The caravan trudged onward through the Great Abyss, the twin suns baking the sands into waves of shimmering heat. The soldiers moved with the mechanical efficiency of men too afraid to question their orders, though their eyes betrayed their unease. The amplifiers pulsed faintly from their wagons, their hum a low and steady backdrop to the sound of shifting sand and creaking wood.
Zhan Arkheis rode at the head of the caravan, his expression unreadable. The power he had claimed in the Architect's domain coursed through him, filling every corner of his being with a simmering energy. It was intoxicating, a constant reminder of what he had achieved.
And yet, something gnawed at him. The whispers had grown fainter since he had left the spire, but their tone had shifted. Where once they carried promises of power, now they murmured of something else.
"The cost looms. The sands remember. The shards recoil."
He shook off the thought and pressed onward.
At midday, the caravan reached a cluster of jagged rocks that jutted from the dunes like broken teeth. The formation provided some shade, and Zhan ordered the soldiers to make camp.
Arkos approached as the men unloaded the wagons, his expression tight.
"The men need rest," he said. "They've been pushing hard since we left the Cradle."
"They'll rest when we reach the next waypoint," Zhan replied, his tone clipped.
"They'll collapse before we get there," Arkos countered.
Zhan turned to him, his gray eyes cold. "If they collapse, they weren't strong enough to follow me."
Arkos stared at him, his jaw tightening. "You talk about strength like it's the only thing that matters. But these men are more than tools, Zhan. They're people. They bleed. They break."
"And those who break will be left behind," Zhan said sharply. "The sands do not forgive weakness, Arkos. Neither do I."
Arkos took a step closer, his voice dropping. "You're not leading an army anymore. You're building a graveyard."
Zhan's lips curled into a faint smile. "Then let it be a monument to those who dared to follow greatness."
Arkos didn't respond. He turned and walked away, his posture rigid with frustration.
That night, the camp was quiet. The soldiers gathered in small groups, their conversations hushed. The amplifiers glowed faintly in the center of the camp, their hum a constant reminder of the power Zhan carried with him.
Arkos sat near the edge of the camp, his sword resting across his knees. He stared into the fire, his thoughts dark. The men had been coming to him more often lately, their fear palpable as they whispered their concerns about Zhan.
"He's not the same," they would say.
"The amplifiers... they've changed him."
"We can't keep going like this."
Arkos couldn't ignore it anymore. He had followed Zhan for years, through battles and bloodshed, through victories and defeats. But this was different. Whatever Zhan had claimed in the Cradle, it had shifted something fundamental in him.
And Arkos wasn't sure he could follow him much longer.
Zhan stood alone near the amplifiers, his hand resting on one of the devices. The runes glowed faintly under his touch, their patterns shifting in response to his Essence.
The whispers returned, faint but insistent.
"The cost looms. The cycle twists. The shards resist."
He closed his eyes, letting the words wash over him. The whispers had been growing more erratic, their tone sharper, almost accusatory. It was as if the amplifiers themselves were questioning him.
"What do you want from me?" he murmured.
The amplifier pulsed once, its glow intensifying. The whispers surged, their cadence quickening.
"The sands bow, but not forever. The cycle bends, but does not break. The Architect watches."
Zhan's eyes snapped open, his hand tightening on the amplifier. "Let it watch," he said softly. "It will see what I am capable of."
At the far edge of the camp, a group of soldiers huddled together, their voices low.
"He's going to get us all killed," one of them said. "Did you see what happened back at the Cradle? The way he just left those men behind?"
"He doesn't care about us," another replied. "He only cares about the amplifiers. About his power."
"What do we do?"
The group fell silent, their fear evident. Finally, one of them spoke, his voice steady but quiet.
"We go to Arkos," he said. "He's the only one who can stop him."
Arkos was still sitting by the fire when the soldiers approached him. He looked up, his expression wary as he saw their faces.
"What is it?" he asked.
One of them stepped forward, his hands fidgeting nervously. "Captain, we... we need to talk. About Zhan."
Arkos's eyes narrowed. "What about him?"
The soldier hesitated, then blurted, "He's losing it. The amplifiers, the power... it's changing him. He's not the man we followed into the Abyss. He's—"
"Enough," Arkos said sharply, cutting him off.
The soldier flinched but didn't back down. "You know I'm right," he said quietly. "You've seen it. He's going to destroy us, Arkos. If we don't do something, he's going to take us all down with him."
Arkos stared at the soldier for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he stood, his sword in hand.
"Go back to your posts," he said.
"But—"
"Now," Arkos snapped.
The soldiers hesitated, then retreated, their whispers following them into the darkness.
Arkos turned back to the fire, his grip tightening on his sword. He could feel the weight of their words pressing down on him, the truth of them undeniable.
But what could he do? Zhan was more than a leader now. He was a force, one that even Arkos wasn't sure he could stop.
For the first time, Arkos felt a flicker of something he hadn't felt in years.
Doubt.
The amplifiers pulsed faintly as Zhan stood over them, his thoughts dark and heavy. The whispers had gone silent, but their weight lingered, pressing against his mind like a storm waiting to break.
He glanced toward the edge of the camp, where Arkos sat by the fire. He could see the tension in his posture, the way his hand lingered on his sword.
"Doubt is a disease," Zhan murmured. "And it spreads."
His lips curled into a faint smile. If Arkos doubted him, he would remind him of the strength that had brought them this far.
No matter the cost.