The wind howled like an unending scream as they approached the eastern ridge. The ruined temple rose from the dunes like the skeleton of a forgotten god — half-buried, its once-golden spires cracked and darkened. Strange glyphs pulsed faintly along the walls, bleeding a dull crimson light.
Lyra stopped mid-step, her voice tight. "The leyline… it's screaming. The energy flow's been reversed."
Amylo's expression hardened. "Lukes is using the leyline as an anchor — twisting it into his personal mana conduit. Every second he holds it, this region dies a little more."
Troady looked up at the massive, open archway of the temple. A faint hum vibrated in the air — like a chorus whispering behind reality itself. "Feels like the air's alive."
Amylo nodded grimly. "It is. Lukes' mana doesn't corrupt the body… it corrupts perception. The temple's already under his illusion field. Once we step inside, everything we see can — and will — lie."
Troady drew a slow breath. "So we trust nothing."
"Exactly," Amylo said. "Not even me."
They entered the temple.
The moment they crossed the threshold, the world shifted. The heat vanished. The light dimmed. It was as if time had stopped — replaced by an endless twilight. Statues lined the grand corridor, but their faces changed each time Troady blinked: human, beast, shadow, then back again.
Lyra gripped her staff tighter. "He's distorting reality in waves. My perception spells are useless."
Amylo raised his hand, his fingers glowing faintly orange as he traced a rune in the air. "Don't rely on sight. Feel the mana pulse. Follow its rhythm. That's where the truth is."
Troady closed his eyes, focusing. Amidst the chaos, he felt it — a steady, cold heartbeat beneath the illusions. It throbbed from the temple's core.
"There," he said. "Down the main chamber."
They pressed onward, but the deeper they went, the more their surroundings warped. The walls twisted into endless spirals. The floor felt like liquid sand. At one point, Troady turned and saw himself walking behind — only for the reflection to grin and vanish.
Then a voice echoed — smooth, commanding, and calm.
"You trespass in my cradle of reason… and expect to survive?"
The air trembled. Sand burst upward, forming a colossal figure draped in tattered robes of gold and red. A mask of obsidian concealed his face, and his voice carried the weight of authority.
"General Lukes." Amylo's tone was low, burning with fury.
The figure tilted its head. "Ah… my wayward pupil. I wondered when guilt would drag you here. You always had such a… fiery sense of justice. A pity it blinded you."
Amylo's hands clenched, fire flickering around his palms. "You destroyed entire villages for experiments. Don't call it reason."
"Emotion breeds decay," Lukes said, stepping closer, his form flickering between solid and spectral. "What I do is refinement — the purification of mana. I merely strip away what is unnecessary: sentiment, fear… mercy."
Troady stepped forward. "You're draining people's lives. That's not refinement — that's murder."
Lukes turned to him, his gaze piercing even through the mask. "And yet… you reek of death yourself, child. Tell me — when the gods resurrected you, did they gift you purpose? Or only confusion?"
Troady's breath caught. The voice slid into his mind like poison. He felt flashes — the moment of his death, the light, God's words. He staggered.
Lyra shouted, "Troady! He's inside your mind — fight it!"
Amylo raised both hands, channeling flames that swirled around his arms like molten serpents. "Get out of his head!"
He unleashed a massive wave of fire. The flames hit Lukes directly — only to pass straight through. The general's form shimmered, then multiplied — dozens of identical Lukes standing in a circle around them.
"You can't burn what isn't real," all of them spoke at once. "You can only burn yourself."
The illusions closed in. Lyra erected a barrier, but cracks spidered through it instantly. Troady gritted his teeth, gripping his sword.
"Then we fight through lies," he muttered. "Amylo — flare point, left side!"
Amylo nodded instantly. "Got it!"
Troady dashed forward, cutting through one illusion after another. Every strike passed through sand, but each swing revealed brief glimpses of truth — flashes of the real temple beneath the falsehood. Amylo followed his lead, igniting the air in controlled bursts that shattered the projections one by one.
Lyra's barrier finally burst, unleashing a shockwave of raw energy. "That's enough playing!" she yelled, summoning a blinding orb of light that vaporized the last mirage.
When the air cleared, Lukes' true form stood alone at the center of the chamber, calm and unmoving. His mask glowed faintly. "Impressive," he said softly. "For mortals touched by divine scraps."
Amylo snarled, stepping forward. "You talk too much."
"Words shape worlds," Lukes replied. "You of all people should know that."
He raised his hand. The sand beneath them came alive — forming jagged pillars that split the floor. Troady barely leapt aside before a shard speared upward.
Amylo countered with a sweeping inferno, but Lukes deflected it with a lazy motion, redirecting the flames into spiraling rings around him.
Troady shouted, "He's absorbing your mana!"
Amylo's eyes widened. "He's converting it — damn it!"
Lukes' voice deepened, resonating through the temple walls. "This is what happens when emotion rules the blade. Your power will feed the cycle, and your spirits will rest beneath the sands."
The ground shook violently. Cracks opened, releasing gales of burning wind.
Troady's heart pounded. He could feel the desert itself breathing — Lukes was merging with the leyline's core.
Lyra screamed over the roar, "He's fusing with the temple! If we don't stop him now—"
"I know!" Troady yelled. "Amylo — we cut off his link!"
Amylo's eyes blazed. "You handle the anchor. I'll keep him busy."
He turned, fire roaring around him as he charged at Lukes. The general's form rippled, absorbing and refracting light, but Amylo didn't stop — his flames burned whiter, hotter, fueled not by rage but conviction.
"Let's see how pure my emotions burn!" Amylo shouted, slamming his fist into the sand, creating a fiery explosion that shook the entire ridge.
Lukes stumbled back slightly — the first crack in his calm.
Troady took the chance. "Now!" he yelled.
Lyra and Troady ran for the leyline anchor — a pulsating red crystal at the temple's heart. They placed their hands on it, channeling pure mana to destabilize Lukes' control.
The crystal screamed, glowing brighter — and Lukes roared, his mask cracking down the center.
The entire temple began to collapse.
Amylo turned, flames fading. "We need to move!"
Troady nodded. "Fall back!"
The trio dashed out as the ceiling crumbled, sand swallowing everything. From within the dust storm, Lukes' distorted voice echoed:
"Run, insects. The sands remember… and I am eternal."
The desert went silent again.
They collapsed outside the ruins, coughing and exhausted.
Lyra looked up weakly. "Did we… win?"
Amylo shook his head. "No. We survived. Lukes isn't gone. That was only the first act of his war."
Troady stared at the horizon — the faint crimson glow still pulsing in the distance.
"Then we'll finish what we started," he said softly.
The sands whispered again, faintly, like laughter carried by the wind.
To be Continued.....
Written By:-Punit Israni
Enhanced:-Chatgpt