The desert was a vast, shifting expanse of gold under the pale light of the twin suns. The bodies of the Nyric enforcers were long behind Zhan Arkheis, buried by the ever-shifting dunes, but their final words clung to him like the desert's heat.
"The sands will bury you, Arkheis. Just as they have buried all who came before you."
He shook the thought away. The amplifiers hummed in their wagons, their glow flickering faintly in rhythm with the shard's steady pulse. The shard itself rested in its reinforced case, its light barely contained as its Essence radiated into the air around it.
Zhan's gray eyes scanned the horizon as he rode. The desert stretched endlessly, but he could feel something pulling him forward, as if the shard itself was guiding him. The whispers in his mind grew louder with each passing hour.
"The sands drink. The shard stirs. The debt comes due."
As the sun began to set, Zhan spotted a cluster of ruins ahead. Unlike the Cradle or the black-stone city in his visions, these ruins were smaller, their broken walls and crumbled towers half-buried in the sand. Still, there was something about them—a strange, lingering presence that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
He dismounted, his boots crunching softly against the sand as he approached. The amplifiers pulsed faintly behind him, their glow growing brighter as he neared the ruins.
The air was heavier here, thick with Essence that seemed to press against his skin. The shard's light seeped through its case, its glow flickering like a flame caught in a storm.
"The cycle watches. The sands remember."
Zhan drew his sword, its blade humming faintly with his own Essence. He stepped into the ruins, his gray eyes scanning the shadows. The walls were etched with ancient runes, their faint glow casting strange patterns across the broken stone.
At the center of the ruins, a circular platform lay partially buried in the sand. The amplifiers' hum grew louder as Zhan approached, their runes flaring brightly.
"What is this place?" Zhan murmured.
The whispers surged, their tone sharp and accusatory.
"The debt is here. The cycle waits no longer."
Zhan stepped onto the platform, the shard pulsing violently in its case. The air around him shimmered, the Essence in the ruins swirling like a storm. The runes on the platform flared to life, their light blazing as the sands around him began to shift.
The ground trembled beneath his feet, and a low, resonant sound filled the air—a sound that seemed to come from the ruins themselves.
And then the sands parted.
A massive figure rose from the earth, its form towering and indistinct. It was made of sand and Essence, its body shifting and flickering like a mirage. Its face was a void, a swirling abyss that seemed to draw the light into itself.
"Zhan Arkheis," the figure said, its voice vast and unyielding. "You have taken what was never yours. The shard is bound to the cycle. And the cycle demands balance."
Zhan didn't flinch. He tightened his grip on his sword, his gray eyes cold and unyielding. "The cycle is a prison," he said. "And I will break it."
The figure's form flickered, its voice carrying a note of fury. "You do not understand what you seek to destroy. The shard is not power. It is debt. A debt that must be paid."
"Then let it come," Zhan said, his voice steady. "I have given everything. I will give more, if that's what it takes."
The figure loomed closer, the air around it crackling with energy. "You have given nothing. The sands have drunk the blood of your men, but their debt was not yours to pay. Now, Zhan Arkheis, the sands will take what is owed."
The ground erupted beneath him as tendrils of sand surged upward, twisting and writhing like living things. Zhan moved instinctively, his blade flashing as he slashed through the tendrils. Each strike sent a ripple of Essence through the air, but the tendrils reformed almost instantly, their movements relentless.
The amplifiers flared behind him, their glow intensifying as they fed on the shard's power. Zhan could feel the Essence coursing through him, sharpening his reflexes, strengthening his strikes.
The sand figure loomed closer, its form flickering as it reached toward him.
"The sands remember, Arkheis. They remember the blood you spilled, the lives you took. And they will bury you, as they have buried all who defied the cycle."
Zhan snarled, his blade cutting through another tendril. "The sands bow to strength. They will remember my name."
The figure tilted its void-like head, its voice cold. "They will remember your failure."
The battle raged on, the air thick with Essence and the sound of clashing steel. Zhan moved with the precision of a predator, his strikes calculated and unrelenting. But the figure was unyielding, its tendrils of sand reforming faster than he could destroy them.
The shard's power surged within him, burning through his veins like fire. The whispers in his mind became a roar, their words crashing over him like waves.
"The sands drink. The shard burns. The debt consumes."
Zhan's vision blurred, the edges of the world dissolving into light and shadow. He could feel the weight of the shard pressing against him, its energy threatening to overwhelm him.
But he refused to yield.
With a roar, he channeled all of his Essence into his blade, its edge flaring with light as he struck at the figure. The blade cut through its void-like face, and for a moment, the figure froze, its form flickering violently.
The tendrils of sand collapsed, the air growing still. The figure's voice echoed one last time, faint and distant.
"The debt is not paid, Arkheis. It will find you. It always does."
And then it was gone.
Zhan stood alone in the ruins, his chest heaving as the echoes of the battle faded. The amplifiers pulsed faintly behind him, their glow dimmer now. The shard's light flickered weakly in its case, its energy drained.
He sheathed his sword, his gray eyes scanning the ruins. The runes on the platform had gone dark, their light extinguished.
The whispers in his mind had fallen silent.
For a long moment, Zhan said nothing. Then he turned and walked back toward his horse, his steps slow and deliberate.
"The sands will kneel," he murmured, his voice a promise. "Even if I must bury them myself."