An elderly stallion stands atop a cliff, looking at the valley below, at the black clouds rising from burning shrines and temples. The temple behind him is the last one standing.

And then she arrives. The sacred Princess herself.

The warm, beaming smile that once decorated her face is gone. Her eyes do not eminate kindess, but hatred.

As he looks at her, he sees something else, something hiding beneath the flaming veil.

Sadness.