The dunes outside the ruins were still, their golden expanse bathed in the dim light of the twin moons. Zhan Arkheis emerged from the labyrinth of stone, the shard of the Architect clutched tightly in his hand. The amplifiers in the wagons pulsed faintly, their hum resonating with the shard's power, as though they recognized what he now carried.
The shard was cool against his skin, yet he felt its energy burning through him, a relentless surge that both invigorated and consumed. His vision flickered, strange shapes dancing at the edges of his sight—phantoms of a city long lost to the sands, whispers of voices that were not his own.
"The cycle twists. The sands recoil. The cost stirs."
Zhan gritted his teeth, brushing the whispers aside. He had won. Whatever cost they spoke of was irrelevant.
He was power incarnate now, and the sands would kneel.
By dawn, Zhan had resumed his journey. The shard rested in a small, reinforced case beside the amplifiers, its light seeping faintly through the seams. The Essence it radiated was palpable, an invisible weight that pressed against the air.
The amplifiers responded in kind, their runes glowing brighter, their hum louder than ever. Zhan could feel them pulling at the shard's energy, their power amplifying in ways he had never felt before.
He rode in silence, his mind racing. The shard was a key, that much was clear. But to what? The visions he had seen—the black-stone city, the faceless figures, the obelisk—what did they mean?
The amplifiers pulsed again, their glow flashing brightly, and for a brief moment, the whisper returned.
"The sands do not forget. The shards demand balance."
Zhan's eyes narrowed. "Balance is for the weak," he muttered.
The first sign of trouble came shortly before midday.
Zhan spotted movement on the horizon—a group of riders approaching from the north, their silhouettes dark against the shimmering sands. He reined in his horse, his gray eyes narrowing as he studied them.
They were armed, their weapons glinting faintly in the sunlight. Bandits, perhaps. Or worse, scavengers seeking Essence to trade in the Bone Market.
Zhan smirked. Let them try.
As the riders closed the distance, their leader raised a hand, signaling for the group to stop. They formed a loose semicircle around Zhan, their horses snorting and pawing at the sand.
The leader dismounted, a tall man with a scar running down the side of his face. His armor was mismatched, a patchwork of scavenged pieces, but his movements were deliberate, confident.
"Zhan Arkheis," the man said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "The Scourge of the Sands. I'd say it's an honor, but that would be a lie."
Zhan remained seated, his expression calm. "If you know who I am, then you know this is a mistake."
The man chuckled. "Oh, I know exactly who you are. And I know what you carry." His gaze shifted to the amplifiers, his smile widening. "Word travels fast in the desert. The Bone Market's already buzzing about the Cradle and the shard. They say you've claimed power beyond imagining."
Zhan's lips curled into a faint smile. "And you think you can take it from me?"
The man shrugged, his tone casual. "We don't need to take it. Just you. The shard will fetch a good price, but you... You're worth more alive than dead."
The riders behind him laughed, their weapons gleaming in the sunlight.
Zhan dismounted slowly, his movements deliberate. He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, his gray eyes locked on the leader.
"You should have stayed in the shadows," Zhan said softly. "Now the sands will drink your blood."
The fight was swift and brutal.
Zhan moved like a storm, his blade flashing as he cut through the riders with ruthless efficiency. The amplifiers pulsed with each strike, their glow intensifying as though feeding off the chaos.
The shard's power surged within him, sharpening his senses, quickening his reflexes. He was unstoppable, a force of nature that left the sands stained red.
The leader was the last to fall. He fought well, his strikes precise and deliberate, but Zhan was faster, stronger. The man's blade shattered against Zhan's sword, and in a single, fluid motion, Zhan drove his blade through the man's chest.
The leader fell to his knees, blood pooling around him as he stared up at Zhan.
"You... don't understand what you've taken," the man rasped, his voice weak. "The shard... it's a curse. It'll... destroy you."
Zhan tilted his head, his expression cold. "Then let it try."
He withdrew his blade, and the man collapsed, his lifeless body sinking into the sands.
As the sun began its descent, Zhan stood among the bodies, his sword slick with blood. The amplifiers pulsed softly behind him, their glow casting long shadows across the dunes.
The shard's presence was stronger now, its energy radiating through the air. Zhan could feel it burning in his veins, a searing heat that refused to be ignored.
He sheathed his sword and turned to the amplifiers, his expression unreadable. The whispers returned, faint but insistent.
"The sands drink. The shard stirs. The cost grows."
Zhan smirked, his hand brushing the surface of one of the amplifiers.
"Let the sands drink," he murmured. "They will remember my name."
He climbed onto his horse and continued his journey, leaving the bloodstained sands behind. The shard pulsed faintly in its case, its light flickering like a dying flame.
But deep within, it burned brighter than ever.