Two hundred years have passed since Anzha lyu Mitethe's psychics were scattered to the far ends of the galaxy. They are legendary creatures now, rumored to be half mad from the mental fallout of the Institute's destruction, surfacing but rarely to raid the Empire for supplies, information...or more human trade goods. In the Holding, the proud Braxana have attended to the needs of their gene pool with typically barbaric elan, resurrecting traditions that have not been in play since their tribe inhabited the Blood Steppes. In the shadow of their newfound obsession other tribes stir, wondering if the time to unseat them has come at last... while the echoes of Zatar's curse reverberate in the chambers of a power.