the choking haze of dust and smoke, beings with sallow skin, bright yellow eyes, and swathed in diaphanous beige tunics, draped with veils, battled to the death with ogres and orcs. Though they resembled humans at first glance, there was something otherworldly about them. They spat as they fought, and wherever their saliva fell - be it flesh or sandy earth - a burst of smoke and agonizing heat followed in its wake. The orcs, their skin blistering and blackening from the caustic spray, howled in unbridled anguish.

  Allendra's attention was drawn to two warriors astride single-humped camels. With a coordinated movement, they threw a chain-made net over Raaz, ensnaring the elven mist as he uprooted his adversaries. Raaz struggled within the web, writhing like a fish out of water, but his sword was no match for the unyielding metal links. The warrior controlling the net tightened its grip and dragged Raaz and his mount across the ground, leaving them vulnerable to attack.

  In that instant, Allendra caught sight of Baaz lurking in the shadows, a short distance away. The mist elf watched the fight with a sly grin, as if reveling in Raaz's struggle. Allendra locked eyes with Baaz for a moment. The elf rolled his eyes in boredom and began murmuring an incantation. With a flicker, he vanished into thin air.

  Seconds later, one of the camel drivers - the warrior holding Raaz in the net - collapsed to the ground, a dagger buried deep in his back. Baaz reappeared, leaping onto the camel with a deft move. He hurled an arrow at the other driver, but the projectile failed to deliver the fatal blow he'd hoped for. Baaz wrestled to control the unfamiliar camel as the snake skinned warrior charged toward him, wielding a curved, sickle-shaped spear.

  Baaz veered the camel sideways, clinging to the saddle as he evaded the warrior's thrust. The man was forced to pull back his spear at the last moment, for camels were worth more than gold in desert life. It was a costly mistake. The warrior struggled to regain his balance, but before he could react, the other mist elf emerged from the shadows, sword flashing in the air. With a swift strike, he cleaved through the warrior's back, felling him with a single blow.

  At the sight of their comrade's demise, the remaining camel riders and foot soldiers fled in terror. The ogres gave chase, but Bishop managed to rein them in with difficulty.

  "Curse you, you damned sib. You arrived too late," Raaz spat at Baaz.

  "Waiting for the opportune moment was the wise choice," Baaz retorted calmly.

  "I'll be watching you, Baaz," Raaz growled through gritted teeth.

  "And I'll be waiting," Baaz replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.

  Raaz cursed in a language Allendra couldn't understand, his wounds seeping blood.

  "Everyone, calm yourselves!" Bishop bellowed, stepping in between the two mist elves.

  "We knew the Snakeskins would pay us a visit. We've suffered minor losses - only three orcs have perished. Nothing we can't handle. What matters is that they fear us now. And to top it all, we've gained two camels. Not a bad prize, if I may say so."

  Allendra's curiosity got the better of her. "Who are the Snakeskins?" she asked.

  But Bishop gave her no answer.

  "Let's pack up camp," he announced brusquely.

  The band of warriors tended to their wounds as if nothing had occurred and proceeded to break down the camp. The desert night appeared unremarkable, but the surge of adrenaline invigorated the fighters, who had been wandering aimlessly and unfocused for three long days. It reminded them of the importance of discipline. Taking advantage of the orc sentinels' neglect, they launched a surprise attack on the sleeping orcs. The first victim was one of the slumbering orcs. The second orc managed to scream a warning before succumbing to death. The third orc fell during the battle. The ogres had proven themselves too strong for the Snakeskins, who, in addition to losing two camel drivers, suffered nine more casualties.

  Allendra surveyed the slain local warriors from a distance. Their faces and necks shone with a golden hue, and their skin appeared honeycombed and serrated. Most of them had been stripped of their hair, but those who had a tuft of hair had strands that resembled leek fringes or broom bristles. Baaz cautioned the little girl that they were the Ancient Children of Pharrah, a half-human, half-snake race, whose bodies bore tough scales in some places. He added that they had salivary glands beneath their sharp teeth and could spit a potent acid. She nodded solemnly, understanding the danger.

  Allendra had learned the importance of composure and courage when speaking with the elf of the mist, and so she kept a respectable distance from Baaz, speaking only when necessary. In the book she had read, there was only one line about these creatures, the Ancient Children of Pharrah:

  Hark! Behold the noble offspring of Pharrah's ancient bloodline,

  Whose hearts devoutly honor their divinities divine,

  Patiently awaiting the union of sun and moon,

  Eclipsed as one, their spirits shrouded in mystic boon.

  As light fades into darkness and darkness fades to light,

  Chosen ones shall rise from their slumber of the night,

  Their advent heralded by prophetic bards of old,

  Whose sacred verses in their hearts they enfold.

  After seven rounds of sun and moon's celestial dance,

  Through seven trials and tribulations, they'll advance,

  Till the ancient children of Pharrah witness their destined day,

  Emerging triumphant from sevenfold chaos and dismay.

  And rise to claim their rightful place among the nations today."

  After a brief rest, the weary caravan set off again, Allendra riding on the camel behind Bishop, with Baaz traveling on the other camel. They headed northwest, towards an unknown destination.