Jocasta opened her eyes in total darkness. Other senses, particularly her nose, still provided some information. She could hardly breathe for the stench of death and decay in this dark place. She next became aware of heavy vestments over her body, strangely reminiscent of those accompanying the ritual burial of criminals executed by the priesthood. How did she end up here?

“It had to be you, Jocasta… Believe me, I didn’t want this.” The memories came flooding back, first in pieces and then great fragments. A shadowy figure hovered in her mind’s eye. It was you, Sylan! You betrayed me! Jocasta’s wand was still nearby. She took it and, with a twitch, smashed a hole through the mausoleum entombing her for a millennia.

Jocasta angrily retraced her steps on that fateful evening before the Proving and selection of a new High Priestess. She had been the lead contender – yes! Most gifted alongside Sylan in the arts of dune magic. A surprise note from Sylan had come late in the evening for an impromptu meeting by the mausoleum. Jocasta had naively expected a discussion about the order of service.

A powerful imprisonment spell had disabled her en route to the mausoleum, the complex enchantment seeming more like an ancient mechanism rather than a recently-prepared weave. That was when she heard Sylan’s voice: “I have no real interest in becoming High Priestess, Jocasta, and take no pleasure in this. But I do have an interest in not being buried alive. Do you know how they make sure the High Priestess in each generation remains secure? Our contenders are executed by burial…” Sylan levitated Jocasta’s body down into the sand, her voice growing less distinct as Jocasta’s thoughts faded further and further from consciousness…