After agreeing on a deal with Siro Al'Vahir's the group went on a hunting mission.
The wind whispered strange hymns across the Dune Wastes that night.
Etreuf stood atop a jagged bluff, sand whipping against his cloak like shards of glass. Below him, Lyssara and Adam crouched behind a broken sandstone arch, scanning the endless sea of dunes. The air was different—heavy, pulsing. Something ancient stirred beneath the ground.
Suddenly, a low vibration hummed through the earth, as if the desert itself exhaled. From beyond a ridge, a light glimmered—no torchlight, no fire. It flickered in rhythm.
Etreuf's eyes narrowed. "He's here."
Beneath a stone altar deep in the valley, Nadrath the Hollow Mind stood before a circle of his cloaked followers. His arms rose slowly, reverently, and in his hands—Lament of the Dunes.
He drew the bow across the strings.
The first note rang out like a funeral bell.
The sand rippled outward. The altar glowed with ancient runes. And then, it began—the performance. A slow, mournful tune that built with every stroke, resonating with the bones of the desert itself.
The ground shook.
Massive slabs of stone began to crack and rise, revealing ancient, carved pathways. The golem's resting place—buried for centuries—began to unfurl like a blooming flower of rock and earth.
A towering hand of stone burst from the sands.
The golem was awakening.
Adam bolted forward. "He's doing it! He's waking the damn thing!"
"No," Lyssara whispered, drawing her dagger. "He's controlling it."
They rushed down the ridge—but before they reached Nadrath, sand exploded in a wall of force, hurling them backward.
From the storm stepped Nadrath himself—cloaked in black and gold, bone plates adorning his shoulders, the violin glowing with a crimson hue. He dragged the bow along the strings again.
A second note followed.
Adam gasped—visions surged into his mind. Memories. Regrets. The death of his brother. His failure at the Gate of Ashes. He fell to his knees, shaking.
Lyssara screamed and charged.
Nadrath's bow snapped into a blade mid-swing, and in a flash of obsidian, he parried her strike, then stepped back—resuming his performance like a maestro mid-concert.
"You play well," he said, voice calm, "but this is not your stage."
Etreuf dropped from the cliff, landing with a crack of power. His eyes burned crimson.
"Nadrath," he growled.
"Ah... the demon in borrowed flesh," Nadrath smiled. "Come to silence the music?"
"I came to end it."
The battle ignited.
Etreuf's fists met Nadrath's blade in a whirlwind of fury and finesse. Each time Nadrath retreated, he played another line of music—stones rose like walls, sand twisted into spears, and the golem above slowly began to move. It stared at the horizon—toward Al'Zahir.
As they fought, Lyssara and Adam regrouped and turned to the golem.
"Buy us time!" Lyssara yelled.
Etreuf nodded—and unleashed a demonic roar that shattered Nadrath's illusions.
They clashed again. Fire against sound. Fists against blade. Power against madness.
And still… the violin sang.
The Golem of Zyrion had risen.
Fifty feet tall, its body a living monument of sandstone and obsidian, veined with molten light that pulsed in rhythm with Nadrath's melody. Its eyes—two glowing orbs like miniature suns—cast a dreadful gaze over the desert.
It took a step forward, and the ground shook with cataclysmic force.
Lyssara sprinted across the dunes, leaping onto a half-buried pillar, and threw a dagger laced with runic sealstones at the golem's knee. It shattered harmlessly.
Adam, hands scorched and armor cracked, began drawing sigils into the sand, invoking desert-binding rituals once taught by King Siro's archivists. Sweat poured from his brow. "I need more time!"
The golem raised its arm—then slammed it into the earth.
A shockwave roared outward, sending debris flying and splitting the battlefield in half.
Meanwhile, Nadrath and Etreuf battled among the ruins, their duel a violent sonata.
Nadrath's movements were hypnotic—each sword slash seamlessly flowed into a chord of the violin. Reality trembled around them. Time stuttered.
But Etreuf, bloodied yet undeterred, grinned.
"You love your music," he snarled, "but let me show you my rhythm."
With a surge of demonic energy, he vanished and reappeared mid-air—slamming his heel into Nadrath's chest and cracking the ground below. The violin flew from Nadrath's grip.
He hit the dirt hard, coughing blood, eyes wide in disbelief.
But he was still smiling.
"You fool… the song has already reached him."
He pointed.
The golem, now fully awake, turned its massive body toward the direction of Al'Zahir—Zyrion's capital.
Its feet began to move—slow, deliberate steps, but unstoppable. The ancient demigod now walked under Nadrath's final command.
Lyssara ran to Etreuf. "We can't stop it!"
But then—
Flames ripped across the horizon.
A streak of red fire descended from the sky like a comet, crashing in front of the golem with thunderous force.
The heat seared the air. Sand turned to glass.
And from the crater rose a figure: a lone man in a dark cloak, short dagger at his hip, a massive flaming greatsword resting on one shoulder.
The Mysterious King.
He glanced at the golem without fear.
"I was hunting sky serpents in the clouds when I heard a song I didn't like."
He raised the greatsword.
With a single swing, a wave of fire swept across the desert, smashing into the golem's chest and halting its advance.
Nadrath, still lying in the sand, stared up in horror.
"No… no… this wasn't your fight…"
The Mysterious King turned slightly toward Etreuf.
"I told you to watch her," he said flatly, eyeing Lyssara. "Now you know why."
Then, without waiting for reply, he charged the golem alone.