The blinding light receded, leaving the chamber bathed in a dim, pulsating glow. The air was thick with Essence, so dense it seemed to press against their skin, making every breath feel heavier. The runes along the walls shifted, their glow moving like liquid fire, casting jagged shadows across the soldiers' pale faces.
Zhan Arkheis stood at the center of it all, his hands resting firmly on the altar. His crimson cloak hung still despite the strange, unfelt winds that stirred the mist around him. The soldiers had frozen at the voice, their fear palpable as it echoed again, a sound so deep it seemed to shake the marrow of their bones.
"You speak as though the sands owe you something, mortal."
The voice was everywhere and nowhere, vast and ancient, carrying with it a weight of knowledge and scorn. Zhan did not flinch.
"They owe me nothing," Zhan replied, his voice sharp and deliberate. "But I will take what the sands have buried. And I will wield it."
A deep rumble spread through the chamber, like distant thunder rolling across a storm-wracked sky. The soldiers exchanged glances, their hands tightening on their weapons.
Arkos stepped forward, his voice low but firm. "Zhan, whatever this is, we're not prepared for it. We don't even know what we're dealing with."
"We're dealing with power," Zhan said, his gaze fixed on the altar.
"No," the voice boomed, cutting through their exchange. "You are dealing with the weight of eternity. A weight that will crush you, as it has crushed countless others before you."
The runes on the altar flared, and the mist in the chamber began to coalesce. Slowly, a figure took shape—tall, indistinct, its form flickering as though caught between realities. Its face was a void, a swirling abyss that seemed to draw the light into itself.
The soldiers recoiled, murmurs of panic rising among them.
"What is that?" someone whispered.
"A fragment of the Architect," Zhan said calmly.
The figure shifted, its void-like head tilting as it regarded Zhan. "You know what I am, and yet you stand before me. Bold. Or foolish."
"Why not both?" Zhan said, his lips curling into a faint smile.
The soldiers' unease grew with every passing second. The presence of the fragment was overwhelming, a crushing weight that seemed to grind against their very souls. One man dropped his sword, the clatter echoing in the chamber like a gunshot.
"Enough of this!" Arkos snapped, stepping forward. "Whatever game you're playing, Zhan, it ends here. This isn't something you can fight or control."
Zhan turned to Arkos, his expression cold. "Do you think I came this far to stop now?"
"This isn't power," Arkos said, gesturing toward the fragment. "This is suicide. You're gambling with all of our lives, and for what? A chance to wield something you don't even understand?"
Zhan's gaze didn't waver. "I understand enough. The sands bend to strength. The Architect's power will be mine, and with it, the sands will kneel."
"And if they don't?" Arkos asked, his voice rising. "What happens when this thing decides to crush you instead? What happens to the men, to everything you've built, when you're gone?"
For a moment, the chamber fell silent, the tension between the two men hanging heavy in the air.
Then the fragment spoke.
"He will not kneel. But he will break."
The words sent a ripple through the chamber, the runes along the walls flaring brightly. Zhan turned back to the fragment, his voice steady.
"Try me."
The fragment extended an arm, its void-like form shifting as it reached toward Zhan. The air grew colder, heavier, and the runes on the altar pulsed in time with the amplifiers outside.
"You seek power," the fragment said, its voice a low rumble. "But power is not given. It is earned through sacrifice."
Zhan's hand tightened on the altar. "Then let me show you what I'm willing to sacrifice."
The fragment paused, as though considering his words. Then the light in the chamber dimmed, and the soldiers felt a sudden, crushing pressure that drove them to their knees.
Only Zhan remained standing, his gray eyes locked on the fragment.
"Prove it," the fragment said.
Without hesitation, Zhan drew his blade and turned to the soldiers behind him. The men stared at him in disbelief, their faces pale and filled with dread.
"My lord," one of them stammered, "what are you—"
"Sacrifice demands blood," Zhan said, his voice cold and unyielding. "And the sands remember."
He raised his blade, but before he could strike, Arkos stepped forward, his own sword drawn.
"That's enough," Arkos said, his voice hard. "You've gone too far, Zhan."
Zhan's eyes narrowed. "Do not test me, Arkos."
"This isn't about testing you," Arkos said, stepping between Zhan and the soldiers. "It's about stopping you before you lose what little humanity you have left."
For a moment, the two men faced off, their gazes locked. The fragment watched silently, its presence a looming weight in the background.
"You think you can stop me?" Zhan asked, his voice low and dangerous.
"I think someone has to," Arkos replied.
The chamber grew still, the tension between them thick enough to choke on. Then Zhan lowered his blade, his lips curling into a faint smile.
"Very well," he said. "I'll find another way."
Zhan turned back to the fragment, his posture unshaken.
"You want proof of my resolve?" he said. "Then take it."
He placed his hand on the altar, the Essence flowing through him like fire. The runes flared, and the fragment tilted its head, its void-like face shifting.
The air grew heavier, the chamber trembling as the fragment extended its arm once more. The light dimmed, and for a moment, it felt as though the world itself held its breath.
Then the fragment spoke.
"You are unyielding, mortal. But unyielding stone is the first to crack. We will see if you are worthy of what lies beyond."
The fragment dissolved into mist, its form dissipating as the runes on the altar burned brighter. The gate behind them shifted, its edges pulsing with new energy.
The soldiers watched in stunned silence as the air around the altar grew still once more.
"What happens now?" Arkos asked, his voice wary.
"Now," Zhan said, turning toward the gate, "we enter the Architect's domain."
He stepped forward, his gray eyes alight with determination.
"The sands will kneel," he said softly, the words a promise. "One way or another."