The next day, the air in the Sandworks felt heavier.
Even before the dawn bell rang, Kain was awake, staring at the faint orange light bleeding through the cracks of their cell door. He could feel it — that low vibration pulsing beneath the metal floor like a second
heartbeat. It hadn't stopped all night.
Yuri stirred awake, groggy and sore. "You didn't sleep again, did you?"
Kain shook his head, still listening. "It's stronger today."
Yuri sat up, rubbing his eyes. "The hum? You're still on
about that?"
"It's not just a hum," Kain replied. His tone was low, steady. "It's moving."
Before Yuri could answer, the door opened, and a guard's voice broke through. "Shift starts now. Move."
They followed without protest. The tunnels leading to the Sandworks seemed darker today, lit only by faint blue lamps that flickered with every footstep. The heat came in waves, the smell of burnt sand and oil thick
in the air. Somewhere deep below, machinery groaned — an endless, tortured
rhythm.
As they stepped back into the work floor, Yuri immediately
noticed the tension. Workers whispered behind masks; overseers spoke in quick,
clipped tones. Several conveyor lines were silent, their belts half-buried in sand.
Something had broken during the night.
"Stay clear of Sector Four," barked one foreman through a
voice filter. "Ground's unstable."
Kain's eyes flicked toward the far corner where Sector Four was cordoned off by steel barricades. A faint glow shimmered from beneath the floor — not firelight, but something bluer, alive.
He turned to Yuri. "That's where we were yesterday."
Yuri frowned. "You think that's what you heard?"
"Maybe," Kain murmured, his gaze lingering. "Or maybe it heard us."
The brothers worked in silence for hours. The rhythm of shovels and conveyor chains filled the air again, broken only by the occasional
hiss of steam or clang of dropped tools. Kain kept half his focus on his task, half on the pulse beneath his boots. Each time it beat, the crystals in their sand pile flickered — just faintly, but enough to notice.
At midday, the heat became unbearable. Yuri leaned on his
shovel, wiping sweat from his face. "If the Warden's idea of mercy is this, I'd hate to see her cruel side."
Kain didn't answer. His eyes were locked on the nearest furnace wall — he could see it tremble slightly, as if breathing. Then came a
faint whisper, carried through the roar of machinery. He tilted his head,
trying to catch it again.
It wasn't a voice — not exactly. More like pressure, sound
without words, brushing the edge of his senses. His body tensed instinctively.
"Kain?" Yuri followed his brother's gaze. "What is it?"
Before Kain could speak, the floor shuddered violently.
A deafening crack tore through the chamber. Dust and shards
of glass rained from above as one of the furnaces split open, spilling molten
sand across the floor. Workers screamed and scattered. The alarms began wailing
— sharp, mechanical howls that made the metal walls vibrate.
"Evacuate Sector Four! Now!" shouted an overseer.
The brothers ran with the others, but Kain stopped halfway.
The pulse beneath the floor was deafening now — pounding like a drum beneath
his feet. He looked down and saw the ground rippling, the sand glowing from
underneath.
"Kain, move!" Yuri yelled, grabbing his arm.
The floor burst open.
A geyser of blue fire erupted, throwing them both backward.
Heat scorched the air. The metal floorplates buckled as a massive crack split
across the Sandworks, running straight toward the central furnace.
Through the smoke, Kain saw it — a faint shape beneath the
molten sand, shifting, alive. It pulsed once more before sinking back into
silence.
Guards poured in moments later, weapons drawn. The overseers
shouted reports into their radios. Kain and Yuri were dragged to their feet and
shoved toward the exit.
"What happened?" one guard demanded.
"No idea," Yuri coughed, his throat raw. "The ground just—just exploded!"
The guard glared but said nothing, pushing them ahead.
When the chaos finally settled, the brothers found themselves standing once again in front of the Obsidian Spire. The Warden
awaited them at the base, her coat fluttering faintly in the hot wind. Her
mechanical arm gleamed in the sunlight.
"I heard there was another… incident," she said coldly. "And you two were at the center of it."
Kain's jaw tightened. "We didn't cause it."
"No," she replied, studying him. "But it happened to you."
She motioned for the guards to leave. When they were alone,
she stepped closer. "You've felt it, haven't you?"
Kain hesitated. "…Yes."
"The heartbeat beneath the sand," she continued, her tone
softening just slightly. "It's real. It's what keeps Ares Vaal alive — and what
could destroy it if we're careless."
Yuri blinked. "You mean there's something alive under the
city?"
The Warden's mechanical fingers flexed. "Alive… or remembering how to be." She turned her gaze toward the horizon. "Soulglass isn't just a resource. It grows because of it — the thing beneath us. We call
it the Heart."
"The Heart," Kain repeated quietly. "And it's waking up."
The Warden's expression darkened. "If it wakes fully, the
entire city will sink. Every soul in Ares Vaal will turn to dust."
Silence filled the air for a moment — broken only by the
hiss of sand against the Spire's base.
"Why tell us this?" Yuri asked finally.
"Because," she said, eyes glinting, "you both reacted to it.
The tremors began after you arrived. The sensors show that your presence — your
frequency — resonates with the Heart's pulse."
Yuri stiffened. "What do you mean?"
"I've seen thousands of wanderers," the Warden said. "None
of them make the sand sing."
Kain's hand instinctively moved to his chest, feeling the
faint echo of that pulse beneath his ribs. "What are you saying?"
"That whatever world you came from… the Heart remembers it,"
she said quietly. "And it wants you back — or it wants you gone."
The brothers exchanged a glance. For once, Yuri had no joke,
no retort. The weight of her words pressed into them like the desert sun.
The Warden turned away, her mechanical arm folding behind
her. "Rest for now. You'll be moved to upper quarters. Tomorrow, I'll show you
something — the true core of this city."
"And if we refuse?" Kain asked.
She smiled faintly, without turning. "Then the Heart will decide your fate for you."
The guards returned and escorted them through the Spire's
inner halls. Yuri walked in uneasy silence until they reached their new quarters — larger, cleaner, with windows overlooking the city.
He slumped into a chair. "Every time we think we're getting a grip on this place, it just… digs deeper."
Kain stood by the window, eyes scanning the horizon where the dunes shimmered with faint blue veins. "It's not the city that's alive,
Yuri. It's the ground itself."
He looked down at his hands. They were trembling again,
faintly — like they were remembering a rhythm older than his heartbeat.
"What if," he said softly, "we didn't just lose the forest…
but got pulled here because of that thing?"
Yuri met his gaze, eyes wide. "You think it dragged us here?"
"I don't know." Kain turned back toward the window, his voice distant. "But it's watching us now."
Far below, the dunes of Ares Vaal shimmered like breathing
lungs — and deep beneath them, unseen, the Heart pulsed once more, in perfect
rhythm with Kain's own.