*Tariq dessert - Three years after the Tower battles*
The sand dunes hoovered like sentinels in the distance. Sir Kaelan Ironwright pulled his cloak tighter against the wind that howled down from the peaks, carrying with it the scent of Sand and something else—something that made his skin crawl. Behind him, six Silver Champion knights followed in single file, their armor muffled by cloth wrappings to prevent noise.
"Movement ahead," whispered Sir Tormund, his hand drifting to his sword hilt. "Two hundred paces, maybe less."
Kaelan raised his fist, and the column stopped. He closed his eyes and let his Ghostsense expand outward like invisible fingers probing the darkness. The sensation washed over him—cold, focused, revealing. Three heartbeats. No, four. One was wrong somehow, too slow, too steady.
"Four of them," he said quietly. "But something's off about the fourth."
The path ahead curved around a massive boulder, its surface scarred by centuries of wind and Sand. Beyond it, Kaelan could see the faint glow of a fire reflected off the rock walls. They had been tracking Khatra's shadow Panthers for three days, following a trail of dead livestock and terrorized villagers. The beasts had led them here, to this narrow pass where the ancient giant roads crossed.
Kaelan motioned for his men to spread out. Tormund and Garrett took positions on the left side of the path, while Aldwin and Marcus moved right. The remaining two knights, Jorik and Stane, held the rear. Each man's breathing was steady, controlled. They had done this before.
The fire crackled ahead, and Kaelan heard voices—low, urgent whispers in a language he didn't recognize. Desert tongue, maybe, or something older. He crept forward, his boots finding purchase on the icy stone, until he could see around the boulder.
Three figures sat around a small fire built in a natural alcove. Two were clearly desert raiders—lean men with dark skin and wrapped faces, their curved swords lying within easy reach. The third made Kaelan's blood run cold.
She was pale as moonlight, her skin almost translucent in the firelight. Her hair was white as fresh Sand, and when she turned her head, Kaelan saw that her eyes were solid black—no iris, no pupil, just endless darkness. She wore robes that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, and her fingers were too long, too thin, ending in nails that curved like talons.
A vampiric mage. Kaelan had heard stories but never seen one. They were creatures of the deep north, born from the corruption of abyssal magic. This one had allied herself with the Sunwalker tribes, bringing her dark power to bear against the Empire.
"The Panthers should have returned by now," one of the raiders was saying. "Khatra grows impatient."
"The Panthers serve their purpose," the mage replied, her voice like silk over steel. "But they are merely tools. The real prize lies ahead, in the valley below."
Kaelan strained to hear more, but the wind chose that moment to shift, carrying his scent toward the fire. The mage's head snapped up, those black eyes fixing on his position with unerring accuracy.
"We have company," she said, rising to her feet with fluid grace.
The raiders grabbed their weapons, but the mage was faster. She raised her hands, and darkness poured from her fingertips like liquid night. The shadows coalesced into solid forms—panthers made of pure darkness, their eyes glowing with malevolent intelligence.
"Now!" Kaelan shouted, charging around the boulder.
His sword cleared its sheath in one smooth motion, and he felt the familiar surge as his Essence flowed into the blade. The steel darkened, taking on the characteristic sheen of Ironveil. The first shadow Panther leaped at him, its jaws snapping for his throat. Kaelan's blade caught it mid-leap, and the creature dissolved with a shriek that echoed off the mountain walls.
Behind him, his knights spread out in a practiced formation. Tormund's axe, wreathed in Ironveil, cleaved through another shadow Panther. Garrett's twin blades danced through the air, each strike precise and deadly. The confined space of the pass worked in their favor—the enemy couldn't use their numbers effectively.
But the mage was another matter entirely.
She gestured, and the very air around Kaelan began to thicken. His movements slowed as if he were walking through honey. The remaining desert raiders closed in, their curved swords seeking gaps in his armor. Kaelan parried desperately, his Ironveil-enhanced blade ringing against their steel.
"You cannot win, knight," the mage said, her voice carrying despite the chaos of battle. "The darkness flows through me eternally."
She raised her hands again, and this time the shadows that emerged were different—not Panthers, but humanoid forms with glowing red eyes. They moved with purpose, intelligence, and Kaelan and others immediately realized with growing horror that they were the souls of her victims, bound to her will even in death, necromancy.
One of the shadow figures lunged at Aldwin, catching him off-guard. The iron knight's scream was cut short as shadowy claws raked across his throat. He fell, his blood steaming in the cold air.
Rage flared in Kaelan's chest—not the hot anger of battle, but something deeper, colder. He had failed to lead one of his men, again leading to their death, it's happening again and again. The feeling built inside him like pressure in a sealed vessel, seeking release.
The mage and other knights seemed to sense it too. Her black eyes widened, and for the first time, they saw confusion in her expression.
"Impossible," she whispered. "What is going on—"
Kaelan's will exploded outward.
The sensation was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It wasn't Ironveil or Ghostsense—it was something more fundamental, more primal and majestic. His presence had became the weapon, pressing against the minds of everyone around him. The shadow creatures stumbled, their forms wavering. The desert raiders cried out, falling to their knees as if crushed by an invisible weight.
But the mage resisted. Her dark power pushed back against his will, and the air between them crackled with unseen energy. The very stones beneath their feet began to crack.
He drew every ounce of Essence he possessed into his blade. The steel didn't just darken—it began to glow with an inner light, like heated metal in a forge. The mage's eyes widened in alarm.
"This is my conviction ," Kaelan said, his voice carrying across the mountain pass. "It's will made manifest."
He struck.
The blade passed through her defenses as if they weren't there. The mage's mouth opened in a silent scream as the Essence-charged steel found her heart. For a moment, she stood frozen, her black eyes wide with shock and pain. Then she crumbled, her form dissolving into ash that was immediately scattered by the mountain wind.
The shadow creatures vanished instantly, and the remaining desert raiders collapsed, their minds shattered by the backlash of their mistress's death. The pass fell silent except for the wind and the crackling of the dying fire.
Kaelan staggered, his knees hitting the stone as the last of his strength left him. The strange power he had felt—the will that had pressed against his enemies—was gone, leaving him feeling hollow and drained. But he was alive, and so were most of his men.
Tormund knelt beside Aldwin's body, his face grim. "He's gone, sir. Died quick, at least."
Kaelan nodded, unable to speak. Around them, the other knights were checking the bodies of their enemies, ensuring they were truly dead. The desert raiders would never rise again, their minds broken by forces beyond their comprehension.
"What was that thing you did, sir? Conquerors essence?" Garrett asked, his voice hushed. "I've never felt anything like it. So suffocating."
Kaelan looked at his hands, still trembling from the effort. What had he done? The power he had felt was unlike any Essence technique he knew. It had been raw, primal, like tapping into some fundamental force of existence itself.
"I don't know," he admitted. "But we need to get back to the camp. The others need to know what we've learned."
He looked up at the darkening sky, where the first stars were beginning to appear. Somewhere out there, Khatra and his shadow Panthers were still loose, still threatening innocent lives. And if they had allies like the creature he had just faced, the Empire was in more danger than anyone realized.
But for now, they had won. At a cost, but they had won. Kaelan allowed himself a moment of satisfaction before the weight of command settled back on his shoulders. They had a long journey ahead, and many questions that needed answers.
The desert wind howled around them as they prepared to leave, carrying with it the scent of Sand and the promise of harder battles to come.