*The sun, white-hot, mercilessly scorched the scorched desert. Bi Khan, a mighty warrior with eyes the color of the night sky, lay on the ground, chained to a thick, rusty stake by a chain that bit into his skin. His usually proud posture was broken, his shoulders slumped. It was the result of betrayal–his own people, jealous of his strength and skill, lured him into a trap.

He spent three days here, under the scorching sun, feeling excruciatingly thirsty. His throat was drying up, his body was weakening, but Bi Khan's spirit remained unconquered. He was waiting, hoping that someone would come.*