The caravan moved slowly across the golden dunes of Murak, each footfall swallowed by shifting sands. The sun glared mercilessly above, a molten disc suspended in the cloudless sky. Kaelin rode at the front, her armor exchanged for lighter desert leathers, the Hollow Queen unrecognizable to most save her fire-marked eyes.
Beside her, Myrra kept pace, her wide-brimmed hat shading her sharp features.
Behind them, fifty Ashbound elite formed a protective perimeter. Their journey had been quiet, but tension hung in the air like a drawn bow. Something ancient lay buried beneath these sands. And it had begun to stir.
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"We’ve crossed into the boundaries of the old flame cults," Myrra said, eyes scanning a half-buried obelisk. "This region once belonged to the Ember Priests. They were purge
