Troady along with Lyra and Amylo arrived at Theryz,a small border town located in a deserty area, The winds that swept across Theryz carried whispers — soft, trembling, and almost human. Grains of pale gold sand brushed against the travelers' cloaks, glowing faintly under the evening sun. What once had been a thriving border town now stood still, as if caught between memory and ruin.
The air felt… wrong.
The sky shimmered with faint distortions, like heat mirages. Every breath stung faintly, as if the air itself was rejecting life. The villagers moved slowly, their faces pale, their eyes hollow. A child tried to lift a pail of water from a well, but the bucket's shadow flickered unnaturally — and the water inside turned gray.
Lyra was the first to speak. "This isn't natural," she murmured, brushing sand from her hand. "The ground's dry, but it shouldn't be this dry. It's as if the mana veins beneath Theryz are…"
"Dead," Amylo finished quietly, his voice low and brittle. "The flow's gone. Something's draining it from underneath."
Troady looked around — the cracked walls, the faint glow of fading magic runes carved into the doorways, the soundless wind. It was like standing in a world gasping for its final breath.
They had come here seeking shelter — just another resting point after weeks of journeying through the desert border of the kingdom. But now, even the air seemed cursed.
A man in tattered robes approached them. His eyes darted from Amylo's staff to Troady's sword, hesitant yet desperate. "You travelers… you still carry mana?" he asked hoarsely.
Troady nodded. "A little."
The man's lips quivered. "Then leave. Don't stay in Theryz after nightfall. The sands aren't ours anymore."
Before they could ask, the man stumbled away, muttering under his breath. Something about voices beneath the earth.
Amylo's gaze followed him until he vanished into the distance. "It's worse than I thought," he muttered. "They've started feeding again."
Troady frowned. "Feeding? On what?"
Amylo turned to him, his expression unreadable. "Not what. Who."
They made camp near the town's outskirts as the sun began to sink. The horizon bled red, and the wind shifted — no longer warm, but dry and sharp like powdered glass. Lyra lit a small barrier flame, though it flickered like a dying candle.
Amylo sat apart from them, eyes fixed on the dunes. "This place," he said softly, "was one of the last mana reserves of this region. The veins beneath it run deep — ancient, connected to the old ley lines from before the Fracture."
Troady listened, unease growing in his chest. "So someone's… stealing it?"
Amylo nodded slowly. "Or consuming it. There's a group — an organization that doesn't belong to any known kingdom. They move in shadows, always around dead lands like this. I thought I'd lost their trail after the Frostmere ruins, but…" His voice hardened. "They're here."
Lyra looked up. "You mean the ones that—"
Amylo cut her off with a glare. "Don't say it." His tone dropped to a whisper. "Names hold weight. Especially theirs."
Silence settled over them again. The only sound was the sighing of the sand and the faint hiss of the wind.
Night fell quickly. And with it, the whispers began.
At first, it was faint — a distant hum beneath the dunes. But slowly, the voices grew clearer. Not language, not words — just a pleading, broken rhythm, as if the earth itself was weeping.
Troady stood. "You hear that?"
Amylo didn't move. "I told you. This land isn't empty. It's bleeding."
The sand near their camp trembled. Tiny streams of golden dust began spiraling upward, glowing faintly. Lyra's flame sputtered and died.
From the dunes, something began to rise — not a creature, but a shape. A distorted mass of mana and memory, writhing like smoke with glowing eyes deep inside. It screamed — a sound that tore through air and thought alike.
Amylo's eyes widened. "A Wraithspawn," he muttered. "Born from drained mana. They shouldn't exist outside cursed zones."
Troady stepped forward, drawing his sword. "Then let's make sure it doesn't exist here either."
The battle was short but brutal. Each strike from Troady's blade tore through sand and light, but the creature reformed again and again. Lyra's barriers barely held as Amylo unleashed bursts of flame that turned the ground to glass. The heat distorted everything — sky, air, even thought.
Finally, Troady drove his blade deep into the creature's core, and Amylo's flame surged through it, consuming it in a blinding flash.
Silence returned — but it was different now. Heavy. Watching.
Amylo wiped the ash from his hands. "That wasn't random. That thing was placed here. Someone wanted to erase this village's mana source."
Troady looked toward the horizon — the dunes stretching endlessly, like a golden sea swallowing the stars. "Then whoever did this… they're still close."
Amylo nodded grimly. "Closer than you think."
The last embers of the night flickered over Theryz. In the distance, a faint shimmer appeared — a structure half-buried in the sand, pulsing faintly with blue light.
Lyra pointed. "There. Beneath the dunes."
Amylo's eyes narrowed. "That's no ruin. That's a siphon."
And in that moment, the wind stopped — completely. The desert held its breath. Something ancient had awakened, and the Whispering Sands began to stir.
To Be Continued
Written By:-Punit Israni
Enhanced By:-Chatgpt