Sand was whipped against their faces by the arid wind upon entering the Dune Citadel. The formerly glorious capital city was now just a shadow of its former greatness. Desert sun beat down on buildings as they walked through deserted streets. The atmosphere was thick with the smell of dust and hopelessness.
The Detherborn had concealed their divine forms instead of their usual magnificent appearance. Their wings were hidden under their cloaks, horns kept in, and tails wrapped around their waists. They mixed in with the shabby crowd, their mystical presence subdued for now.
Andre, Rhaegar, Drake, and Seraph, a quiet and experienced combat team, split off from the rest of the group. They moved smoothly and confidently, the sound of their boots softly crunching on the dusty earth. Andre couldn't get rid of the nagging sensation in his stomach – the lair of the Vor'talon was not located in the center of the city, nor in a heavily protected palace. It was in another place.
"The oasis," he whispered, the sound parched in his throat.
Rhaegar looked into his eyes, a moment of shared comprehension passing silently. Both of them had come to the same realization. The Spring Oasis, the city's sole source of water, was highly coveted and guarded by the Vor'talon of Drought.
They quickned their pace navigating through the unenergetic crowd. They eventually arrived at the city's outskirts, where the remaining traces of life held on tenaciously. A parched lake bed lay ahead, a sorrowful symbol of the drought's impact. A sandcastle in the distance, like a mirage shining brightly and defying all reason.
It wasn't a mirage. It was a monstrosity, a twisted mockery of a child's playground. Sand, sculpted into a grotesque caricature of a castle, pulsed with an unnatural energy. Andre knew, with a chilling certainty, that this was it – the Vor'talon's lair.
"Seraph," Rhaegar's voice cut through the oppressive silence. "Regroup the men. Have them circle around the oasis, ready to strike at my signal."
Seraph, his silver armor glinting in the weak sunlight, nodded curtly. With a silent push off the ground, he soared back towards the city, his form shrinking into a speck on the horizon.
A short while later, the rest of their troops appeared from the back of empty buildings, their expressions serious and resolute. Rhaegar, scanning the gathered troops with his eyes, began a briefing. His voice, typically loud and majestic, was now a quiet, intense whisper.
"The Vor'talon of Drought lies within that sandcastle," he said, pointing towards the monstrosity. "It will be powerful, fueled by the city's suffering. We strike fast, we strike hard. No heroics. We need to destroy the creature before it can unleash its full power."
Andre drew his sword, the polished metal feeling reassuringly solid in his hand.
"Ready" he said to Revenant.
Revenant hummed, that was a yes.
Andre let out a primal scream as he ran next to Drake and Res, the sand beneath their boots sounding like countless shattered promises. The massive sandcastle towered in front of them, a disturbing symbol of the harshness of the drought.
But something was wrong. There were no guards, no sentries, no desperate fight for the entrance. The silence was deafening, a thick emptiness that hung heavy in the air.
"Its a Trap!" Drake roared, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his own heart.
However, it was already too late. They stood at the base of the sandcastle, swords raised in a desperate attempt to face whatever monstrous threat lay ahead of them. By working together to push, the heavy doors swung open abruptly, showing… nothing.
The quietness indoors was even more unsettling than the silence outdoors. Dust particles floated densely in the air, twirling within a sunbeam that penetrated a gap in the deteriorating ceiling. The castle, previously a hideous imitation, now appeared oddly... deserted.
A cold dread coiled itself around Andre's heart. "This is wrong," he rasped, his voice barely a whisper.
Then, the ground trembled. A low rumble, like the growl of a hungry beast, echoed from the very foundations of the castle. Andre looked up in horror as the sand walls began to writhe and churn. The air crackled with a malevolent energy.
"Get back!" Rhaegar's voice boomed, a desperate edge to it.
Andre scrambled back, narrowly avoiding a collapsing section of the ceiling. He landed in a heap on the dusty floor, coughing and spitting out sand. His head whipped up, and a strangled cry escaped his lips.
The sandcastle was gone. In its place stood a towering monstrosity, a knight clad in armor forged from living sand. Its form shifted and flowed, mimicking the shifting dunes, its eyes glowing with an emerald fire that mirrored the oasis it had stolen life from. The Vor'talon of Drought, it seemed, wasn't a creature housed within the castle – it was the castle itself.
Fear loomed over Andre like a shadow as he witnessed Rhaegar and the Detherborn swiftly spring into action. They flew towards the sand knight with a burst of fire and feathers, wielding their celestial swords that hummed through the air. The sand armor was struck by the blades, causing sparks to fly, but appeared to be mostly unaffected.
"It's no use!" Drake roared, his voice raw with grief as he witnessed his soldiers being obliterated. "These things aren't like regular enemies!"
Andre gritted his teeth. Drake was right. They were facing something unlike anything they had ever encountered. Fear threatened to paralyze him, but the sight of his friends fighting with unwavering courage filled him with a renewed sense of purpose. He wouldn't let fear win. He wouldn't let the Vor'talon of Drought win.