Sandborn - Awakening of the Frozen Sand

"Fear is the mind-killer." – Frank Herbert

Azar’s eyes gleamed with a sinister glint. 'Normally, I’d delve into their memories, weigh their lives to see if they’re worth sparing,' he said, his voice unnervingly calm, though it brimmed with a quiet menace. 'But tonight? Tonight, I’m not in the mood for mercy. Feed them to the creatures in your belly—but leave their clothes. Kasian lives, for now. He is the father of two, after all. But to ensure he never makes this mistake again, I’ll need to scare the very soul out of him. We were never here. We are nothing but shadows, vengeful spirits sent by the tribes to deliver justice.'

'I care nothing for your schemes,' Araumir replied, his voice cold and disinterested. He moved toward the first victim with the grace of a predator, his steps as silent as death. In a single breath, his shadowed form grew, and with a dark, predatory hunger, he unleashed [Horripilation]. His maw widened into a gaping chasm, unnatural and ravenous. In one smooth motion, he seized the man by the shoulders and devoured him whole, the body vanishing into the endless void inside Araumir.

'Don’t forget the clothes,' Azar reminded.

Araumir grunted in reply, his expression indifferent as he regurgitated the man’s tunic, now bloody and tattered, tossing it aside as if it were no more than a scrap of fabric.

Azar’s voice sliced through the stillness, laced with sharp intent. "Why are you pretending to be asleep?"

The man on the far bed tensed, the flicker of fear in his eyes betraying him. He had been awake all along.

"It would’ve been better for you to remain asleep," Araumir said, his tone chilling in its indifference. He advanced toward the guard, slow and deliberate, like a cat toying with a mouse. There was no rush, no pity. Only the inevitable.

"Stay away!" the man yelled, his trembling hand fumbling for one of the beads on his bracelet.

With a surge of flux, the bead flared to life, surrounding his hand with crackling flames. Bolstered by a sudden rush of courage, the man prepared to strike. But as he raised his arm to unleash the fire, it extinguished in an instant. Darkness, thick and suffocating, engulfed his hand, swallowing it whole.

Araumir’s maw closed over that shadow, the sickening sound of bones snapping echoing in the small room. The guard staggered back, clutching the stump where his arm had been, his mouth open in a silent scream. But no sound escaped. Shadow tendrils coiled around his throat, silencing him forever as Araumir dragged him into his endless abyss.

Blood splattered across the floor as Araumir chewed, the wet crack of bones making even Azar, seasoned as he was, feel a slight chill. Araumir, with a satisfied grunt, spat out the man’s bloody, tattered clothes, placing them meticulously on the couch as though he was setting a piece of art.

"Feel better?" Azar asked out loud, casting a glance at his companion.

"Partially," Araumir muttered, licking the last traces of blood from his lips. "This one’s blood was foul. Some kind of drug… definitely not good for his health."

"Most likely an enhancer," Azar replied, casually shifting the heavy bookshelf aside with his mental power, revealing the safe embedded in the wall. With ease, he manipulated the combination of runes from his memories, opening the safe without effort. The safe door creaked, revealing pouches of shimmering crystals and treasures within.

Azar’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "Quite a decent haul," he remarked, taking out two pouches of colored crystals, along with two scrolls, a flux orb with 1,000 points, and three towers of golden coins stacked ten high. With a flick of his wrist, the loot disappeared into his ring.

With their prize secured, Azar slid the safe door shut, returning the bookshelf to its original position before turning to Araumir. "Now, let’s give Kasian his lesson—a nightmare he’ll never forget."

They emerged in the master bedroom where Kasian lay sleeping, his wife resting peacefully beside him. Azar scanned the room, sensing no immediate threat, then approached the bed. Kasian stirred as a finger traced a line along his arm, a gesture he assumed was his wife's. But as his groggy mind struggled to make sense of the sensation, the sudden awareness hit him—his wife was still asleep, and the touch came from the wrong side.

His eyes snapped open, only to meet a glowing pair of crimson eyes. The instant he saw them, fear paralyzed his body, his mind thrown into a deep abyss of terror.

Kasian found himself in a cold, empty void—an endless blackness where he could neither move nor speak. His heart pounded in his chest, his breath shallow, but the darkness swallowed him whole, offering no escape.

From that inky void, the same burning red eyes reappeared, looming closer, the weight of their presence suffocating.

"The sky trembled beneath my name, the seas parted for me, and the earth itself rose to shelter me," came Azar’s voice, echoing through the darkness, deep and commanding. "Kasian Hose, you’ve crossed a line—a line you should never have dared approach."

The void shifted, and Kasian found himself kneeling, his body ensnared by the spirits of those he had wronged. Their faces twisted with anguish, their hands clawing at him, pulling him downward, their weight unbearable.

"How does it feel, Kasian?" Azar’s voice boomed, thundering through the scene like a storm. "How does it feel to be devoured by those you deemed powerless?"

Kasian turned toward the voice, his heart pounding in his chest. He was inside what looked like a vast, dark throne room, though it felt real. At the far end sat a figure—towering, imposing—whose crimson eyes pierced through the darkness like fire.

"You think the tribes are yours to exploit?" Azar’s voice growled, his fury barely contained. "You believe that because my children are weak, we’ll let you harm them without consequence?" His jaw clenched, not just from anger, but from the mental strain of holding the illusion together, making it real enough to break Kasian's mind.

Kasian trembled.

From behind the towering throne, spectral figures emerged, their forms flickering like mirages in the darkness. They were the tribal leaders of Azar’s imagination, their gazes locking onto Kasian with an intensity that crushed him under its weight. Then, from the shadows, Kasian's mother and father appeared, just as he remembered them—dragged forward and bound, their faces contorted in agony as they were mercilessly whipped before his eyes.

"For your sins, it will not only be you who pays," Azar’s voice boomed like thunder. "Your parents, your wife, your children, and even your grandchildren will share your punishment."

Kasian was yanked further into the depths by the vengeful spirits, their cold fingers clawing at his face, smothering his vision. Gasping for breath, Kasian tried to scream, but the weight of the spirits pressed down on him, suffocating his voice. The red-eyed figure appeared once more, looming above him like a judge at the gallows.

"Atone for your sins against the tribes," Azar commanded, his voice a growl of wrath. With that, he stomped down on Kasian's chest, the crushing weight sending him spiraling into oblivion.

Kasian jolted awake, his body crashing to the cold floor. His heart pounded like a war drum, his clothes soaked in sweat. Frantically, he glanced around—it was his bedroom. No spirits. No red eyes. Just the quiet of his home.

"Darling, what happened?" his wife’s voice rang in his ears, distant and fuzzy. Kasian blinked, struggling to focus. His eyes were blurred, and his nose throbbed. "You're bleeding!" she gasped, her voice laced with panic.

Kasian raised a shaking hand to his face and felt the sticky warmth of blood trickling from his nose. The room’s lights flickered on one by one as the household stirred, but by the time anyone could react, Azar and Araumir were long gone.

"Wouldn’t it have been easier just to kill him?" Araumir asked, handing Azar a towel as he finished retching.

"Shut up," Azar rasped between labored breaths, wiping the sweat from his face.

"But was it really worth putting yourself in such a state just to scare that fool?" Araumir pressed, completely unfazed by his master's condition.

"He has children," Azar replied, holding out his hand for the towel.

"Offspring of such a man don’t deserve to walk this land," Araumir muttered, his voice edged with disdain.

"Save me from this conversation," Azar snapped, rubbing his temples as the dizziness began to subside. "I can’t think straight right now."

Araumir smirked but remained silent. "Still," he added softly after a moment, "it’s a sorry state to see you in, master. If casting a simple illusion takes this much out of you, maybe I should stay and keep an eye on you. Who knows what kind of trouble you’ll get yourself into without me?"

Azar shot him a cold glare but said nothing. Doing an act of kindness in front of such a companion was harder than the act itself.

"Take me back to camp," Azar said, the pain finally receding enough for him to stand. "I need to recuperate."

"What about the other two shops?" Araumir asked. "I can handle them if you allow it."

"It’s enough for now," Azar replied, waving him off. "I don’t want to stir too much chaos in one night. But let’s swing by Tekery-Toll. We’ll clean it out as well."

. . .

The next day, Kasian discovered with mounting dread that his safe and shop had both been completely emptied. The wealth he had meticulously guarded, gone without a trace. Yet, he did not rush to report the incident. Instead, he locked himself in his home, spending the day in quiet turmoil with his family, trying to calm his racing mind.

Reports from his men continued to flood in, confirming what Kasian feared most: there had been no sign of forced entry. The barriers had held, the safe had been opened as if the intruder knew the combination, and his guards—those stationed near the vault—had vanished. There were no footprints, no evidence of human hands at work.

"This is not the hand of a man," Kasian muttered to himself, his voice trembling. Ghosts—only spirits could have pulled off such a feat. The chilling realization sank deep into his bones. What spirit would want gold and crystals? It made no sense. Yet the thought of anyone else committing the crime seemed impossible. There were no other answers.

Meanwhile, Azar received the news with a sly smile. The shadow folk surveilling Kasian had delivered the report, and it pleased Azar immensely. It seemed the people of this world had forgotten the power of a true flux-weaver, and the superstitions worked in his favor.

After securing the spoils, Azar set about buying the materials needed for the Mirha and the tribe alliance to strengthen their cultivation. With the tools for creating better goods in hand, he met with the tribal leader, Mohul, for a final farewell, filling the wagons as a parting gift.

"Safe travels, Mohul. May the desert spirits guard you and your men," Azar said, clasping his arm in a firm, brotherly embrace.

"May they hear your voice, syed," Mohul replied, bowing deeply in respect. The two shared a solemn exchange, filled with unspoken trust.

"Make good use of the techniques I’ve provided," Azar continued, hinting to the stolen scrolls from Kasian's vault. "If you do good, next time we meet, I’ll bring you even more. Strengthen your people. This is just the beginning."

"We will, syed. With these materials and Araumir Syed's teachings, we will not fail. Next time you see us, we’ll have grown stronger," Mohul vowed, his people echoing his words with a respectful bow.

"Good," Azar said with satisfaction. "In six months, return to me with all the goods you can gather to sell and show me what you’ve accomplished. Now go—you’ve got a long road ahead."

As Mohul and his men departed, Araumir stepped forward. "Master?"

"You are to oversee the tribes," Azar instructed, his tone firm. "For the next six months, gather them, strengthen the alliance, and prepare them for the battles ahead. Try to bring more damned spirits into the ranks of your shadow folk, but do so without creating new enemies. Train them as spies and assassins. If you succeed, I’ll allow you to join me after six months, perhaps a year. By then, I hope to be closer to the center of the continent."

"As you wish, master," Araumir replied, his eyes glinting with ambition. The weight of responsibility didn’t faze him—in fact, it excited him. "I'll leave these two with you." He motioned, and two of the shadow folk left his side, joining Azar's shadow. "They are under your command, master. And they will assure me of your safety at all times."