122 THE GHOSTS OF ZALIRA
Quest Snow nodded. "Yes — it was a sizable contract bound for Silver City. Since we're not supplying Fortress Myrone anymore, I thought it better to sell the surplus than halt production. My factories can't sit idle forever."
Garius Zetheris leaned forward. "We also delivered a large order of elixirs and medical compounds to them last week. Is there a problem?"
Valtor's voice grew darker. "We, too, sold several shipments of weapons and machinery to the Aukoumas — to help fund our blockade against Myrone."
A cold silence settled across their private booth.
Garius's expression twisted. "Wait… are you saying—"
Valtor finished for him. "—that the Aukouma family's been using our own supplies to resell to Fortress Myrone and rebuilding its strength."
Quest's eyes widened. "That can't be true."
Garius slammed his fist on the table, rattling glasses. "It fits too perfectly! They bought our stock under the guise of Silver City contracts, then sold it to Myrone at high prices in return for these materials that they auction at ten times the normal price!"
Valtor cursed. "We've been played. Every one of us."
"That is the reason Fortress Myrone doesn't bother to negotiate with us. They don't even chase us for shipments anymore?"
"Where the hell is that Arom Aukouma?" Garius growled.
"He's in Silver City," Quest muttered. "At least… that's what we were told."
Valtor's eyes narrowed. "Or maybe he never left. Maybe this whole Silver City shipment was a front — a smokescreen while they supplied Myrone behind our backs."
For a moment, none of them spoke. The air was thick with fury, fear and conspiracy.
Finally, Garius leaned back, his voice low and dangerous. "If Zolan Aukouma thinks he can mock the houses and walk away unscathed, he's gravely mistaken. We'll remind him why the noble families rule the cities — not merchants and their filthy trades."
-----
"My good son," Zolan Aukouma said with a proud gleam in his eyes, "do you know how much money we've earned in the past month from selling materials from Fortress Myrone?"
Zairgid smiled faintly. "Enough to make the major families start asking questions. After the last auction, I'm sure they're already suspicious of us."
"Let them suspect," Zolan said dismissively, waving his hand. "We've already built alternate supply lines — the essentials we produce ourselves now. As for the less critical items, we'll buy them quietly from the other cities. The noble houses can choke on their own greed for all I care."
Zairgid hesitated. "What about Uncle Arom? Won't he expose our plans?"
"I've already seen to that," Zolan said calmly. "He's under house arrest. Consider it punishment for scheming behind my back. He'll stay there until I say otherwise."
"Should we release him soon?" Zairgid asked.
"Not yet," Zolan replied after a thoughtful pause. "At least not until after the General Meeting. When it's time, I'll announce you as the new CEO of Aukouma Industries."
Zairgid blinked in surprise. "Will the other directors even agree to that?"
"They will," Zolan said with quiet confidence, "once they see the profit reports you've generated this month. Numbers are the only loyalty they understand."
Zairgid exhaled and nodded slowly.
He hadn't wanted this — not the title, not the politics — but fate had its own way of binding him. Whether he wished it or not, this was the role laid out before him.
He leaned back in his chair, staring toward the window and imagined the twin suns sinking into the desert horizon.
"Where the hell are you, Damen?" he murmured. "You've been gone a month."
-----
The sandstorms had finally passed, leaving a scorched silence over the desert. Damen trudged onward, Eryn slumped against his back.
His skin now transformed into dark blue armor shimmering faintly beneath the sun, and cracked in places, its living metal pulsing like wounded flesh trying to mend.
Since assimilating Zalira's Blue Blood Core, his body had begun to change. Beneath his skin, threads of meta-metal scales were forming — growing denser each day.
"This is strange… after absorbing Zalira's core, my body's transforming into an Annunakin form", Damen thought.
Eryn had remained unconscious for most of the journey, feverish from exhaustion and the cold nights.
Zalira's body lay behind them, buried beneath a cairn of white stones.
"You'll rest now, Zalira," Damen murmured before leaving. "We'll return someday… to bring you home."
He followed the map fragments Zalira had left behind, though each day the shifting dunes carried him further from Fortress Myrone.
He was lost despite following Zalira's notes.
"What the hell is this Well…", Damen asked as he browsed the notes.
The notes spoke of the Ruins of the Well. Zalira's notes mentioned about a sanctuary of ancient alien technology believed to harmonize Blue Blood mutations.
"Did you come here once… looking for a cure, Zalira?" he whispered.
The nights were merciless.
Scavenger beasts prowled under the pale moons, drawn by Eryn's scent and by the faint radiation bleeding from Damen's armor. Each time they came, he fought them off, his strikes became faster, heavier, and more precise.
The Core of Blue Blood had stopped his curse from consuming his mind, but it brought another problem. His power was growing without restraint.
His muscles hardened, his skin thickened until it felt almost indestructible — and sometimes, he could feel the Blue Blood moving on its own, testing his control.
"The curse wasn't cured- it was transforming him."
"Damn it," he thought. "If they see me like this… they'll throw me in a machine like Kail."
After days and nights of travel, suddenly, Damen saw lights in the distance — torches, flickering across the ridge of a dune.
There was a caravan!!!
Damen approached cautiously, sand crunching beneath his boots. The torches flickered once and then vanished.
In their place walked figures of translucent light and drifting ash, gliding noiselessly across the dunes.
"Are they… ghosts?" Damen murmured.
The answer came from all directions at once, a voice made of echo and wind.
"The sons of Ra do not belong here. The cursed blood is forbidden in our sanctum."
Suddenly the Spirits were upon them circling around him and Eryn, their forms bending like smoke.
Damen lashed out instinctively—his fist passed straight through one, leaving only ripples of light. He tried again, sending kinetic bursts and crackling arcs of energy, but each strike rebounded, his life force recoiling painfully with every attempt.
"Damnit, these are really ghosts", he admitted.
Then Eryn stirred.
Half-conscious, she began to chant.
The ghosts though… surprisingly froze. Their whispering turned melodic, and reverent.
"You carry her song," they murmured, their voices fading into dust, leaving them alone.
Damen lowered his guard and the desert suddenly went silent.
"What was that about? Did you chase away the ghosts?" he asked.
Eryn blinked, still dazed from the experience. "I don't know… I've been dreaming about Mother. She was teaching me that song," she replied as tears welled in her eyes.
Damen frowned. "Zalira's ghost… teaching her through dreams?" The thought chilled him.
When the wind settled, the sand shifted, revealing a dark hollow beneath the dune. An entrance with ancient stone steps leading downward.
Eryn stared into the darkness. "What is this place?"