Cleansing of the sands

The Targari cleansing ceremony was not merely about washing away filth—it was a sacred ritual, a passage through which one was welcomed into the sands as either a warrior or an outcast. The night sky stretched endlessly above, the moons casting silver light over the towering sandstone pillars that encircled the sacred ground.

At the heart of this holy space stood sculptures of the Targari gods, carved from ancient rock. Ordos, the Sandfather, loomed tall, his form wreathed in flowing stone that mimicked the ever-moving dunes. Shira, the Keeper of Storms, was sculpted mid-motion, her arms lifted as if summoning the desert winds. And beneath them, kneeling with a blade in one hand and a severed serpent's head in the other, was Nayomi the First, Daughter of the Sands, the legendary warrior from whom all Targari nobles claimed descent.

The air was thick with the scent of burning dune sage, smoke curling into the sky as Targari warriors stood in formation, their golden ornaments gleaming under the firelight. Women wore flowing robes of deep crimson and gold, embroidered with symbols of the desert—scorpions, snakes, and the ever-present swirling patterns of the dunes. Men bore ceremonial chest plates adorned with sun-dried bones, signifying their connection to the sands.

A deep drumbeat echoed across the space. Boom. Boom. Boom.

And then, she arrived.

High Priestess Seraphis entered with an ethereal grace, her robes woven from shimmering dune silk, shifting colors between gold and deep amber. A veil of fine chains covered her face, each tiny link engraved with the names of past warriors who had passed the desert's judgment. Beside her walked her silent servant, a hooded figure bearing a bowl of glistening oil infused with rare desert flowers.

The crowd fell silent as Seraphis raised her hands, and in a voice that seemed to echo through the stones themselves, she began the sacred chant.

"From the sands we rise, to the sands we return.

By Ordos' will, the strong endure.

By Shira's wrath, the weak are cast away.

By Nayomi's blade, the worthy are chosen."

The warriors pounded their fists against their chests in unison, their voices thundering:

"We are the children of the sands!"

Leo and Cassian were led to the cleansing basin, a wide stone pool filled with water drawn from the deepest wells of the desert. Cassian, still reeking from his time in the carcass, was nearly shoved in first. He let out a yelp as the ice-cold water engulfed him. Warriors and villagers chuckled, but Seraphis paid no mind—her focus was entirely on Leo.

He stepped forward, staring into the dark water, his reflection rippling under the moonlight. He had faced an ancient earthworm, yet he still did not understand why it had spared him. Did he truly possess a heart stronger than the others? Or was this another cruel trick of fate?

Seraphis dipped her fingers into the oil, tracing a symbol upon Leo's forehead.

"You are marked by the sands," she intoned, her gaze piercing. "The desert has seen you, yet it has not taken you."

Whispers spread among the warriors. "He was untouched by the great one?"

"Even the ancient earthworm bowed before him?"

"Then what is he?"

Nayomi, standing in the crowd, clenched her jaw. The more she thought about it, the more uneasy she felt.

Cassian, meanwhile, was still spluttering in the cleansing basin. "By the gods, couldn't you have warmed this first?"

Segrit grinned, tossing a handful of sand at him. "Consider it an extra blessing."

Laughter rippled through the warriors, but it was soon drowned out by the final prayer.

Seraphis lifted her arms once more, and the warriors dropped to one knee.

"By the gods of the sands, by the trials of our ancestors, by the blood of Nayomi the First, we welcome these souls. May the desert claim them not in death, but in honor."

The ceremony was taken to the next phase marking of the warriors—but the true test was only beginning.

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