The twin moons hung low in the night sky, their pale light casting a ghostly glow over the dunes. The campfire flames danced erratically, as if stirred by the whispers of the desert wind. Yet the wind carried no warmth tonight—only a cold that clawed at the bones of those huddled around the fires.
At the center of the camp sat the amplifier, its faint glow casting long shadows across the sand. The device seemed alive, its runes pulsing like the heartbeat of some slumbering beast. Soldiers and mercenaries gave it a wide berth, their glances quick and fearful, their footsteps cautious as if the machine might lash out at any moment.
Even from a distance, they could see the body. The man who had tried to move the amplifier now lay twisted and burned, his face frozen in agony. His charred remains lay untouched where they had fallen, the sand beneath him scorched black.
Zhan Arkheis stood before the amplifier, his gray eyes fixed on its glowing surface. His crimson cloak stirred faintly in the breeze, its tattered edges brushing the ground like spilled blood. The faint hum of the amplifier resonated in the air, mingling with the whispers at the edge of Zhan's thoughts.
Behind him, Arkos approached, his boots crunching against the sand. He stopped a few paces away, his hesitation plain.
"My lord," Arkos said, his voice low. "The men are… uneasy."
"They are always uneasy," Zhan replied without turning.
"This is different," Arkos pressed, his tone cautious. "The amplifier—whatever happened to that man—it's unnatural. The men whisper that it's cursed."
Zhan finally turned his head, fixing Arkos with a cold, unblinking stare. "Do you believe that?"
Arkos shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "I believe the sands hold many secrets, my lord. And some of them should remain buried."
For a moment, Zhan said nothing. Then a faint smile curled at the corners of his lips. "The sands remember," he murmured, almost to himself.
Arkos frowned. "What?"
"Nothing you need concern yourself with," Zhan said dismissively. "Bring me one of the prisoners."
Arkos stiffened. "You mean to test it again?"
Zhan turned to face him fully, the faint glow of his armor casting jagged shadows across his face. "Do you intend to question me, Arkos?"
Arkos's hand twitched toward the hilt of his sword, though he made no move to draw it. He bowed his head, his voice tight. "No, my lord."
"Good. Then do as I command."
A few minutes later, the prisoner was dragged forward—a man in his mid-thirties with sun-darkened skin and eyes that darted nervously between the amplifier and the soldiers. His hands were bound tightly behind his back, his legs trembling as he was forced to his knees before Zhan.
"Please," the prisoner stammered, his voice cracking. "I've done nothing. I'll swear loyalty. Whatever you want—"
"Your loyalty is irrelevant," Zhan interrupted, his tone devoid of emotion. He stepped closer, looming over the man like a shadow. "Your life has no meaning. But your Essence may yet have value."
The man's defiance crumbled into raw panic. "No! You don't have to do this! Please—"
Zhan raised his hand, and the sand beneath the prisoner's knees shifted, forcing him closer to the amplifier. The device began to glow brighter, its runes flaring with renewed intensity. The hum of Essence filled the air, rising steadily, a sound that seemed to vibrate within the bones of everyone who heard it.
The prisoner screamed as the light enveloped him, his body convulsing violently. His cries were raw and desperate, echoing across the camp as the amplifier consumed him. The soldiers stood frozen, their faces pale, their eyes locked on the unfolding spectacle.
Zhan watched without flinching, his expression cold and unyielding. The whispers in the back of his mind grew louder, forming words that seemed to coil around his thoughts like tendrils of smoke.
The sands remember the broken. The shards of what was. The shards of what will be.
The amplifier flared one final time before going still. The prisoner's lifeless body slumped forward, his skin pale and ashen, his eyes staring sightlessly into the sand.
Zhan stepped forward, his hand hovering over the amplifier. The whispers lingered, faint but insistent. He closed his eyes, focusing on the sound.
"What are you?" he murmured.
The amplifier didn't respond, but its presence felt heavier, more deliberate. The runes on its surface shifted subtly, as if mocking his question.
"My lord," Arkos said hesitantly, breaking the silence. "What… what did it say?"
Zhan rose to his full height, his expression unreadable. "Nothing you would understand."
Arkos's jaw tightened, but he didn't press further. "And the amplifiers? What is our next move?"
"We move at dawn," Zhan said, his tone sharp. "Nyrah will come for these devices, but they will find nothing but ruin. The sands will bury them as they have buried all who defy me."
That night, the camp was quiet. The soldiers gathered in small groups, their voices hushed and nervous. The fires burned low, their flickering light casting strange, shifting shadows across the dunes.
In his tent, Zhan sat alone, the unstable amplifier resting on the table before him. Its runes glowed faintly, their patterns shifting in ways that seemed almost deliberate. He studied it in silence, his fingers brushing its surface as he tried to make sense of the whispers that lingered in his mind.
Then, without warning, the whispers grew louder.
Zhan froze, his hand stilling on the amplifier. The words were clearer now, their cadence rhythmic and hypnotic.
And then he saw it.
A city, vast and magnificent, its towers gleaming under the light of the twin suns. Its streets were alive with the hum of Essence, its people moving with purpose. But there was a tension in the air, a weight that pressed down on everything. The ground trembled faintly, cracks spreading like spiderwebs across the polished stone.
Then, chaos.
The towers crumbled, their gleaming walls collapsing into rubble. The streets were consumed by sand, their light extinguished. The whispers rose to a deafening crescendo, their words overlapping in a cacophony of despair.
The sands remember the broken. The sands remember you.
Zhan's eyes snapped open. His breath came in shallow gasps, his heart pounding in his chest. The amplifier sat silent and unmoving, its glow steady. But the memory of the vision lingered like smoke, coiling through his thoughts.
"What are you?" he whispered again, though no answer came.
The camp stirred uneasily as the first light of dawn broke over the dunes. Soldiers moved with wary efficiency, their gazes darting nervously toward the amplifiers as they prepared the wagons for departure. The amplifiers' faint hum was a constant presence, a reminder of their deadly power.
Arkos approached Zhan as the caravan prepared to move, his expression tight with worry. "Nyrah will come for us," he said. "You know they won't stop until they've reclaimed what they think is theirs."
"Nyrah's claim is irrelevant," Zhan said, his voice cold. "The amplifiers are mine now. Let them come. Let them bring their warlords, their armies. They will learn the same lesson as all the others."
"And what lesson is that?" Arkos asked, his tone quiet but pointed.
Zhan turned to face him, his gray eyes as cold and unyielding as the desert itself. "That the sands bow to me. And soon, so will they."
With that, he mounted his horse, his crimson cloak billowing in the morning breeze. The caravan began its slow march across the dunes, its path marked by the heavy tracks of its wagons and the lingering hum of the amplifiers.
Somewhere beyond the horizon, Nyrah awaited. Somewhere beneath the sands, the answers Zhan sought lay hidden.
And the sands whispered still.