A year had passed since the great war in the palace of Achala. Mirama had not only dominated Achala and the whole of Tan but had stretched her reign and treachery in other great lands, subjecting their rulers and people to s*****y and death.
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In Tan, Mirama sat inside her golden laced room and watched herself in the mirror. Her skin had taken another look and she had grown so powerful that most people call her a goddess. She didn't want to be a ruler and so she didn't want subjects, she wanted to be a goddess and so she had worshipers. People worshiped her and prayed with her name. When they offend her they draw her wrath upon themselves mercilessly. She was still glaring at the mirror when one of her generals came in, dressed in a golden armour. He bowed before her and drew he
