Tsar Younis knelt in the abandoned chapel, his bird-like mask tilted toward the cracked altar. Dust covered the stone floor. The Fidelian Church had cast him out years ago, but he was the true heir of Tsar Fidelio. One day, he would take his rightful place as leader of the faith. He would reclaim what they stole from him. He stood and brushed sand from his dark robes. The desert stretched beyond the broken walls. His allies would be waiting at the shanty on the edge of town. They met there because no one else bothered with the place. The small clay structure kept them hidden from church eyes. Today they would plan his next move. The sun beat down as Tsar crossed the sand. Inside the shanty, three figures sat in shadow. They spoke in low voices about the Fidelian Desert Auditorium. The church owned it, but crowds gathered there every week. If Tsar spoke from that platform, people would hear him. They would learn the truth about who he was. Word would spread across Zaar that the real heir had returned. His hand touched the wall. The clay felt warm and rough. The Gnostic Iron Throne Vehicle waited somewhere in the church compound. That massive throne on treads belonged to the leader of the faith. Iron etched with sacred symbols. Authority given form. When he claimed that seat, no one could deny his right to rule. The path was long, but it had already begun.