The caravan pushed onward, cutting across the endless expanse of dunes under the relentless gaze of the twin suns. The sands shimmered in the oppressive heat, stretching into a horizon that seemed to promise no end. Zhan Arkheis rode at the front, his crimson cloak trailing behind him like a wound against the pale gold of the desert. The faint hum of Essence still lingered in his armor, the remnants of Kalrum's destruction fueling his every step.
Behind him, the wagons creaked and groaned under the weight of their cargo—supplies and weapons from the Bone Market, as well as the precious Essence amplifiers that now pulsed faintly beneath heavy cloth coverings. Mercenaries and loyalists marched in tense silence, their eyes scanning the dunes for threats. The Abyss was never empty, not truly. Bandits, nomads, and creatures born of the sand often lurked just out of sight, waiting for weakness.
The air was thick with unease. Even the soldiers, hardened by years of raiding and bloodshed, avoided meeting Zhan's eyes. Kalrum's fate weighed heavily on their minds, the memory of its screams lingering like a ghost. Zhan had obliterated the city in a single night, its people reduced to whispers in the sands. To his followers, it was a demonstration of absolute power. To some, it was also a reminder of what awaited those who faltered in his service.
At midday, the caravan halted in the shadow of a jagged rock formation, the only semblance of shelter in the desolate landscape. The men and women dismounted, some tending to the animals while others set up crude shades to shield themselves from the sun. Zhan dismounted last, his boots crunching softly against the sand as he surveyed the camp.
Arkos approached him, his face drawn and weary. The man's loyalty was unquestionable, but even he had begun to show signs of doubt. The events at Kalrum had shaken him, though he dared not voice his concerns openly.
"We've sent scouts ahead to confirm the route," Arkos said, inclining his head. "No signs of trouble yet."
Zhan nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Trouble will find us, whether we seek it or not."
Arkos hesitated. "Do you think it's wise to push so hard? The men are… uneasy. They whisper about Kalrum. About the boy."
Zhan's eyes narrowed slightly, though his voice remained calm. "And what do they whisper, Arkos?"
The man hesitated, shifting uncomfortably under Zhan's piercing gaze. "They wonder why you spared him. Some think it was a mistake. Others think—"
"Think what?" Zhan interrupted, his tone sharp.
"Some think you showed weakness," Arkos admitted reluctantly.
For a moment, silence hung between them. Zhan's expression didn't change, but the sand at his feet began to stir, shifting in restless spirals. Arkos took a step back, his hand instinctively moving toward the hilt of his sword.
"Let them whisper," Zhan said finally, his voice cold. "Weakness is a word used by the ignorant to describe what they cannot understand. The boy will serve my purpose. Whether they see that now is irrelevant."
Arkos nodded stiffly, though the unease in his eyes lingered. "As you say, my lord."
He turned and walked away, leaving Zhan alone at the edge of the camp. The desert stretched endlessly before him, its shifting sands glinting like shattered glass under the sun. For a brief moment, Zhan allowed his thoughts to wander—to the boy's defiant eyes, the rusted knife trembling in his hands. He pushed the memory aside with a scowl. It didn't matter. The boy was nothing.
The stillness of the afternoon was broken by the sound of hooves. A scout returned to the camp, his horse lathered in sweat, its sides heaving with exertion. The man dismounted quickly, his face pale and urgent as he approached Zhan.
"My lord," he said breathlessly, bowing. "We found something. A caravan—five wagons, lightly guarded. It's heading west, toward the city of Nyrah."
Zhan tilted his head, his interest piqued. "And what cargo does it carry?"
The scout hesitated. "Essence amplifiers. High-grade."
Zhan's expression darkened. Essence amplifiers were rare, highly sought-after devices capable of enhancing a Porteglass's power to dangerous levels. Whoever controlled them could shape the sands, command the wind, and twist the very fabric of the Abyss. That such a caravan traveled unprotected was foolish—almost suspiciously so.
"Bring me Arkos," Zhan said.
Moments later, Arkos arrived, his brow furrowing as the scout relayed the report. He turned to Zhan, his voice cautious. "It could be a trap. Amplifiers of that quality would normally be guarded by an entire garrison."
"Trap or not, they are mine now," Zhan said simply. "Gather the men. We strike before sundown."
The ambush was swift and merciless.
Zhan's forces descended on the caravan as the sun dipped low in the sky, turning the desert into a canvas of gold and shadow. The wagons had little time to react before the sands rose around them, cutting off their escape. The guards fought bravely, their weapons flashing in the fading light, but they were no match for Zhan's power.
Zhan stood at the heart of the chaos, the Essence in his armor pulsing with deadly precision. He raised his hand, and the sands obeyed, coiling around a cluster of guards and dragging them to the ground. Their screams were brief, cut short as the desert consumed them.
One of the wagons overturned, its contents spilling across the sand—metal casings, intricate machinery, and the faint glow of Essence amplifiers. Zhan approached the wreckage, his eyes narrowing as he reached for one of the devices. It was heavier than he expected, its surface etched with runes that pulsed faintly under his touch.
"Interesting," he murmured.
Behind him, the battle was ending. The remaining guards were subdued, their weapons taken and their hands bound. The prisoners were herded into a cluster, their faces pale and desperate as they were forced to kneel before Zhan.
Arkos approached, his expression grim. "What should we do with them?"
Zhan turned, his gaze sweeping over the captives. There were perhaps a dozen of them, men and women alike, their faces etched with exhaustion and fear.
"They'll only slow us down," Arkos continued, though his tone betrayed a faint hesitation.
Zhan's lips curled into a faint smile. "Then we won't take them."
He raised his hand, and the air grew heavy with the hum of Essence. The prisoners' cries rose in a desperate crescendo as the sands shifted around them, rising like waves to engulf their bodies. One by one, their voices were silenced, their souls torn from their flesh and drawn into Zhan's waiting palm.
The Essence swirled around him, bright and alive, before sinking into his armor. The desert fell silent once more, the only sound the faint whisper of the wind.
"Efficient," Zhan said, turning back to Arkos. "Do you still question me?"
Arkos's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
As the caravan regrouped and prepared to move, Zhan lingered near the wreckage of the amplifiers. His fingers traced the runes on their surface, his mind already turning to the possibilities they presented. The Abyss was a harsh and unforgiving place, but with the right tools, it could be tamed.
And he would be the one to tame it.