The banners of Kayakayanaya hung proudly above the great audience hall, still stained with dust from the latest campaign against the Jogos Nhai beyond the Bone Mountains. Victory had filled the city's granaries with spoils and its dungeons with captives. According to ancient Hyrkooni custom, it fell to the warlord alone to decide the fate of every prisoner—whether they would be ransomed, enslaved, enlisted, or offered to the gods. Seated upon the bronze throne said to have been forged in imitation of the Patriarchs of old, Sarya watched silently as chained prisoners were brought before her one by one. She scarcely spoke, each fate decided by the smallest motion of her jeweled hand while scribes recorded every judgment without question.

"This one serves." She flicked two fingers toward the ranks of her soldiers.

"That one returns home. Let him tell them what he saw here. Let him spread the legend of the Queen of Kayakayanaya."

Her eyes settled upon the next captive, unblinking. This one seemed strange to her, foreign. She could not figure out where he was from. Instead of delivering his fate immediately, she asked the captive a question.

"You are no son of the Bone Mountains... nor of the lands I have conquered." Silence lingered before a faint smile crossed her lips. "Tell me... from what corner of the world have you wandered into mine?"