Aermórnosa, Ali-Antos

9000 B.C.E.

A storm brewed on the horizon. From the turret above the city walls, Sargon watched its fury out over the sea. Electricity prickled along his arms and neck. This was no ordinary storm. Energy hummed on the sea wind. Already the waves grew high and violent around the port of the city below. This was a storm forged of magical power, which could mean only one thing...

"They are coming."

The Akkadian didn't need to turn. Four others joined him along the high turret walls. Bonds of the power they swore to protect joined him and these other chosen Musir. Each left home and family, casting aside their pasts for this calling. As one, they felt this moment arrive, and they were not surprised.

"Onuris has gathered his faithful. The Arachaena are on the waves," the voice beside him was deep and steady, touched with concern. Sargon's brow rose as he turned his gaze from the rapidly darkening sky to the giant at his right. Lugh was a wise man, known to speak his mind. Lugh's talented hands crafted the magic that protected them all, and only he knew the correct combination of nine elemental properties capable of creating true magic. Lugh, as the master craftsman, knew the magic intimately. He molded the sacred objects housed within the Crophines Astenim from it.

Sargon turned restlessly to face the ocean once again as the ground rumbled beneath his feet. He didn't like this. It took a tremendous amount of power to disrupt an entire ocean.

"They are stronger than we believed." This came from behind him, the only female voice among them. The Gatekeeper, Csilla, stepped forward, her soft tones wavering with the tension they all felt. This was the moment they all dreaded, the moment when time returned to them. Death was not an option as long as their charges remained unhidden.

Through Sargon pulsed the flame of battle, and he could hear the drums of war growing louder. Onuris glutted his minions on the blood of nations, filled his own greedy maw with the souls of the dead and damned until his power rivaled even that of the Gods. Still, Onuris wanted more. He wanted the Portal of Kronos to make himself immortal.

Sargon's eyes narrowed. He would see to it Onuris never unlocked the Portal or any other secret of Aermórnosa. His mazes and traps lined the walls and floors of the Crophines, and Lugh's magic sealed over those. Still, the artifacts remained. They must make certain Onuris and his Arachaena could not reach the keys to the Portal.

"We must go." Mykalos, their Healer, voiced his very thought.

Sargon nodded. "Our charges must not remain on the island. Take your charges and hide them far away from this place and use whatever means you must to make certain they do not fall into the hands of Onuris or the Arachaena."

He turned to study each of their faces and knew they thought as he did. Once they left this place, the time they once abandoned in their service would begin again and they would again possess a single immortality -- the very thing Onuris could feed on -- their souls.

Grimly aware of the closing jaws of Fate, Sargon pushed away from the wall and strode toward the Crophines. The First Musir, Prometheus gave up his immortality and risked the wrath of the Gods to save humanity from the darkness. As Musir, they could do no less to preserve creation from destruction. It was a price he knew they all paid willingly.

*****

Temple of Ishtar, Syria

April 12, 1987

Mukamurra Alzena Binte Samirah, High Priestess of Ishtar, and now Revered Mother of the Poet-Priestess, smiled fondly at the dark-haired girl seated beside her. Her daughter, reared to take her place as High Priestess, until the day six years ago when the temple Oracle declared young Manara destined for a greater and more deadly fate. Now, Manara asked the questions Alzena both expected and dreaded ever since the Oracle's revelation. Reverently, Alzena touched the clay tablet on the low table and sighed.

"There is a reason for everything, my daughter. These tablets contain prophecies handed down through our line since the days of Sargon." She clasped one of the girl's slim hands marveling at the beauty already apparent in Manara. "Your birth fulfilled many of those prophecies. You were born with a special purpose, my darling, and you must be protected from those who would thwart that."

Manara's expression was neither kind nor accepting as she fingered the edges of the tablets. Alzena sighed. First the girl's brother, now her -- rebellion appeared to run in the blood.

"But why must I wait so long, Mother? Most of my age-mates already serve in the public temple. You cannot mean to hold me back because of a few old stories!"

Alzena smiled sadly, glancing at her own reflection in the mirror above the table. Already Manara's beauty surpassed her own. Fear tripped through Alzena's blood. Beauty was a curse, and it would mean danger for Manara as she grew to womanhood. She would be a temptation hard to resist for any man, and men often put aside reason in the pursuit of passion. For all their sakes, the girl must keep away from men.

"Darling girl, even stories have power if you believe in them with all your heart. Sargon may be dead in the flesh, but his spirit walks closely with your own. Legend says, once a century a man is born who is capable of channeling Great Sargon's spirit. He is a man capable of waging war most terrifying and vowing love most enduring. He will come for you, my child. You will be his link to the justice he seeks. When you most need him, he will be your strength and your solace." She stroked the girl's cheek as sadness crept into her bones. This child was sacred, untouchable, and still Alzena feared for her daughter. After all, as Ishtar's High Priestess, she alone knew the tales never written. Tales of terrible prices paid in the name of love and vengeance. One day, she would be forced to pass them on to Manara, but today was not that day. "But, my darling girl, beware. Of all men, only he will have the power to break your heart."

As the girl pondered her mother's words, her deep gray eyes narrowed. Alzena shuddered at the determination there, and she knew. If such a man came for Manara, his quest might prove in vain. Manara was a cautious child. She would guard her heart with her life. Alzena feared Manara would pay for her choice with her soul.