The caravan moved under the cover of dusk, the cool winds of the desert brushing away the heat of the day. The sands were quiet tonight, their usual hum of shifting dunes muted as if the land itself was holding its breath. The amplifiers pulsed faintly from their wagons, their glow muted but constant, casting an eerie light across the sand.
Zhan Arkheis rode at the head of the column, his gaze fixed on the horizon. Behind him, the soldiers moved in near silence, their usual banter replaced by an unspoken tension. The events of the last battle lingered in their minds—the amplifiers' eruption of power, the blackened sands, and the haunting whispers that had followed.
Arkos rode beside him, his posture stiff. He had barely spoken since their encounter with the traveler, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. Zhan let the silence stretch, using it to focus on the whispers threading through his mind.
"The sands shift. The Architect watches. The market waits."
The last phrase tugged at his attention, pulling him from his thoughts.
"The market," Zhan murmured.
Arkos glanced at him. "What did you say?"
"We'll resupply at the Bone Market," Zhan said, his tone matter-of-fact.
Arkos frowned. "You trust those scavengers?"
"I don't need to trust them," Zhan replied. "I need to use them."
The Bone Market came into view as the last traces of sunlight disappeared beyond the dunes. It was a sprawling expanse of tents and makeshift stalls, illuminated by flickering Essence lamps that gave the entire place an otherworldly glow. The market was alive with noise—haggling, shouting, and the occasional clash of blades as deals went south.
It was a place of shadows and secrets, where anything could be bought for the right price—Essence, weapons, artifacts, and even people.
Zhan dismounted as the caravan entered the outer ring of the market. His soldiers kept close, their hands on their weapons, their eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of danger.
"Stay alert," Zhan said, his voice sharp. "The Bone Market doesn't forgive carelessness."
Arkos nodded, gesturing for the men to fan out and secure the wagons. The amplifiers were carefully guarded, hidden under heavy coverings to avoid drawing unwanted attention.
Zhan strode through the market with purpose, his presence commanding attention despite the chaos around him. Traders and mercenaries alike gave him a wide berth, their murmurs trailing in his wake.
"That's Arkheis…"
"The Fléau des Sables…"
"They say he carries the amplifiers…"
Zhan ignored the whispers, his gaze fixed on the largest tent near the center of the market. The tent was marked with the sigil of the Shard Broker, one of the most powerful figures in the Bone Market.
Inside the tent, the air was thick with the scent of incense and Essence smoke. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with artifacts, scrolls, and jars filled with strange, glowing substances. At the center of the room sat the Shard Broker—a wiry man with sharp features and eyes that glowed faintly with imbued Essence.
"Zhan Arkheis," the Broker said, his voice smooth and calculated. "To what do I owe the honor of your presence?"
Zhan stepped forward, his expression cold. "I need information."
The Broker leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Information is a valuable commodity, my lord. What are you willing to trade?"
Zhan's lips curled into a faint smile. "Your continued existence."
The Broker chuckled, though there was a nervous edge to the sound. "A fair price," he said. "What do you seek?"
"The amplifiers," Zhan said. "What do you know of their origin?"
The Broker's smile faded slightly, his gaze narrowing. "Ah… the amplifiers. A dangerous curiosity."
"Answer the question," Zhan said, his tone sharp.
The Broker hesitated, then sighed. "The amplifiers are fragments, my lord. Pieces of something far greater. They were forged in the depths of the Great Abyss, in a time when the desert was not sand but stone and sky. They are… remnants of the Architect's will."
Zhan's eyes narrowed. "And what does the Architect want?"
The Broker's gaze flicked to the shadows of the tent, as if expecting something to emerge. "The Architect does not want, my lord. It is not a being, not in the way we understand. It is… a force. A cycle. It creates and destroys, over and over, shaping the sands in its image."
"And the amplifiers?" Zhan pressed.
"They are its tools," the Broker said. "They grant power, yes, but they also bind. Those who use them become part of the cycle, whether they intend to or not."
Zhan's expression darkened. "And how does one break the cycle?"
The Broker's smile returned, faint but mocking. "Break the cycle? My lord, the cycle is not something to be broken. It is the nature of the sands. To defy it is to defy the desert itself."
Zhan stepped closer, his voice low and dangerous. "Everything can be broken. The cycle. The sands. Even the Architect."
The Broker held his gaze for a long moment, then chuckled softly. "Perhaps. But such defiance comes at a cost."
Outside the tent, Arkos waited with the soldiers, his patience wearing thin. The market made him uneasy—the people, the deals being made, the undercurrent of danger that seemed to hum beneath it all.
When Zhan emerged, his expression was unreadable, but Arkos knew better than to ask.
"What now?" Arkos said.
Zhan glanced toward the amplifiers, their faint glow visible even through the heavy coverings.
"Now," Zhan said, his voice cold, "we prepare. The sands have a long memory, Arkos. And so do I."
As the caravan prepared to leave the Bone Market, the amplifiers pulsed faintly, their hum blending with the whispers of the desert.
"The shards align. The Architect waits. The sands remember."
Zhan's lips curled into a faint smile. Let the sands remember, he thought. Soon, they would remember him as well.