The caravan pressed forward under a sky choked with dust, the suns hidden behind swirling clouds of sand. The dunes rose and fell in endless waves, their peaks catching the faint light and casting long, jagged shadows over the horizon. It was as if the desert itself was alive, shifting and writhing beneath the caravan's slow crawl.
The amplifiers hummed steadily from the wagons at the center of the formation, their glow flickering faintly through the heavy canvas coverings. Though no one spoke of it, the sound seemed louder today, more insistent, as if the devices were restless.
Zhan Arkheis felt it too. The amplifiers tugged at the edges of his mind, their whispers now a constant presence. He welcomed the sensation, seeing it not as a burden but as a reminder of the power he carried.
Beside him, Arkos rode in silence, his hand resting loosely on the hilt of his sword. The tension between them from the previous night still lingered, but neither man acknowledged it.
"They've held together," Zhan said, breaking the silence.
"For now," Arkos replied without looking at him.
Zhan's lips twitched into a faint smile. "You always doubt, Arkos. Perhaps that is why you've survived this long."
"And perhaps that is why I can see what you refuse to," Arkos said. His voice was calm, but his words carried a sharp edge.
Zhan chuckled softly. "And what is that?"
"That you're pushing them too far," Arkos said. "You think fear and power are enough to hold them. But even the strongest chain snaps under too much strain."
Zhan didn't answer immediately. His gaze swept over the dunes, his expression thoughtful. Finally, he said, "If the chain snaps, it was never strong enough to begin with."
Arkos sighed, shaking his head. "You always have an answer, don't you?"
"Only because I'm always right," Zhan replied, his tone laced with cold amusement.
The caravan came to a halt near midday, the heat of the desert pressing down on them like a suffocating weight. The soldiers moved sluggishly, their faces slick with sweat as they unpacked supplies and set up a temporary camp.
Zhan dismounted and walked toward the amplifiers, his boots sinking into the sand with each step. The devices pulsed faintly, their glow casting eerie patterns on the wagons that carried them. He placed a hand on one of them, feeling the steady hum of Essence beneath his fingers.
The whispers surged in his mind, clearer than before.
"The shards align. The Architect awakens. The sands will swallow all."
Zhan's grip tightened on the amplifier. The words were different this time—more direct, more threatening. He closed his eyes, letting the whispers guide him, their rhythm pulling him into a trance-like state.
Visions flickered behind his closed eyelids. A city, vast and crumbling, its towers collapsing into the sands. A figure cloaked in shadow, its form shifting and indistinct. And a voice, low and resonant, speaking a single word.
"Soon."
"Zhan!"
The sharp voice pulled him back to the present. He turned to see Arkos approaching, his expression tense.
"What is it?" Zhan asked, his tone sharper than intended.
"Scouts," Arkos said. "They spotted movement to the west. A large group—too disciplined to be scavengers."
Zhan's eyes narrowed. "Nyrah."
"Most likely," Arkos said. "They've been shadowing us for days. It was only a matter of time before they caught up."
Zhan's lips curled into a faint smile. "Good. Let them come. The sands will greet them as they greeted the last war band."
Arkos hesitated. "These are not the same men we fought before. They'll be ready for us this time."
"Then we'll teach them that preparation means nothing when faced with true power," Zhan said.
Arkos frowned but didn't argue. He turned and began shouting orders, the camp springing into motion as soldiers prepared for the coming battle.
By the time the enemy arrived, the twin suns had dipped low in the sky, casting the desert in hues of orange and crimson. The Nyrah war band moved with precision, their banners snapping in the wind as they approached in a tight formation.
Zhan stood at the front of his own lines, his crimson cloak billowing behind him. The amplifiers hummed louder now, their glow visible even through the heavy coverings. He could feel their energy coursing through him, a steady pulse that set his nerves alight.
The Nyrah commander rode forward, a woman clad in golden armor that shimmered in the dying light. Her helm obscured her face, but her voice was clear and commanding as it carried across the dunes.
"Zhan Arkheis," she called. "Scourge of the Sands. You have defied Nyrah for the last time."
Zhan tilted his head, his expression calm. "Is that what Jaeral said before the sands swallowed him? Or was it Rathor? I forget."
The commander didn't rise to the bait. "You wield power you do not understand," she said. "Return the amplifiers, and we may yet spare you."
Zhan chuckled softly. "Spare me? You speak as if you have the power to do so."
"Do not mistake your victories for invincibility," the commander said. "You are a blight on this desert, Arkheis. And we are the cure."
Zhan's smile faded, his eyes narrowing. "Come, then," he said, his voice cold. "Let me show you how the sands deal with those who think themselves righteous."
The battle began with a thunderous charge.
Nyrah's riders surged forward, their Essence weapons glowing faintly in the twilight. Zhan's soldiers braced for the impact, their shields locking into a wall as arrows rained down from the enemy ranks.
The amplifiers flared to life, their glow spreading across the battlefield as Zhan raised his hand. The sand beneath the riders shifted violently, rising in jagged spikes that tore through armor and flesh. Horses screamed as they were pulled down, their riders thrown into the chaos.
At the center of the battlefield, Zhan moved like a force of nature. His blade cut through enemy soldiers with ruthless precision, the Essence in his armor flaring with each strike. Around him, the amplifiers unleashed waves of energy, sending ripples through the sands that disrupted the enemy's formation.
But Nyrah was prepared. Their soldiers regrouped quickly, their formation tightening as they pressed forward. The commander rode through the chaos, her golden armor gleaming as she directed her forces with calm precision.
Zhan's gaze locked onto her, his eyes gleaming with cold determination. He stepped forward, cutting through the enemy ranks as he closed the distance between them.
The commander turned to face him, her sword flashing as it met his. For a moment, the battlefield seemed to hold its breath as their blades clashed, Essence sparking between them.
"You are no god, Arkheis," the commander said, her voice steady. "And even gods can bleed."
Zhan's lips curled into a faint smile. "But I am not the one who will bleed tonight."
Their battle raged on, their movements a blur of steel and Essence as the sands shifted beneath them. Around them, the battle continued, the air thick with the sounds of clashing weapons and dying screams.
As the suns dipped below the horizon, the desert was bathed in darkness, lit only by the faint glow of the amplifiers.
And the sands remembered.