Merlin clenched his palm, and with that single motion, the raging sandstorm dissipated into the wind, leaving only silence and scorched dunes in its wake.
He looked down at Thorak's half-buried corpse, the once-proud general now just another victim of the desert.
"Maybe gifting it via portal is the best option," Merlin muttered, a flicker of dark amusement in his voice.
Cassandra arrived moments later, her robes whipping in the residual breeze. She saw the blood on his chest, staining his robe.
"You're wounded," she said, her voice sharp with concern.
Merlin nodded silently. He raised his hand, and a portal opened beneath Thorak's lifeless body. The corpse dropped through the swirling void without ceremony.
Far away, in the opulent hall of Memnon's fortress, a council was underway.
Memnon sat at the head of the table, surrounded by his generals. His brow furrowed in thought."There's been no word from Thorak,No update on Cassandra's whereabouts… or the sorcerer."
He then glanced over the table, then raised his voice. "At dawn tomorrow, the bell will toll—and with it, begins our war against the gods. Eat and drink your fill today, for tomorrow we fight."
One of the generals rose hesitantly. "My lord… there is something troubling the men."
Memnon's eyes narrowed. "How distressing. Pray tell—what troubles them?"
The general glanced nervously at the others before continuing. "Rumors. Whispers. They say… the sorcerer is no longer at your side."
A dangerous smile curved Memnon's lips. "Soldiers often fall prey to palace gossip. You have my word—she is safe."
The general persisted, voice trembling slightly. "With all respect, my lord… if the men are to fight, to die—they may need more than words."
Memnon rose slowly, each step deliberate as he approached the general. "My word is not enough?"
The room grew still. The general instinctively stepped back, treading on perilous ground.
And then—THUD!
A body crashed onto the council table.
Gasps erupted. Some generals leapt from their seats in horror.
Memnon's eyes locked on the corpse.
It was Thorak.
His broken neck twisted at an unnatural angle, sand still clinging to his armor.
Shock rippled through the room. Memnon's mask of calm cracked—if only for a heartbeat.
Chaos erupted like a storm.
The moment Thorak's corpse hit the council table, it was as if a spell had been broken—not one cast by magic, but by fear, faith, and illusion.
Despite Memnon's furious attempts to suppress the truth, the rumors spread like wildfire—fanned by whispers from servant halls to barracks, from drunken murmurs in training yards to murmured prayers in temple corners.
The sorceress was gone.
The very heart of Memnon's war machine had stopped beating.
His army had never marched on strength alone. It was built on belief—in fate, in prophecy, in divine assurance whispered from the lips of the one woman who claimed to see what no mortal could.
Cassandra's visions had guided Memnon through victories thought impossible. She had foretold alliances, betrayals, and ambushes before they happened. She was his oracle, his bridge to the gods, the unseen force that gave men the courage to fight.
Now she was gone.
Worse—she was with the enemy. The sorcerer.
And Thorak, one of their fiercest generals, had been returned not in triumph, but as a warning—dead and discarded like a message from the gods.
Cracks split through the army's foundation.
Whole units began questioning their orders. Officers reported desertions. Superstitious battalions refused to eat or sleep on cursed ground. Some accused their own comrades of treachery. Others whispered that the gods had turned their favor.
What Memnon had forged through conquest and prophecy now threatened to unravel before the first clash with divine forces.
Inside the palace, Memnon stood at the heart of it all, seething with fury.
He had always known fear was a weapon—but now, he tasted it himself. And it burned like venom.
Back in the Valley of the Dead, Cassandra guided Merlin into the safety of the enchanted tent.
She removed his bloodied robe carefully and gasped. The wound on his chest glowed faintly green, its edges pulsing with unnatural light—even as the skin struggled to knit itself back together.
"I recognize this," she whispered. "That dagger was a gift from the gods to Memnon. It carries a divine poison—deadly, even to immortals."
Merlin gave a faint smile. "Effective, yes. But not quite enough. The wound will heal, in time."
Cassandra stared at him in awe. "You're truly… immortal."
He nodded once.
"I can help with the poison," she said softly, stepping closer.
Before he could question her, she leaned in—and kissed him.
The contact startled Merlin, but he didn't pull away. Her lips pressed against his, gentle yet purposeful. A faint glow surrounded her, divine and warm. The light passed from him to her, carrying the poison with it.
As the kiss broke, Cassandra staggered slightly, catching her breath.
Merlin looked at her, wide-eyed. "What did you just—"
"I drew the poison into myself," she said, her voice strained. "I've seen it before. My blood can purify it. Since I am Egyptian Gods Prophet."
"You didn't have to," he said, more shaken than he expected.
"I wanted to," she replied, meeting his gaze. "Because I care for you. And I won't let Memnon win—not like this."
Though Merlin didn't need the help, he appreciated the gesture.
He looked at Cassandra—still slightly pale from drawing the poison—and gave her a respectful nod.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
The moment lingered, filled with unspoken trust.
The Next Day
The sun had just begun its climb over the golden horizon, casting long shadows over the desert dunes. Merlin and Cassandra traveled with steady pace across the sands, their silhouettes framed against the shimmering heat.
A glimmer of green ahead signaled their destination—an oasis cradled in the arms of the desert.
Cassandra glanced at him, curiosity in her eyes. "Where are we going?"
Merlin replied without looking back. "To meet the remnant tribe leaders."
She raised a brow. "The ones who follow Bast?"
He nodded. "They've survived Memnon's campaigns because they were clever… and blessed. Bast has probably already sent them word of what's coming. If so, they'll join us."
Cassandra looked forward, her gaze narrowing. "And if they haven't?"
Merlin smiled faintly. "Then I convince them."
She smirked. "With words… or magic?"
He gave her a side glance. "Whichever works."