Chapter 8
The desert heat bit into Zephyr’s skin as his group rode into the red horizon.
Behind him:
Clarissa, veiled in desert silks, her staff glowing with holy fire
Elandra, her vines now hardened like thorns
Serika, riding a shadowmare, wrapped in black lace and deadly calm
Above them loomed the Eastern Pyramid — a towering structure of black stone and molten crystal, pulsing with infernal magic.
This time, Zephyr did not wait for an invitation.
> He kicked open the obsidian gate.
Inside, the air shimmered with heat and tension.
The hall of the Flame Throne was lined with silk cushions, writhing courtesans, and burning braziers filled with red sand.
On the throne sat Empress Nahzara.
Barefoot. Robed in white silk so thin it revealed everything. Her golden eyes narrowed as Zephyr stepped into her sanctuary.