"Get up, Faris," said the voice in his head. "Get. Up. The boy's Fate depends on this."

His eyes opened, slowly. Staring up into a blood red sky, the man saw lightning arc its way haphazardly across these strange heavens, so far away from anything even remotely resembling home.

A sharp copper tang stained the insides of his mouth. It hurt to breathe. His ribs. Bruised at best, but the pain was sharp enough some that some were likely broken.

Faris al-Mirzam, Captain of the Nashira, erstwhile Electrodyne Engineer, Adventurer of the Society of Ether, tightened his hands around the hilts of what remained of his twin blades - legendary sayfs forged from an Etherium alloy. Unbreakable. Or at least they had been. Now? The blades were broken, the formerly majestic scimitars reduced to jagged shards no bigger than a knife.

He pulled himself to his feet, getting up off the barren ground. The time was close. It wouldn't be much longer now. This much? He knew with unfailing certainty. Doing his best to take a meditative breath or two, Faris fought to clear his head. To steady his heart. And to focus his will.

Across the expanse, a menacing figure emerged from a haze of ash and smoke. A shaytan from the lands of alsiyn.

"Come on, then," muttered Faris, lifting up his broken sayfs and holding them at the ready. Thoughts of his closest comrades filled his soul with love. Orson. Fatima. Fu. And, of course - the boy. "Once more unto the breach, dear friends. Once. More."