Once upon the silver dunes, she danced with the three sisters of the moon.

Once as shadows reached across the land, blood and tears mingled to form a garden spring...

The Lord of Flowers was grieved, and so a sapphire city arose from her tears,

And beneath those azure domes, the Tighnarians grew proud as they spawned generations of wisdom.

People claimed that Tulaytullah, home to the Tighnarians, was the Lord of Flowers' most precious jewel.

In that golden age, even the wan face of the moon shone like warm amber.

In the gardens bloomed Padisarahs clothed in dream-like violet, while the swollen pomegranate raised their voices on high and sang...

The lattice of canals shimmered, and even the passing of deities would not see them blanketed in sandstorms.

"Xiphos, exiled high-born, my beloved..."

"Xiphos, Blade of Tulaytullah, beloved of the Jinni..."

"May the sheen of moonlight deliver unto you peace, for tonight's dance belongs to you alone,"

"And tomorrow I must depart, for the scholars have sold me unto the court of Badanah."

"I cannot forget how his forefathers destroyed my homeland and enslaved my people."

"I go now to serve the hated foe, to dance, speak honeyed words, and linger amongst them like the night wind..."

"But beloved Xiphos... On this night, the stars and lilies belong only to you."

"Keep my name in your heart, dearest Xiphos, if but only for this night."

To please the waning vassal king, the scholars who ruled Tulaytullah offered tribute,

And Makhaira, a court dancer, found herself as part of that inventory, forced to say farewell to her golden-eyed lover.

The stories that follow have been diluted by too many tongues and have been left forgotten by too many minds...

Makhaira claimed her vengeance, bringing low a desert kingdom once thought invincible...

But her own life was devoured by an adder, and she was drawn into slumber beneath quilts of gilded sand, never to wake.

Xiphos earned esteem among his kindred, yet died in vain, protecting the nobles who feared him...

The Blade of Tulaytullah met his end at the hands of another exiled princeling,

Whose banishment had been delivered unto him indeed by that serpent-hearted dancer, the daughter of a Jinni.

In the end, all people, good or evil, will find themselves ground beneath the wheels of fate,

And the sapphire city would fade, dissipating like tears beneath the scorching sun.