The war in Hasra is over. A monstrous puppet sits upon the throne. Valys has fallen, and the Praetor rots in prison while his daughter remains a public hostage. Calmora is under Khonsu's rule, the dragonflight's plaything. Worse, my aunt and the other demon princes have fostered a new religion, which is sweeping the west.
Our only choice was to flee to Olivantia, where we huddle with the dreadlords who are under assault by the Tree of Blood and its armies of consumed. Things have never looked so grim. I have no more tombs. No more miracles from friendly gods.
Yet I do not stand alone. I've gathered my friends. We will prevail. We must. The cycle depends upon it.
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