The ruins of the temple smoldered in silence, faint crimson light still pulsing from beneath the buried stone. The storm had passed, leaving only an endless desert night.
Troady sat near a half-broken wall, catching his breath. The stars above felt sharper, almost cruel in their clarity. Lyra was tending to her injured leg, while Amylo stared into the distance — toward the spot where the temple had once stood.
No one spoke for a long while.
Finally, Lyra broke the silence. "That wasn't a victory," she murmured. "That was survival."
Troady nodded slowly. "I know. But we learned something — Lukes can bleed. He's not untouchable."
Amylo didn't respond. His gaze was locked on the faint red shimmer still glowing under the sand. "No," he said quietly. "He wanted us to attack. That whole fight… it was bait."
Lyra frowned. "What do you mean?"
Amylo stood, brushing the sand from his coat. "He was never trying to kill us. If he truly wanted to, he could've collapsed the leyline the moment we entered the temple. But he didn't. He was testing us — measuring power, tactics, emotions."
Troady's hand tightened around his sword. "Testing us for what?"
Amylo's voice was grim. "The Syndicate's next move."
The words hit like cold steel.
Troady looked at him, confusion flickering into concern. "You mean the organization you worked for?"
Amylo gave a small nod. "Lukes wasn't acting alone. He's part of the inner circle — the ones who control the elemental leylines. Each general oversees a fragment of the old world's power."
Lyra's eyes widened. "Then if Lukes was one of them…"
"There are more," Amylo finished. "Much more. And each one is worse than the last."
A cold wind swept across the ridge. The dunes shimmered, as though listening.
Troady exhaled slowly. "Then Theryz isn't safe. If the leyline's still bleeding, monsters will keep coming."
Lyra's face fell. "The villagers… they don't stand a chance."
Troady stood, resolve sharpening in his eyes. "Then we go back. We help whoever's left. Maybe we can buy them time."
Amylo turned to him, disbelief flickering in his eyes. "You really plan to go back there? After everything?"
Troady met his gaze. "You saw what Lukes did. If we run now, this kingdom falls next. I'm not letting that happen."
Amylo stared for a moment — then a faint smirk tugged at his lips. "You're a fool, Troady."
Troady shrugged. "Maybe. But fools keep hope alive."
Amylo chuckled softly — the first genuine sound from him in hours. "Fair enough."
---
They reached Theryz by dawn. The once-bustling desert town was quiet, eerily so. The air smelled faintly of ash and dust. Many homes had collapsed during the storm, and mana residue shimmered faintly in the air.
Children peeked from cracked doorways as Troady's group walked through the square. A few adults followed, whispering uncertainly.
Then, from the ruined chapel steps, the elder woman who'd cursed Amylo earlier appeared — but this time, her tone was different.
"You came back," she said softly. "Most run after the desert tests them."
Troady nodded. "We don't run."
The old woman studied them, then looked at Amylo. "And you… you bear the fire of guilt. But today, your flames saved lives."
Amylo blinked, taken aback. "I don't need gratitude."
"Then take warning," she said. "The sands move still. The general's voice hasn't faded. The dead whisper his name beneath the dunes."
Lyra shivered. "She's right. The leyline still hums. Lukes isn't gone."
Troady looked toward the horizon, where faint red lightning still flickered far away. "He's retreating. Healing. Planning."
Amylo crossed his arms. "And we're walking right into it."
Lyra looked between them. "So what now? Do we chase him?"
Troady shook his head. "No. Not yet. We regroup. We learn what we can."
---
They spent the next two days helping rebuild Theryz. Troady helped clear rubble while Lyra stabilized mana wells to keep monsters away. Amylo spent most of his time silently walking the edge of the dunes, staring toward the east.
On the second night, Troady found him there again — sitting alone, staring at the faint red glow in the distance.
"You're thinking too loud," Troady said, sitting beside him.
Amylo smirked faintly. "Hard not to. Lukes always believed mana wasn't a gift — it was a weapon. And now I wonder if he was right."
Troady glanced at him. "You don't believe that."
Amylo sighed. "Maybe not. But I can't shake the thought that everything we do… all this power… ends up breaking something else."
Troady looked up at the stars. "Maybe. But that's why we fight — not to fix everything, but to protect what's left."
Amylo smiled faintly, his voice quieter now. "You sound like someone who still believes in heroes."
Troady shrugged. "Someone has to."
For the first time, Amylo laughed — not mocking, but genuinely. "You're insane, Troady. Completely insane."
Troady grinned. "Probably."
---
Later that night, Lyra returned from the edge of town, breathless. "Troady! You need to see this!"
They followed her to the village square — where a small, glowing crystal hovered above the sand. It pulsed faintly with crimson light, the same hue as Lukes' mana.
Amylo stepped closer, expression grim. "That's not leftover residue. That's a message."
The crystal shimmered — then Lukes' voice echoed faintly, distorted but clear:
> "Your defiance was amusing, little embers. But remember — the desert remembers all who walk it. The next storm will not spare your names."
The crystal cracked, then shattered into dust.
Lyra flinched. "He's taunting us."
Amylo exhaled sharply. "He's marking us. The Syndicate will know our faces now."
Troady closed his hand into a fist. "Then let them. If they want to play gods…" He looked up, eyes glowing faintly with determination. "Then we'll show them what humans can become."
A long silence followed. Then Amylo nodded slowly. "You really do have a death wish."
Troady smiled. "Or maybe just a purpose."
As the first rays of dawn broke over Theryz, the trio stood together, shadows stretching across the sand. The desert had fallen quiet again, but in that silence — something shifted.
Hope.
For the first time since his death, Troady felt it stir within him — fragile, glowing, alive.
And though the sands whispered of vengeance, of the coming war, Troady could only hear one thing:
The promise of a journey far from over.
To Be Continued...
Written By:-Punit Israni
Enhanced By:-Chatgpt