The heat that clung to Azrana was different than any Kael had known. It wasn't just the sun—it was the city itself, as though the stones remembered fire, and the ground still whispered of buried flame. His army stood on the ridge overlooking the ancient walls, the shimmering haze of heat turning the city into a mirage of gold and ruin.
"Looks quiet," Bael muttered beside him, squinting at the gates. "Too quiet."
Kael said nothing. His eyes traced the old siege-scarred towers, the shadows of soldiers moving just out of reach. They were watching. Waiting.
"We'll make camp here for the night," he said finally. "Double the guard. No fires."
Bael hesitated. "You're expecting something?"
Kael's gaze lingered on the distant city. "I'm expecting everything."
---
That night, sleep was scarce.
Kael walked the camp perimeter, cloak drawn tight, ears tuned to the desert wind. Somewhere beneath the sands, a secret stirred—older than empire, older than even the war that had brought them to Azrana's gates. He could feel it.
In the tent at the center of camp, Narek knelt beside a rough map scrawled with symbols and half-legends. "This is where the Emperor's men are digging," he said, pointing to a crescent-shaped district within Azrana. "The old catacombs. Most of the city doesn't even know they exist."
"And the relic?" Kael asked.
Narek shook his head. "No one knows what it looks like. Only that it's connected to the First Flame. The Emperor believes it's a source of divine right—something to make him untouchable."
Kael's jaw tightened. "Then we reach it before he does."
---
The attack came just before dawn.
Screams split the silence, followed by the clash of metal and the roar of warhorns. Azrana's forces had struck fast—mounted raiders sweeping through the lower dunes, aiming to scatter Kael's soldiers before they could rally.
But Kael had expected this.
He met the charge on horseback, sword drawn, his voice rising above the chaos. "Hold the line! Protect the flanks!"
Steel rang in the morning air. Bael and Liora fought at his sides, their blades carving paths through enemy ranks. The skirmish was brutal but short-lived—the Emperor's scouts testing their strength, probing their defenses.
By sunrise, the dunes were littered with the dead.
Kael wiped blood from his blade and turned to the ridge. Azrana still stood, defiant and silent. But he knew now—they were out of time.
---
Later, inside his war tent, Kael laid out their final strategy.
"We break the walls at dawn," he said, pointing to the southeastern gate. "It's the oldest section. Weakest. Once we're inside, Liora leads a detachment toward the catacombs."
Bael frowned. "You're splitting the forces?"
Kael nodded. "We don't need to take the city. Just stop the Emperor. If he gets that relic, he'll burn the world trying to reshape it."
Narek spoke softly. "There's more. Rumors in the court—those who go too deep into the catacombs never return. They say the relic is protected. By something ancient."
Kael stared at the map. "Then we'll just have to survive the past to save the future."
---
As the camp quieted again, Kael stood alone atop the ridge.
Azrana glimmered in the distance, caught between light and shadow. Somewhere beyond those walls, the fate of the empire waited—sealed in stone, guarded by time.
He gripped the hilt of his sword and whispered to the wind, "This ends tomorrow."
And the desert, as always, whispered back.