Arcane: Red Sands

The Noxian garrison was a fortress of dark stone, looming over Bel'zhun like a watchful predator. Its walls, reinforced with iron spikes, were manned by soldiers who paced tirelessly, their shadows long under the flickering torchlight.

Inside, the air buzzed with tension. Reports of rebel movements trickled in daily, each one adding another layer to the pressure that weighed on the command structure.

At the heart of it all, Captain Su'Rhaal stood in the war room, his crimson eyes scanning the maps and markers spread across the central table.

"This choke point," Su said, tapping the edge of the spice district on the map. "The rebels are using it to strike at our supply lines. If we position overlapping patrols here and here, we can force them into a dead zone."

Around him, the officers of the Desert Raiders—his own elite raider, and the local forces listened intently. Their sharp discipline and quiet focus mirrored the leadership of the captain.

The door creaked open, and General Dorrik strode in, his polished boots clicking against the stone floor. The room fell silent as he approached the table, his presence demanding attention.

"Rearranging my patrols again, Captain?" Dorrik's tone was slick, with an edge of condescension.

Su's jaw tightened. "I've analyzed the rebels' movements. These adjustments will cut off their routes and force them into engagement on our terms."

Dorrik chuckled, leaning over the table to scrutinize the map. "Engagements cost men, Captain. This... plan of yours smells of overconfidence."

"It's calculated," Su replied, his voice steady.

"Perhaps," Dorrik said with a smirk. "But I'll make some adjustments of my own. Your Raiders may be effective in the field, but this is my city. I won't have reckless strategies tarnishing its defenses."

Su met the general's gaze, his expression unreadable. "As you wish, General."

Dorrik lingered for a moment longer, clearly enjoying the subtle tension, before turning on his heel and leaving the room.

The officers exchanged wary glances, but Su remained composed, his focus returning to the map.

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Outside, the garrison was alive with activity. Soldiers marched in formation, the rhythmic clash of boots on stone blending with the clang of steel from the training grounds.

Zanaiya, Su's trusted lieutenant, watched over a squad of Desert Hunters as they sparred. Her piercing eyes missed nothing, her corrections sharp and efficient.

Su joined her, his gaze sweeping across the grounds. "How are they holding up?"

"Well enough," Zanaiya replied. "But they're asking questions about Dorrik. They see him pulling men from your patrols, favoring his own."

"They don't need to question him," Su said coldly. "They follow my orders, and that's all that matters."

Zanaiya frowned. "Dorrik's undermining you, Su. It's only a matter of time before it affects morale."

Su exhaled, his frustration flickering for a moment. "Then I'll make sure it doesn't."

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Later that evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Su returned to the garrison's mess hall. The room was quiet, most of the soldiers having retired for the night.

Seated at a table near the far wall was Samira, her long legs propped up on a nearby chair, a half-empty mug of ale in her hand. She spotted Su as he entered and raised the mug in a mock salute.

"Captain," she said with a grin. "Care to join me?"

Su hesitated but crossed the room, taking the seat across from her.

"So," Samira began, leaning forward slightly. " The Demon of the Sands, huh? I've heard stories."

Su raised an eyebrow. "Stories tend to grow with the telling."

"Like how the sands turned red in your last campaign? Or how your Raiders are so brutal, even the Shurimans tell their kids stories about you to keep them in line?"

Su's expression didn't change. "Those stories are meant to inspire fear. They serve a purpose."

Samira smirked, swirling the ale in her mug. "And what about the other story? The one about your former captain?"

The room seemed to grow colder.

"They say you killed him," Samira continued, her tone casual but her eye sharp. "Right there on the battlefield. Called him a coward and ran him through."

Su's crimson eyes locked onto hers, his expression hardening.

"What else do they say?" he asked quietly.

Samira leaned back, her smirk fading slightly. "That you're a man who doesn't tolerate weakness. Not in yourself. Not in anyone else."

Su remained silent, his gaze steady and unyielding.

"Am I wrong?" she pressed.

Su's voice was calm but icy. "You're free to believe whatever you like. Stories are just that, stories."

For a moment, the tension between them hung in the air. Then Su leaned back slightly, his tone softening just enough to shift the focus.

"What about you?" he asked. "The eyepatch—how'd you lose it?"

Samira blinked, caught off guard. "Didn't take you for the curious type, Captain."

"You pulled your captain out of a burning fortress," Su said, ignoring her deflection. "Lost your eye in the process. That's what your file says."

Samira's smirk returned, but it was softer now. "Yeah. Indari was her name. She was... something else. Took a chance on me when no one else would."

"She lost her Company," Su said.

Samira nodded, her voice quieter now. "And her legs. I went to Amakra after that. Thought maybe I'd had enough of war. Guess I was wrong."

Su studied her for a moment before standing. "War doesn't care what we've had enough of."

Samira watched him leave, her golden eye narrowing thoughtfully.

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As the moon rose over the sands, Su stood atop the garrison walls, his gaze fixed on the city below. The spice district was quiet, its streets dark and empty.

Behind him, the torches burned steadily, their flames flickering in the cool desert wind.

Dorrik's changes had left gaps in the patrols—gaps the rebels would undoubtedly exploit. Su knew the consequences of failure, but he also knew the resolve of his Raiders.

They would adapt. They always did.

"They won't stop," he murmured to himself. "And neither will I."