The desert sky hung low, its deep orange hue blurring the horizon where the twin suns burned faintly behind the haze. The sands glimmered like crushed glass, their deceptive beauty hiding the unforgiving wasteland they were. The caravan crawled forward, slower with each passing hour. It wasn't the terrain that slowed them—it was fear.
The soldiers moved sluggishly, their movements hollow. Whispers of the previous night's battle had spread like wildfire among them. No one knew what the shadows had been, only that they were unlike anything human. The men whispered about curses, about ancient spirits, and about the amplifiers that seemed to draw these horrors toward them.
Zhan Arkheis, as always, led from the front, his posture as rigid as the jagged rocks jutting from the dunes. To look at him was to see invulnerability—a figure immune to doubt or weakness. But to Zhan, the silence that hung over the caravan was deafening.
The camp that evening was not like the ones before.
The fires were smaller, and the conversations barely rose above murmurs. Soldiers sat in huddled groups, avoiding even the slightest glance toward the amplifiers. Their glow seemed harsher tonight, more insistent, as though they were watching.
Arkos sat at one of the smaller fires, his hands idly cleaning his sword. His eyes, however, were fixed on the amplifiers at the center of the camp. He hadn't touched his food, hadn't spoken much since the shadows attacked.
"Are you still with me, Arkos?"
The question came out of the darkness behind him, cutting through the quiet like the whisper of a blade. Arkos flinched slightly but didn't turn.
"My lord," he replied, his tone measured, "where else would I go?"
Zhan emerged from the shadows, his crimson cloak faintly illuminated by the flickering firelight. His expression was as impassive as ever, though his gaze was sharp as it settled on his second-in-command.
"That wasn't an answer."
Arkos finally looked up, his face tired but defiant. "I am here, aren't I?"
Zhan sat across from him, the firelight reflecting off his gray eyes. He said nothing for a long moment, the silence between them stretching taut.
"Do you know what I see when I look at them?" Zhan said finally, his voice low.
Arkos followed his gaze to the amplifiers. "Monsters," he said bluntly.
Zhan smirked faintly, though there was no humor in it. "I see potential. I see a path that no one else dares to walk."
Arkos exhaled sharply, his grip tightening on his sword. "And what happens when that path leads to our graves? The men… they're afraid. They won't say it to your face, but I see it in their eyes. They don't trust the amplifiers, and they don't trust you."
Zhan's expression didn't change, but his voice hardened. "Fear is a tool. It sharpens their instincts, keeps them alive."
"Until it breaks them," Arkos countered. "These men followed you because they believed in your strength. But now… now they believe you've brought something worse than Nyrah down on us."
Zhan's eyes narrowed, his voice cold. "And what do you believe, Arkos?"
Arkos didn't flinch. "I believe there's a line between strength and madness. And I think you're dancing dangerously close to it."
For a moment, the tension between them was suffocating. Then Zhan stood, his cloak sweeping behind him as he turned toward the amplifiers.
"Madness is what people call strength they don't understand," Zhan said. His voice was quieter now, almost introspective. "The sands remember, Arkos. They remember what power looks like. And I will carve my name into them, no matter the cost."
Arkos stared at his back, his jaw tightening. "And if the sands remember nothing but ashes when you're done?"
Zhan didn't answer. He walked away, leaving Arkos alone with his thoughts.
Later that night, Zhan sat alone near the amplifiers.
The whispers were louder now, almost a hum in his thoughts. He placed his hand on one of the devices, feeling its warmth beneath his fingers. The runes pulsed faintly, and for a moment, the whispers formed words.
"The sands remember. The Architect watches."
His hand clenched into a fist. "Let it watch," he murmured.
But even as he spoke, he felt the weight of doubt pressing against his chest. The vision from the ruins, the words of the cloaked figure—they lingered in his mind, gnawing at the edges of his certainty.
Was he truly in control of the amplifiers, or were they leading him?
A sound broke his thoughts.
Footsteps, soft and hesitant, approached from the darkness. Zhan looked up, his gaze sharp, and saw one of the younger soldiers standing a few paces away. The boy couldn't have been more than twenty, his face pale and his hands shaking as he clutched the hilt of his sword.
"My lord," the boy stammered, his voice barely audible. "I… I need to speak with you."
Zhan tilted his head. "Speak, then."
The boy hesitated, his eyes flicking toward the amplifiers. "It's the devices, my lord. They… they're wrong. They're cursed. The men, we… we can't…"
His words faltered, but Zhan didn't let him finish.
"You fear what you don't understand," Zhan said, his tone icy. "But fear is weakness. If you let it control you, it will kill you faster than any blade."
The boy's knuckles turned white as he gripped his sword. "It's not just me. It's all of us. They whisper to us, my lord. They… they speak of death."
For a moment, Zhan said nothing. Then he rose to his feet, his presence towering over the young soldier.
"Do you know why you're still alive?" Zhan asked, his voice low.
The boy swallowed hard. "No, my lord."
"Because you're useful to me," Zhan said. "But that usefulness has limits. If your fear makes you useless, the sands will claim you. Do you understand?"
The boy nodded quickly, his breaths shallow.
"Good," Zhan said, his gaze hard. "Now go. And tell the others that the amplifiers are not their enemy. Their fear is."
The boy stumbled away, disappearing into the shadows. Zhan watched him go, his jaw tightening.
"They don't understand," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
"No," came a voice behind him. "But maybe they shouldn't have to."
Zhan turned sharply to see Arkos standing nearby, his arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but his voice carried a quiet weight.
"You can crush their fear for a while," Arkos said. "But fear doesn't go away, Zhan. It festers. It breaks people from the inside."
"And what would you have me do?" Zhan snapped. "Let them abandon the amplifiers? Let Nyrah bury us in the sand?"
"I'd have you remember that they're human," Arkos said simply. "And so are you."
For a moment, the two men stared at each other in silence. Then Arkos turned and walked away, leaving Zhan alone with the amplifiers.
The whispers returned, louder this time, and Zhan closed his eyes.
"The sands remember," they said, their tone almost mocking.
Zhan exhaled slowly. "And so will I."