The dunes glowed faintly in the moonlight, their undulating curves stretching into the horizon. The caravan moved slowly now, laden with the spoils of the ambush—Essence amplifiers, weapons, and the unmarked crates Zhan had yet to examine. The wind had stilled, leaving an oppressive silence that clung to the air like a second skin. It was the kind of quiet that invited unease, the kind that allowed thoughts to fester.
Zhan rode at the head of the column, his crimson cloak stark against the pale sands. The amplifiers hummed faintly from the wagons behind him, their Essence-laced machinery alive with barely contained power. He could feel it—an undercurrent of energy that seemed to pull at the edges of his awareness. They were dangerous, even to someone like him. But they were also necessary.
As the caravan crested a dune, Zhan's gaze swept the horizon. The landscape was barren and unbroken, save for the occasional jagged rock formation jutting from the sand like a blade. Somewhere beyond these dunes lay the next oasis, a nameless pit stop where water could be taken and repairs made. The journey was grueling, but the Abyss offered no reprieve for the weary.
Behind him, the soldiers murmured in low tones, their voices too faint to carry. Zhan knew what they whispered about. The ambush. The prisoners. The sand that had risen like living claws to claim them.
He didn't care. Let them whisper. Fear was the mortar of loyalty, and Zhan had no patience for sentiment.
At midnight, the caravan stopped to rest. Fires were lit, small and contained to avoid drawing attention, and the mercenaries gathered around them in tight clusters. They spoke in hushed voices, casting occasional glances toward the wagons where the amplifiers were stored.
Zhan stood apart from them, his silhouette outlined against the firelight. His armor shimmered faintly, the glow of absorbed Essence pulsing like a heartbeat. He stared into the distance, his expression unreadable, his thoughts a storm of calculations and possibilities.
Arkos approached him cautiously, his boots crunching softly against the sand. The man's face was drawn, his brow furrowed with concern. He had been Zhan's right hand for years, his loyalty forged in the fires of conquest. But even Arkos had limits.
"My lord," he said, inclining his head. "The men grow restless."
Zhan didn't look at him. "Restless?"
"They question our direction," Arkos said carefully. "The amplifiers—they understand their value, but they also fear what carrying them means. There are rumors that others will come for them. Rivals. The forces of Nyrah."
Zhan's lips curled into a faint smile. "And do you share their fears, Arkos?"
Arkos hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "I do not fear enemies we can see. But I wonder if the weight of our choices will become too much to bear."
Zhan turned to face him, his gray eyes sharp and unyielding. "The weight of our choices? You speak as if we have any other path to walk."
"There is always another path," Arkos said, his voice steady but quiet. "We could have taken Kalrum's amplifiers and left its people alive. We could have taken the caravan's spoils without turning the sand into a graveyard. The men see this, my lord. And they wonder."
Zhan took a step forward, closing the distance between them. His voice was low, but it carried the weight of a hammer. "Do you think mercy would keep them loyal? Do you think sparing the weak would make them love me?"
"No," Arkos admitted. "But it might make them believe in you."
Zhan stared at him for a long moment, the firelight flickering in his eyes. Finally, he spoke, his tone softer but no less dangerous. "Belief is fleeting, Arkos. Fear endures. If the men cannot understand that, they are welcome to leave."
"And if I cannot?" Arkos asked, the words leaving his mouth before he could stop them.
The sand shifted at Zhan's feet, spiraling outward in restless patterns. For a moment, Arkos thought he had gone too far. But Zhan didn't strike him down. Instead, he turned away, his voice colder than the desert wind.
"Then you will stay," Zhan said, "because you know there is no one else to follow."
The night grew colder as the fires burned low. Zhan retreated to his tent, a makeshift structure of thick cloth and iron poles that stood apart from the others. Inside, the air was heavy with the faint hum of Essence, the amplifiers stacked in a corner casting a pale glow.
He sat on a low bench, his armor creaking softly as he leaned back. His thoughts returned to the ambush, to the amplifiers, to the faces of the prisoners as the sand swallowed them. He felt no guilt. He never did. But there was something else—a faint unease, like a splinter buried too deep to reach.
The boy's face surfaced in his mind again, unbidden. His defiance. His fury.
Zhan scowled, shaking the thought away. He had spared the boy because it suited him, nothing more. To dwell on it was weakness.
Outside, the camp was still. The soldiers had grown quiet, their whispers replaced by the occasional crackle of dying embers. The Abyss stretched wide and empty around them, its silence a reminder of the dangers that lurked just beyond sight.
Zhan's eyes snapped open to the sound of raised voices.
He was on his feet in an instant, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword. The Essence in his armor flared faintly as he stepped outside, his gaze sweeping the camp. A small group of soldiers had gathered near the wagons, their faces tense and their voices raised in argument.
Arkos stood at the center of the commotion, his expression grim. He turned as Zhan approached, and the soldiers immediately fell silent, their gazes dropping to the ground.
"What is this?" Zhan demanded, his voice cutting through the night like a blade.
Arkos gestured toward one of the wagons. "A thief, my lord. One of the men tried to tamper with the amplifiers. He claims he meant no harm, but—"
Zhan raised a hand, silencing him. He stepped forward, his gaze locking on the man kneeling in the sand. The thief was young, barely more than a boy, his face pale and his hands trembling.
"I didn't mean to steal," the boy stammered, his voice shaking. "I only wanted to look. To understand. I swear I wasn't going to—"
"Enough," Zhan said, his tone cold and final. He knelt slightly, bringing himself level with the boy's gaze. "Do you know what these amplifiers are?"
The boy swallowed hard. "No, my lord. I just... I've never seen anything like them before."
Zhan's eyes narrowed. "And what did you hope to learn?"
"I thought…" The boy hesitated, his voice breaking. "I thought maybe I could be like you. That I could have power, too."
For a moment, Zhan said nothing. The soldiers watched in tense silence, their faces pale with fear.
"You want power?" Zhan said finally, his voice soft but dangerous. "Then take it."
He rose to his feet, gesturing to the amplifiers. The boy blinked, confusion flickering across his face.
"My lord?"
"Take it," Zhan repeated. "If you think you are strong enough to wield it, then do so."
The boy hesitated, his gaze flickering between Zhan and the amplifiers. Slowly, he reached out, his hand trembling as it moved toward the nearest device.
The moment his fingers brushed the surface, the amplifier flared to life, its runes glowing with blinding intensity. The boy cried out, his body convulsing as the Essence surged through him. The light grew brighter, the air crackling with raw energy.
Then, as suddenly as it began, it ended. The boy collapsed, his body lifeless, his eyes staring blankly into the night.
Zhan turned to the soldiers, his expression cold. "Power is not given," he said. "It is taken. Remember that."
The soldiers nodded hurriedly, their fear palpable.
"Clean this up," Zhan said, turning away. "And let this be the last time you question me."
As he walked back to his tent, the sand shifted beneath his feet, carrying the echoes of the boy's screams into the night.