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was corporeal or not, he could not guess.
    Something in this dimension was alive, and he was determined to find it.
    Perhaps, he thought, the ocean would offer some clues. If there were any water left on this world, it would be there. And where there was water, there would be life.
    Or so he hoped.
     
    The last remaining temple of Imbra lay nestled in the mountains of western Khem. Here, the Firstborn’s priests maintained their secrecy, and the secrecy of the temple, with the use of magic. From the outside, the temple appeared ruined and abandoned; on the inside, the majesty of its noble master remained untouched by the Lifegiver’s corruption.
    Prince Hamal, the rightful heir to the throne of Khem, had sought asylum within the temple’s impenetrable walls. Here, with the aid of his loyal servants, he observed and directed the worship of Imbra; the true Imbra. It was Hamal’s duty as the true ruler of Khem to ensure that the memory of their one Father was not lost.
    Over the years, Hamal had traveled with the nomadic tribes of the desert, gaining allies and making secret alliances. Now, in his thirty-fifth year, Hamal was prepared to take his rightful place upon the throne. All that was needed was the support of the rest of the world.
    He had heard rumors of insurrection in many of the surrounding countries, and of the exploits of one Prince Eamon in Eirenoch; surely he was king by now. He would have to meet this Onyx Dragon, as he was called, and follow his example. In other countries, the rebellion was not yet underway, but he knew that it was only a matter of time before the rest of the world followed suit.
    The life of the Great Mother depended upon it.
    In a gesture of respect, Hamal bowed to the Priests of Imbra, and turned to sit upon Imbra’s throne. He would face the father directly and offer his sword, and his life, to fight for him. It would be his first time appearing before his lord, and his excitement was obvious to the priests. They encouraged him with smiles and friendly gestures.
    Hamal’s eyes closed as he sat. He felt himself drifting into a deep sleep, but consciously transported to Imbra’s realm. When he opened his eyes, his mouth dropped in awe.
    He sat upon the same throne, but on this side of the portal the throne was much more magnificent. He looked down and ran his hands over the red felt, the golden studs, and the gilded embroidery. It was truly a throne for the regal, and he felt honored to sit upon it.
    The throne room was even more majestic; golden columns supporting a vaulted, gold ceiling, walls covered with beautiful murals of the Keynakin, Sulemain, and the beautiful architecture of his beloved homeland. Hamal could only stare; he was frozen in place.
    “My child,” Imbra said from upon his own gilded stone throne. Hamal looked toward the voice, his heart fluttering at the sight of the ancient entity that had powered a great portion of the mainland for eons. He stood, slowly approaching Imbra with uncertainty.
    Was he worthy?
    “Come closer, Hamal,” Imbra said, smiling warmly. “You are most welcome here, my son.”
    Hamal lowered his head, his eyes still trained upon the regal Firstborn. Imbra was dressed in white linen robes, plain sandals, and a mighty crown of gold. His beard was interlaced with golden cords, gems, and symbols that he recognized as the twelve signs of the astral wheel. Even the tiny creatures that crawled aimlessly upon Imbra’s throne seemed to be royalty.
    “It is my honor to be in your presence,” Hamal spoke, meekly.
    Imbra stood, stepping off of the dais and kneeling before Hamal. The young prince was confused.
    “No, Hamal,” Imbra said. “It is I who is honored.”
    “Please, my lord,” Hamal pleaded, kneeling as low as he could. “Do not place yourself below me. I am not worthy.”
    Imbra laughed, standing up to his full height. He approached Hamal, smiling, and held out his arms. Hamal stepped forward, feeling Imbra embrace him