Vortex Origins
Chapter 54: The Return back to sandworms valley - 2

Chapter 54: The Return back to sandworms valley - 2

Ash moved through the abyss of the wasteland, his breath steady, his footsteps soundless against the cracked earth. The ruins of Ironhold blurred behind him, swallowed by heat and distance.

He slowed, his gaze sharp as a blade, scanning the horizon. A flicker of unease slithered through him.

Watching eyes? A presence in the dunes?

Nothing. Just silence.

Then—

"[Activating skill: Phantom’s Stride]"

The world fractured. The air grew dense, the hum of his machine stretching into a low murmur, distant, unreal. Each grain of sand, each ripple of wind, became something tangible, something he could feel in his bones.

He moved.

The mass handler glided forward as if the earth had lost its hold on it. The cracked terrain passed in a blur, distance folding in on itself. A moment later, he reached the cabin—a battered shell of a shelter, half-buried in dust.

Beyond it, Sandworm Valley loomed—a churning wasteland of shifting dunes and unseen horrors. Beneath the surface, something enormous breathed, a slow and ancient rhythm hidden under the weight of sand. The ground itself felt wrong, like a thin veil stretched over something waiting to break through.

A jagged sunrise bled across the sky, its crimson light carving through the darkness.

Ash tightened his grip on the machine’s handle, his lips curling into a grin.

"Stay put. I’m coming."

Then he vanished.

————

Elsewhere, in sandworms valley...

Max trudged forward, the heat gnawing at his back, his grip firm around the reins. He lifted a metal flask to his lips, letting the water pool on his tongue before swallowing. Every drop counted.

The sky shifted—black retreating into the bruised hues of twilight.

Dawn crept closer.

Behind him, the caravan dragged forward, each step carving fresh scars into the dunes. The figures moved like ghosts, wrapped in dust-streaked cloth, their strength whittled down by the endless expanse of sand.

At the center of it all, the Tier 6 Sandworm lay bound and barely breathing, its hulking form wrapped in reinforced chains. Sedated, but not dead. The thing pulsed, slow and rhythmic, its flesh shifting under the restraints.

Lesser worms stirred beneath the surface but kept their distance. They knew. Even in its weakened state, the Creature commanded fear.

For now, everything held together. The caravan moved in silence, the only sounds the grind of wheels against sand and the whisper of shifting dunes.

Max walked at the front, jaw tight, eyes scanning the horizon. If they ran out of Maxveil—the only thing keeping the sandworm sedated—then they wouldn’t last a minute.

He kept walking. Thinking wouldn’t help.

Then—

A dull thud.

Max didn’t turn. Neither did the others.

Near the back, a man lay crumpled in the sand, limbs slack, chest rising and falling in shallow bursts.

Kael, who had been trailing behind, approached and looked down at him.

"Get up."

His voice carried no warmth.

The man didn’t response. His fingers twitched, but that was all.

Kael crouched beside him, head tilting.

"You’re pathetic. Even the kids are still walking."

The man let out a shuddering breath, rolling onto his back. Cracked lips barely moved.

"The kids ate last night. I didn’t. Look Just go."

Kael studied him for a moment longer. Then he stood.

"Fine."

He turned away.

The caravan pressed forward, figures dragging their feet through the endless dunes. No one spared the fallen man a second glance.

Darkness stretched across the wasteland, the sky tinged in deep indigo, the first traces of dawn barely visible on the horizon. The cold of the desert night clung to his skin, a sharp contrast to the exhaustion weighing down his body. His vision blurred. He let his eyes drift shut.

Then—

A tremor.

Faint, but deep. Something vast shifting beneath the surface.

His breath hitched. He turned his head, sluggish and unfocused.

The sand moved. Not wind. Not shifting dunes.

Something else.

The ground rolled. Silken ripples, the kind that didn’t belong to the lifeless desert. Shapes slithered just beneath the surface—no faces, no eyes, only the promise of something massive.

A pack.

Coming straight for him.

Panic struck like a lightning bolt. His pulse hammered, his body jerking into motion before his mind could catch up.

He ran.

The dunes lurched beneath his steps, sand swallowing his ankles, dragging him down. He fought against it, limbs screaming, lungs burning.

"HEY! WAIT FOR ME!"

His voice cracked, lost in the wind.

The caravan didn’t stop. Not immediately. But after a moment, Kael glanced back. His eyes flicked to the moving sand. Then to the man.

"Tch."

With an annoyed sigh, he gestured to one of the others.

"Grab him before he gets himself killed."

Someone went back, lift him up and pulled the man up onto the cart. His breath came in harsh, ragged gulps as he collapsed beside the cargo.

No one spoke.

The desert night stretched on, the glow of sunrise bleeding into the sky.

They kept moving.

Suddenly.

WHOOSH—

The wind roared, flinging sand into the air. It lashed against the caravan like a living thing, clawing at their skin, filling their mouths with dust. Max threw an arm over his face, his grin barely visible through the storm.

"You coming back means we still have a chance, right?"

A shadow moved through the haze. A figure, stepping forward, hauling something heavy.

Ash.

He emerged from the swirling dust, his grip firm on a metal container. His clothes were a bit torn, face streaked with dirt, but his grin mirrored Max’s—a sharp, weary thing.

"Yeah. If we keep moving non-stop, we can make it before tomorrow afternoon."

For a moment, silence. Then—cheers. A ragged, desperate sound. The weight pressing down on them cracked, shifting just enough for hope to bleed through.

Max let them have that moment. But He didn’t.

His gaze flickered, the smile still there but thinner now, stretched too tight.

Ash noticed.

"What’s wrong?"

Max’s grin returned, but something in his eyes stayed dark.

"Nothing. oh you came back with a mass handler."

Ash smirked.

"Glad you noticed."

He tapped the container, unlatching it with a click.

Lids peeled back. Inside—bread, dried meat, water. Stacks of it. The scent hit the group like a physical thing, stomachs twisting, throats tightening.

A second wave of relief crashed through them. Some fell to their knees, hands trembling as they reached for the food.

Old man mark pushed forward, shoulders hunched, eyes wet. His voice cracked as he grabbed Ash’s arm.

"If not for you... we’d be dying one by one. Thank you."

Ash placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Someone had to do it. And i just happen to have the ability to do it."

Max clapped his hands once. The noise cut through the murmurs.

"Eat now. This is the last stop until we’re out of this damned valley."

No arguments. No hesitation. The thought of leaving Sandworm Valley was a rope to hold onto, a promise that felt solid for the first time.