The western desert is composed of stark emptiness. Giant mounds of fine sand stand namelessly against the cloudless sky, offering every drop of water they find as sacrifice to the sun. Howling winds cry their desolate songs, bemoaning the fate of separated lovers. A lone sandstorm raises up in the horizon, obscuring skies, swallowing earth.

In the threat of its unmistakable momentum two armies face each other in motionless silence. On one side were men, tall and wide shouldered. They wore baggy clothes that covered their entire body, dirty turbans covered their filthy hair, even their faces were obscured with only their light brown eyes visible. Though their attires were dirty, none of them were made of inexpensive materials. They were an assortment of wool, silk, fur and thickly woven cotton. It did not make any sense wearing such materials in the desert where every minute, one was under the threat of dehydration. But these people seemed quite comfortable wearing them, as though they were used to it. Under their masks, their faces were quite fair, they had long eye lashes, thick, sculpted eyebrows and exquisite bone structure. Each man and the occasional woman looked like the perfect specimen of human. Of course, this is if you disregard the general bloodthirstiness in their eyes, the burnt and ill-maintained skin, the dirty fingers and ugly clothes. These were the desert barbarians! The most feared armies that the dryland nations had to face every few years, especially Rtadhara which stood at the forefront along the desert border. But right now, it wasn't just the army of one tribe assembled here. All combat capable men, women and children from seventeen fearsome barbarian tribes formed ranks in order to face off the invading army. Ten powerful commanders wearing different colors sat fearsomely on their war horses scrutinizing the enemy forces. To the back, stood a tall camel which displayed a powerful musculature designed for speed. It was covered in a stained yet ornate red rug with an added layer of broken mail. Its hooves were fitted with silver shoes and it wore chunky metal anklets that made jangling sounds when it moved. On the animal sat a man with a large stature and a savage looking face. A scar covered his right cheek up to his eye, even his lips were broken by it. His eyes were large and red exposing naked thirst for blood. His muscles looked like they were ready to explode. Yet he sat there with a stolid expression, unruffled by the threatening storm or the army of invaders in front. The contrast was even more scary than how he looked because through it, you knew he wasn't a mere barbarian. No ordinary man can contain such emotions of violent intensity under a calm visage like he did. He was the leader of the allied forces of the western desert tribes in this battle, General Bo'Hur.

But which suicidal army was so crazy as to provoke these savage barbarians into presenting such a united front? Every few seasons, Rtadhara had a hard time containing a single tribe or a few allied tribes from creating havoc on their borders. The rest of the dryland nations fared even worse at handling them. To imagine seventeen tribes uniting together as an army in facing a common army, the dryland nations would shudder in their boots if they were to know such a thing was happening! The size of the army was not that big. But the savagery of these barbarians knows no limits. Exactly, who thought themselves strong enough and brave enough to handle these mindless brutes?

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A long legged man wearing a dark blue, almost black dhoti, a leather armor fitted with heart protection and fancy shoulder plates and elbow guards jogged over to a tall black horse covered in light silver armor.

The horse was so big and strong that one almost failed to notice the small child sitting on top of it.

"Little lord," said the man, "The men are ready. Waiting for your signal."

The child had delicate fair skin, a pure milky complexion that seemed out of place under the hot sun in the middle of the desert. He looked short for his age at first glance, but the athletic and toned body and his vigorous, bright appearance denied the validity of such an observation. Compared to the children of his birthplace, he was already quite tall. The boy's features were deceptively lovable and cute. Though he had a serious look on his face now, one could tell his usual look would be one that was filled with mischief…perhaps even greed.

This boy was Chandra Kush, and he was leading his army of mercenaries against the feared barbarians of the western desert. He finally rendezvoused with his forces after sending them to the desert a year ago and telling them to raise hell.

Instead of answering the man in the nice armor, Chandra Kush mumbled, as though talking to himself, "Teacher, do you think that person will be king by now?"

After a short silence, a gesture of affirmation was felt through the air. There wasn't any sound. Nobody else was seen in the vicinity, but a light ruffle of sand, a cool draft of wind and other such changes in nature communicated with him. Recently, his teacher made a discovery that after becoming 'one with the world', one can 'rule through the one'. This was how she was communicating to him now, lazy to even make an appearance after blending into the surroundings. Kush regretted stealing that copy of an arcane text from his friend's private library for his teacher. They even scuffled because of it until they saw each other's blood. But Kush only saw that the text will be useful for his teacher as it listed the various stages of divine manifestations. Kush had long known that his teacher was of a divine bloodline and a direct one at that. When martial artists speak of 'one with the world', they do it metaphorically. But his teacher actually blends into the light, she disappears! It's not martial arts, it's divine bloodline. Besides, without some kind of backing, why would she promise him she would make him king since he was six? He didn't know what happened, but his teacher was seemingly separated from her roots. If she has to improve her arts, she would need some kind of help. So even if she said stealing was crass, Kush reasoned that she didn't say it was wrong. So he went ahead and did it, almost falling out with Vajra. Only, he couldn't help but feel he dropped the stone on his own foot now. His elusive teacher became even more obscure now and was communicating with him only through pebbles, twigs and flashes of sunlight!