The sky above Shamballa shuddered as if creation itself held its breath. Clouds spiraled into furious shapes, and the crystal towers of the sacred valley reflected both light and shadow in chaotic bursts. Arthur Carey—no longer merely an archaeologist, no longer a man of the West—stood reborn as a holy warrior-monk. His robes shimmered with the pale glow of sanctity, a beard flowed down his chest like a river of wisdom, and his eyes burned with the power of aeons.
Ashanti stood opposite him, her form a living flame of dark seduction. Her skin shimmered obsidian beneath the shifting lights, her long hair whipped like black fire in the wind, and her lips curved in a smile sharp as a blade. Shadows bent to her command, swirling around her like an army of serpents.
The clash began with sound
