Chapter 16: The Whispering Sands
The Sahara did not greet them with heat, but with a roar of static. The Eye of the Sahara—the Richat Structure—looked like a giant bullseye carved into the earth. But as the Wraith descended, the "Sense" strand in Carson's mind began to scream.
"The sand isn't just silicon," Carson noted, looking at the sensors. "It's infused with 'Void-Dust'. It's an interference field."
The ship landed three miles from the central excavation site. As the ramp lowered, the wind hit Carson like a physical wall. The sandstorm was so thick it was like walking through a solid object. But Carson didn't use a mask. He simply let his Qi form a "Laminar Shield" around his body, pushing the dust away in a perfect sphere.
"Stay with the ship, Hobs," Carson commanded.
"You're going in alone?"
"They have Level 13 Inquisitors patrolling the perimeter," Carson said, his eyes scanning the horizon. "If you move, they'll detect a Sovereign-tier signature. But me? I can mask my 30 strands. To them, I'll just be a ghost in the storm."
Carson stepped out into the desert. Every step he took was calculated. He wasn't walking on the sand; he was walking on the "Flow" of the wind.
Suddenly, the ground beneath him vibrated. A giant, mechanical worm—a Tier-12 Sub-Terranean Dredge—erupted from the dunes fifty yards away. It wasn't looking for him; it was mining the ancient stone. But standing atop the machine was a figure in white robes, holding a staff that hummed with blue electricity.
A Solaris Priest.
"The frequency is changing!" the Priest shouted over the comms, his voice amplified by the storm. "The seal is weakening! Bring the 'Sacrifices' to the altar! The First Blade is hungry!"
Carson's blood ran cold. Sacrifices? He moved. He didn't run; he blurred. He was across the dunes in a second, his hand gripping the hilt of the Star-Shedder. He didn't draw it yet. He needed to see what was at the "Altar" first.
As he reached the edge of the excavation pit, he saw it. A massive, crystalline door buried in the bedrock. And lined up in front of it were fifty people in rags—prisoners from the Lower Sector of New Seattle, kidnapped in the night.
And standing at the front of the line, her face pale with terror, was Maya.