The desert winds whispered through the dunes, carrying the ghosts of a forgotten age.
Long before the world was divided into kingdoms and empires, there stood a nation of gold and fire — Dar es Salaam, the Jewel of the Sands. Its people wrapped their faces in silken turbans, revealing only their dazzling green eyes, as bright as the oasis that had given their ancestors life. The royal family bore eyes of two colors — one crystal blue, one green — a divine mark said to bridge heaven and earth.
For countless centuries, Dar es Salaam ruled the desert and beyond. Its warriors clashed with orcish tribes in the Blackened Hills, battled dragons that burned the skies crimson, and sealed away creatures of the night that slithered from the Forbidden Lands. Yet the other human empires — the Maltec, Bulkitan, Serrathi, Vekari, and Namarian — gazed upon Salaam not with reverence, but envy.
When the endless war against the Forbidden creatures reached its final stand, King Qione Salaam led his armies into the catacombs known as the Endless Pit, awaiting the reinforcements his allies had sworn to send. None came. Betrayed and surrounded, his legions were forced to retreat to the capital, Khartoum, their radiant city at the border of the Forbidden Lands.
When word reached Qione that his allies now marched upon his home, he raised his sword to the blazing sky and swore his people would never kneel. For three days and three nights, Khartoum burned — gold towers collapsing, the sands running red with blood. When the sun rose on the fourth day, the city was gone, swallowed whole by the desert.
Dar es Salaam ceased to exist.
A Millennia later, the story was little more than myth.
"…and that," said the teacher, closing his datapad with a soft click, "is how the greatest empire to ever grace the sands vanished beneath them."
A yawn broke the silence.
"That was boring," muttered Devar, slouching in his seat. "Just some old bedtime stories for little kids."
The class laughed.
Their teacher's eyes hardened. "History," he said quietly, "is never boring. It is a warning. We in the Maltec Empire remember Dar es Salaam because we feared them. Had they survived the Forbidden Wars, they would have conquered us all."
He turned to the window, where the golden spires of the city shimmered in the afternoon sun. "Their fall ended the age of darkness. It has been ten thousand years since a monster walked this world. That is why we live in the Golden Age."
The bell rang, and the students scattered, leaving the old man staring out across the horizon.
"Let us hope," he whispered, "they remain buried… for if the Salaam rise again, the world will drown in chaos once more."
Far away, the desert stretched for endless miles. Beneath its surface, under mountains of sand, the city of Khartoum still slept — its towers entombed in gold dust, its streets silent and whole.
Until tonight.
A group of twenty stood atop a dune, their torches flickering against the storm-dark sky. Their leader, a scarred man with crimson armor and a black cloak, looked out across the wasteland. His name was Red, a mercenary from the Bulkitan Empire, and his eyes gleamed with hunger.
"Somewhere under our feet," he said, "lies a city of gold."
His crew hailed from every corner of the modern world — thieves and soldiers from Bulkitan, Maltec, Serrathi, Vekari, and Namarian — bound together by greed.
As they searched the dunes, one of them shouted, "Over here! Something's carved into the stone!"
They gathered around the half-buried monument — a statue of a Salaam warrior with a blade raised toward the sky. Before they could inspect it further, a sudden scream tore through the air.
"Lilith!"
Their librarian and tactician, Lilith, had vanished into the sand. When they reached the spot where she'd stood, they found a gaping hole descending into darkness.
Her voice echoed faintly from below. "We found it!"
Red grinned. "Get the ropes ready."
Excitement swept through the group. Seven were left to guard the camp; the rest began their descent into the abyss. "You seven hold position," Red said. "You'll still get your share when we return rich."
The guards cheered at that. Greed was easier than courage.
When Red reached the bottom, his torch revealed a sight beyond imagination.
An entire city stretched before them — streets of white stone, towers tipped with gold, fountains still running with crystal water. Though buried beneath endless sand, Khartoum was whole. Untouched. Waiting.
At the mouth of a grand bridge stood two massive statues of Salaam warriors, blades crossed over the entrance. Beside them, a stone post bore a message etched in ancient script. Lilith knelt beside it, brushing off the dust.
"What does it say?" Red asked.
Her voice trembled as she read,
"Those who seek glory and honor may enter.
Those who come to steal shall be enslaved and beheaded."
Red laughed. "Then let's go claim our glory."
They crossed the bridge, their footsteps echoing in the hollow silence. High above, hidden atop the ruins, two shadowy figures wrapped in black and gold cloth watched. Only their green eyes gleamed in the darkness before they vanished into the wind.
The mercenaries spread through the sleeping city, searching houses, markets, and halls. They found ancient blades forged from white steel, coins dulled by time, and jewels that sparkled like frozen fire — but not the treasure they'd hoped for.
When they regrouped in the city square, Red scowled. "This is pocket change. The real treasure's in the palace."
He pointed toward the colossal structure that rose above the city like a sun of gold — the royal palace of Dar es Salaam.
Lilith's face paled. "Red… the old stories said only nobles could enter. Anyone else—"
"They're all dead, Lilith," Red interrupted, his grin sharp as a blade. "Nothing to fear from ghosts."
They forced the doors open.
The air inside was still, thick with the scent of dust and oil. Lining the grand hall were dozens of mummified guards, wrapped in sand-colored cloth embroidered with gold thread. Their faces were hidden behind masks of beaten bronze.
Lilith shuddered. "It's true. The Salaam wrapped their strongest warriors — the eternal sentries. Guardians of the living and the dead."
Red laughed, stepping forward and giving one a shove. The corpse toppled, hitting the floor with a hollow thud. "Dead men don't fight."
The team fanned out through the palace, searching room after room. Their voices echoed, fading into the endless corridors.
When the last torchlight disappeared around the corner, the fallen guard stirred.
The sand shifted. Cloth whispered.
Two green lights flickered beneath its mask.
Slowly, the sentry of Dar es Salaam rose to its feet, turned toward the massive doors, and shut them tight. The echo of stone reverberated through the halls as it returned silently to its post — its glowing eyes fixed upon the darkness that had once been home.
And deep beneath the sands, for the first time in ten thousand years, Khartoum breathed again.