In the deepest desert, where the wind sings over the deep thrumming of the sand, and the sun hangs like a coal in a sapphire sky, when the wind is just right, and the dunes have shifted just so, you might find the tip of a doorway. Carved from the bedrock of the desert, it stands alone, unsupported, with no foundation around it. Is it the remains of an ancient palace? No. If you could open the perfectly preserved teak door, you would find yourself in the palace of the Djinn, and here is where our story begins.

The Djinn are a proud people, tall as a house, their veins running with sand, eyes burning like the desert sun, and they are long-lived, each surviving more than an age of mankind. But once in every thousand generations, a child is born to them… different.

The girl you see before you was a Djinn, born small, more human that her sires, and instead of the dry heat of the desert, her power lies in the sudden tempests that rip through the sands, blasting the sky with lightening and draining away the grains with torrents of water. This is a child of the storm.