"I…"
Eltluqi did not know how she had managed to escape from that accursed valley. It felt as if she had awoken from a nightmare.
When her senses returned, she realized she was being led along by Avia, like a child held by the hand. Though she wanted to pull free, the lingering weakness from her fear had drained her strength; she could only let herself be guided by this human.
"No… it doesn't even matter whether I came along or not, does it?"
The Crimson Moon Princess suddenly wondered if she had been tricked. Avia had said he needed her power, and that was why she had agreed to accompany him. Yet recalling what had just transpired… he was the one who dragged her to the temple, and he was the one who saved her in the end. No matter how she thought about it, things had not gone the way he said.
"Seems that way," Avia said with a smile. "I expected Her Highness the Princess to display her divine might. Instead, you were frightened."
The black-haired girl said nothing. She merely snorted through her nose and lifted her chin, glaring up at the silver-haired youth.
After a silence in which she seemed on the verge of speaking yet held back, she finally whispered:
"—I cannot die. If I die, then everything about me loses its meaning."
"Don't talk about death all the time. Look—you didn't die just now. You're the Princess."
Avia sighed, as though helpless before her stubbornness.
"Everyone once said that I was destined to become the 'One.'"
Eltluqi remembered those words. When she had fled the Millennium Castle, the Royal Guard and the twin Knights of Black and White who had pursued her had spoken them.
It was her only path—no, not her only path. It was also her duty, the very purpose of her birth, something she refused to forget.
So long as she remembered, so long as she persevered, she would surely become the Primal "One."
"I want to become the Primal 'One.' I want to see them receive the glory they deserve."
At her answer, Avia exhaled quietly. These words were not meant for him, yet hearing them brought him relief.
After all, the reason he had brought Eltluqi out of the castle was at the request of the two Knights and the Royal Guard.
They had told him that ever since Van-Fem, their liege had been despondent, and begged him to help, to bring her some measure of joy.
This journey to witness the Old Man of the Mountain had not brought her joy—yet seeing her show fear for the first time… perhaps that could be considered a kind of success.
"—And you as well."
"…Oh?"
The sun had fully risen, and the clear light outside the valley bathed her from the front.
"I think that as my ally, the first human I formed a contract with, Avia too deserves his rightful glory."
Her voice was deliberately cold, as if suppressing any trace of emotion—unnaturally so. Yet beneath it lingered the faintest thread of reliance, like a lost child timidly reaching out to the one who had shown them kindness.
"…I see."
Somehow, Avia understood. Though her words sounded calm, they were spoken with all the courage she could muster.
Unconsciously, he smiled and nodded.
"Then, let's work hard together."
---
Five months passed. The war between the Hephthalite Empire and the Sassanian dynasty in the province of Fars grew ever more fierce.
Though the Sassanians had stumbled in the opening stages, they recovered, reclaiming lost territories through shrewd adjustments. The Hephthalites, however, refused to relent. They summoned more powerful reinforcements, vowing to swallow Fars whole.
To the north and west of the Sassanian realm, the endless Hunnic hordes had surged past the mountains, hills, and dense forests of the Caucasus. The local legions could scarcely hope for victory. Panic spread like wildfire; men fled in droves, and the dead were beyond counting.
Pressed by domestic uproar, ceaseless pleas for aid, and the enemy's advance toward the capital, the Sassanians had no choice but to send out a great host to halt the Huns' rapid offensive.
Fifteen thousand elite cavalry drawn from the Persian aristocracy of the Iranian plateau and the Dailamite highlanders; five thousand Arab mercenary riders; twenty thousand Persian infantry and archers; and two thousand of the most fanatical of the "Immortal Guard," the Holy-Fall Cavalry, famed for their readiness to die. Rare even in Persia, war elephants from India were also brought forth, lumbering giants pressed into service.
With auxiliaries added, their numbers swelled to over eighty thousand.
It was said: if this army fell, the Sassanian capital of Ctesiphon would stand defenseless, and Fars would have to be abandoned.
The newly appointed Persian commander, upon learning of Avia's approaching forces, wished to retreat along the right bank of the Euphrates to seek a defensible position.
But his men were restless, aflame with the desire for battle. They mocked their general for shrinking from a decisive clash. Fearing mutiny, he yielded.
At the end of 425 A.D., the two armies met upon the ruins of Nineveh on the Tigris.
The battle began with arrows. The Persian archers held the wind, their numbers great, their shots swift. They loosed volleys that rained upon the Huns. At first, fortune favored the Sassanians.
Yet in sorcery, they faltered. The magi of Persia could not match the Huns' Dead Apostles. In the realm of thaumaturgy, the Sassanians were outmatched.
The cavalry clashed for most of the day, neither side yielding.
Then, from the northwest—Armenia's direction—came the thunder of hooves.
Exhausted, the Persian host failed to notice, failed to prepare.
When the new host appeared upon the horizon, their likeness to the Hun horde was unmistakable. The Sassanians' proudest, the Holy-Fall Cavalry, were torn apart in an instant by man-wolves, throats ripped out in a single strike.
It was Attila's host, sweeping south with impossible speed after crushing Armenia. Unprepared, the Sassanians broke.
Once Attila's horde seized the high ground of the western flank, they wheeled in relentless charge, striking at the Persian center. Avia's riders joined them, crashing downhill.
The armored cataphracts of Persia were shattered. The infantry, untested, collapsed in panic. Continuous Hun charges annihilated the right and center; the field dissolved in rout. Though many Persians fought with valor, they all fell.
The Sassanians suffered a catastrophic defeat upon the river, fifty thousand slain—most during the flight.
The general who escaped was flayed alive by his king.
Yet no matter what punishment was meted out, the western and northern frontiers of Persia were beyond salvation.
To the east, new threats stirred. The Gupta Empire of India sought a share of conquest, allying with the Hephthalites, marching swiftly toward West Asia.
As the King of Kings and his ministers prepared to flee northeast from Ctesiphon, an offer arrived from the Huns.
The treaty declared:
The Caucasus mountains would be a co-controlled frontier, with no new Persian fortresses permitted there.
Trade would be opened; the Huns would support Persia in Armenia against Eastern Rome.
Persia would pay 5,000 kilograms of gold as war reparations, 700 kilograms annually thereafter, and six gold coins per ransom for captured Persians.
Harsh, but compared to Rome's terms of old, merciful.
Most crucial of all: Avia pledged to aid Persia against the Gupta–Hephthalite coalition, on the condition that he be named supreme commander of the allied host.
Thus, the Sassanians swiftly agreed, proclaiming the Huns noble and generous allies.
Avia and Attila, Kings of the Huns, were hailed as friends of the Empire. Avia himself was acclaimed as the supreme leader of the Hun–Sassanian alliance—declared the chosen of Mithra, bearer of the holy fire, representative of Ahura Mazda's justice in the world, protector of truth against Angra Mainyu's evil.
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