The dawn bell rang like a hammer against the bones of the city.
A metallic echo rolled through the streets, vibrating in every pipe and
plate of Ares Vaal. The sound roused Kain instantly. He had slept only a few
hours, but his body adjusted as if it had been waiting for this moment. Yuri
groaned from the lower bunk, covering his head with his cloak.
"Already?" he mumbled. "Feels like we just closed our eyes."
Kain stood and stretched, the movement silent, calculated. He could still
hear the faint buzz of surveillance from the corner of their cell, but he
ignored it. "Get up. They'll come for us soon."
Yuri sighed dramatically and swung his legs over the bed. "Do you always
have to be so serious in the morning?"
"Yes."
The door opened with a hiss before Yuri could complain further. Two guards
entered, their armor tinted with the city's dust. "Time to earn your water,"
one said curtly. "Follow."
The brothers were led through narrow hallways that descended deep beneath
the streets. The air grew warmer, heavier. The hum of machinery grew into a
roar. Soon, they reached a massive chamber where hundreds of workers moved in
rhythm beneath the glow of red lamps.
The Sandworks.
It was unlike anything the brothers had ever seen. Endless furnaces lined
the walls, their mouths spitting fire that shimmered through the haze.
Conveyors of rough metal rattled endlessly, carrying dunes of glowing sand that
poured down like waterfalls of gold. The workers—men, women, even children—wore
thin metal masks and gloves, their skin coated in soot and ash.
Everywhere, steam hissed, gears turned, and molten light flowed like rivers
through iron channels. The air burned to breathe.
The guard pushed the brothers forward. "You'll be sorting Soulglass residue.
Keep the blue crystals, discard the dull ones. If you cut your hands, that's
your fault. If you faint, no one carries you out."
He tossed them both a pair of worn gloves and pointed toward a small station
where a pile of glowing sand awaited them.
Kain slipped on his gloves and studied the heap. The glow of the crystals
was uneven—some flickered, others pulsed with steady light. He crouched low,
observing the faint hum each piece gave off. "These vibrate differently," he
murmured.
Yuri squinted. "They all look the same to me."
"Listen, not look," Kain said quietly. He picked up a fragment, held it
close to his ear, and heard a faint, melodic hum—like a note on the edge of
silence. Another fragment made no sound at all. He set that one aside. "The
ones that sing are pure. The others are dead."
Yuri frowned, tried to imitate him, and after a few attempts grinned.
"You're right! I can hear it now—barely, but it's there."
Kain nodded. "Good. Follow that rhythm."
Hours passed in a haze of heat and noise. They worked side by side, sorting
crystal after crystal. Sweat streaked their faces, and the air grew so dry it
scraped their throats raw. The overseers shouted from the catwalks, their
voices distorted through masks.
Yuri noticed the others around them—thin figures moving like ghosts. Many
bore scars or burns, some missing fingers. But despite the cruelty of their
work, a strange rhythm kept them going. Some workers hummed as they labored,
their voices blending with the machinery, turning the whole chamber into a
living song of survival.
Kain kept his focus. Every sound, every vibration of the machines became a
pattern he could trace. He could almost predict when the conveyors would rattle
or when the furnaces would flare. His senses adjusted faster than should've
been possible—his hearing cutting through the chaos like a blade.
Yuri, meanwhile, started talking to a woman beside him. Her face was
covered, but her voice was soft. "You're new," she said between breaths.
"Yeah," Yuri replied. "We came from outside the desert."
The woman laughed dryly. "No one comes from outside. They only run to here.
What are you running from?"
Yuri hesitated. "Maybe fate."
That made her pause. Then she nodded. "Then you fit right in."
Before Yuri could ask more, a loud crash shook the chamber. One of the
conveyor arms had jammed, sending shards of molten glass spraying across the
floor. Workers scattered as a wave of heat rippled through the air.
"Move!" Kain barked, grabbing Yuri and pulling him behind a pillar. A burst
of molten sand splattered where they'd been standing.
Screams echoed through the smoke. The overseers shouted orders, and the
machinery slowly groaned to a halt. Kain peeked out, assessing the damage.
One of the workers lay pinned beneath a collapsed pipe. Others rushed to
lift it, but it was too heavy. Kain moved before Yuri could stop him.
"Wait!" Yuri hissed.
Kain ignored him. He crouched beside the worker—a young man with
soot-streaked hair—and pressed his ear to the pipe's side. He could hear it
creaking, metal bending under tension. "If we lift it wrong, it'll break," he
muttered. He pointed. "Lift from there—the joint's weaker."
The others followed his lead. Together, they managed to shift the pipe
enough to drag the man free.
The overseer descended from the catwalk, his mask hissing as he spoke.
"You—forest boy. You knew where to lift?"
Kain said nothing.
The overseer stared, then gave a curt nod. "You've got ears sharper than
most. Maybe too sharp. The Warden will hear of this."
He turned away, barking more orders as workers resumed their stations.
When the brothers finally returned to their cell that night, their bodies
ached, but their minds were restless.
"Why'd you help him?" Yuri asked quietly.
Kain shrugged. "He would've died otherwise."
Yuri leaned against the wall. "You're starting to sound like her again."
"Mother?"
"Yeah." Yuri smiled faintly. "Always running into danger just because
someone else couldn't handle it."
Kain didn't answer. His mind was elsewhere—replaying the sounds he'd heard
during the accident. Beneath the chaos, there had been something else. A pulse.
Deep, steady, rhythmic. Like a heartbeat coming from below the Sandworks
itself.
He frowned. "Yuri."
"Yeah?"
"There's something under this city."
Yuri blinked. "What do you mean?"
Kain stared at the ceiling, listening to the faint tremor running through
the pipes. "I don't know yet. But it's alive."
Far above them, in her dark chamber within the Obsidian Spire, the Warden
stood before a glowing map of the Sandworks. Dozens of crimson lines pulsed
slowly beneath it—tracking pressure, heat, and something deeper.
She watched one spot flicker brighter than the rest—the same section where
the brothers had worked.
"Interesting," she murmured. "The earth responds to them."
Her assistant shifted uneasily. "Should we move them?"
"Not yet," she replied. "If the sand hums to their presence, we'll let it
sing a little longer."
She turned to the window, the night wind whispering against the glass. The
city's lights glowed faintly below, and far beneath them, something ancient
stirred—breathing slow and deep beneath the desert.
And Kain, lying awake in the dark, could hear it calling.