The march across the desert had become slower, more grueling with each passing hour. The twin suns loomed high above, their merciless glare beating down on the caravan. The wagons creaked under the weight of the amplifiers, the faint hum of the devices mingling with the grunts of the beasts of burden.
The soldiers moved like ghosts, their movements sluggish, their gazes distant. Fear lingered over the camp like a storm cloud, thick and suffocating. The battle against Nyrah's war band had taken its toll, but it was the amplifiers that haunted them most. Whispers now seemed to follow them, audible even to those who hadn't dared approach the devices.
"Do you hear them?" a soldier murmured to his companion as they marched. "The voices? They say… they say the sands are alive."
"Shut your mouth," the other snapped, though his hands trembled as they gripped the reins of his horse.
Zhan Arkheis rode ahead of the column, his gray eyes fixed on the horizon. He could hear the whispers too, though they no longer unnerved him. They spoke of memory, of buried truths and forgotten power. They spoke to him, and only him.
Behind him, Arkos approached, his expression as tense as the soldiers'.
"The men are breaking, my lord," Arkos said, his voice low. "They've begun to imagine things—shadows that move, voices that call to them. If this continues, we'll lose them."
Zhan didn't look at him. "The weak have no place in my ranks. Let the sands take them if they cannot hold their resolve."
"These men are loyal," Arkos insisted. "But loyalty has its limits. Even steel breaks under enough pressure."
Zhan finally turned to face him, his gaze cold. "Then they are not steel. And they are not mine. If they falter, Arkos, they are already dead."
Arkos opened his mouth to respond, but the words died in his throat as a scout rode up, his horse kicking up plumes of sand.
"My lord!" the scout called, dismounting hastily. "There's… something ahead. A ruin. It wasn't on the maps."
Zhan raised an eyebrow. "A ruin? Show me."
The ruin rose from the desert like a jagged wound, its crumbling stone towers half-buried in the sand. The air around it was heavy, oppressive, and the faint hum of the amplifiers seemed to grow louder as the caravan drew near.
Zhan dismounted, his boots sinking into the hot sand as he approached the ruins. The whispers in his mind grew sharper, their cadence quickening like a heartbeat.
The sands remember. The shards of what was. The shards of what will be.
"Arkos," Zhan said, his voice low.
The man stepped up beside him. "What is this place?"
"An echo," Zhan said, his gaze scanning the broken walls. "A fragment of what came before."
Before Arkos could respond, Zhan strode forward, his crimson cloak trailing behind him. The amplifiers hummed louder as he stepped into the shadow of the ruins, their runes flickering faintly beneath their coverings.
Inside the ruin, the air was cooler, but no less stifling. The walls were carved with ancient symbols, their edges worn smooth by time. Zhan ran his fingers over the markings, his mind racing.
"This language…" he murmured. "It is older than the sands. Older than Nyrah. Perhaps older than the Abyss itself."
"What does it say?" Arkos asked.
Zhan didn't answer immediately. His gaze settled on a single symbol etched deeper than the others—a jagged spiral that seemed to twist inward endlessly. The whispers surged in his mind, clearer now.
Do not seek what is buried. It will claim you.
A faint smile played on Zhan's lips. "It is a warning," he said softly. "But not for us. For those who came before."
The camp was restless that night. Soldiers huddled close to their fires, their gazes darting toward the ruins as if expecting something to emerge from the shadows. The amplifiers had been positioned near the edge of the camp, their glow casting eerie patterns across the sand.
Zhan sat alone near one of the devices, his fingers tracing the shifting runes on its surface. The whispers were relentless now, their words weaving through his thoughts like threads of a tapestry.
The sands remember. The sands remember you.
"What do you want?" Zhan murmured, his voice barely audible.
The amplifier flared faintly, its light intensifying. The runes twisted, rearranging themselves into a pattern Zhan had never seen before. For a moment, he felt a pull—a force drawing him closer, deeper into the device's mystery.
Then the ground trembled.
Zhan rose to his feet, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword. Around him, soldiers scrambled to their feet, their voices rising in panic as the tremors grew stronger.
"My lord!" Arkos called, rushing toward him. "Something's coming!"
The sand shifted violently, spiraling upward in jagged peaks. A low, guttural sound rumbled through the air, like the groan of a beast stirring from slumber.
Then, from the edge of the ruins, they emerged.
Figures cloaked in shadow, their forms flickering and indistinct. Their eyes glowed with a pale, unnatural light, and their movements were jerky, as if they were caught between two worlds.
The soldiers froze, their weapons trembling in their hands.
"What are they?" one man whispered, his voice breaking.
Zhan stepped forward, his expression calm. "The sands have claimed them. And now they return to claim us."
The first of the shadows lunged, its form twisting into a jagged spear of darkness. Zhan caught the attack with his gauntleted hand, the Essence in his armor flaring brightly as he forced the shadow back.
"Hold the line!" Zhan shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. "The sands will not take you if you stand firm!"
The soldiers rallied, their weapons clashing against the shadows as the battle erupted. The amplifiers flared to life, their runes blazing as they unleashed waves of energy that sent ripples through the battlefield.
The shadows recoiled, their forms flickering and distorting under the onslaught. But they didn't retreat. They pressed forward, their movements growing more desperate, more erratic.
Zhan stepped into the fray, his sword cutting through the shadows like a scythe. For a moment, he thought he saw something within them—a city buried beneath the sand. A broken tower. A face, hollow and watching.
Then the shadow dissolved, its Essence absorbed into his armor.
By the time the battle ended, the sands were still once more. The shadows had vanished, leaving only the faint hum of the amplifiers and the ragged breaths of the soldiers.
Arkos approached Zhan, his expression grim. "What were those things?"
"Remnants," Zhan said, his voice low. "Fragments of what came before. The amplifiers have awakened them."
"And what will they awaken next?" Arkos asked.
Zhan turned to the amplifiers, his gaze hard. "Whatever lies beneath the sands. And when it rises, we will be ready."
The amplifiers pulsed faintly, their runes shifting as the whispers returned, soft but insistent.
The sands remember. The shards of what was. The shards of what will be.