Arcane: Red Sands

The bright light of the Rising sun washed over the remnants of the battlefield. The once-pristine sands were churned with blood and debris, broken weapons scattered like discarded thoughts. The Desert Raiders, usually stoic and composed, moved silently among the carnage, their faces etched with exhaustion and grief.

Su'Rhaal crouched beside the body of one of his fallen men, his crimson eyes scanning the lifeless features. The soldier's helmet was dented, his tabard soaked in blood—a life taken too soon. Su ran a hand over the man's chest, closing his eyes as if in prayer, though he said nothing.

Behind him, Zanaiya approached cautiously. She paused a few steps away, watching her captain with a mixture of concern and understanding.

"Su," she said softly, her voice low to avoid disturbing the solemn air.

He didn't answer, his attention fixed on the fallen.

"Su," she repeated, stepping closer. "They need us. Your men need you."

Finally, he stood, his movements deliberate and controlled, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed the storm brewing within.

"This was avoidable," he said quietly, his voice devoid of emotion.

Zanaiya hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "It wasn't your fault."

"It wasn't theirs, either," he replied, gesturing to the bodies strewn across the sand. "And yet, here we are."

Zanaiya knew better than to argue. Instead, she fell into step beside him as he turned toward the garrison.

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The war room buzzed with the quiet murmur of officers exchanging reports, their voices low but urgent. Maps and reports cluttered the central table, marked with notes of the rebels' recent movements. General Dorrik, polished and imposing in his armor, stood at the head of the table, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

When Su'Rhaal and Zanaiya entered, the atmosphere shifted. Conversations stopped, and all eyes turned toward the crimson-eyed captain whose name carried both fear and respect.

Dorrik's smirk widened as Su approached the table. "Ah, Captain Su. How gracious of you to join us."

Su's expression was unreadable, his voice steady. "You wanted to discuss the convoy."

"Indeed," Dorrik replied, his tone dripping with false pleasantry. "Though I should hardly need to remind you—it was your men who failed to protect it."

A ripple of unease passed through the room. Su's jaw tightened, but he remained calm. "Your decision to pull the patrols left them exposed. My men fought to cover a gap you created."

Dorrik raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "A gap? Is that what you're calling it? I call it a calculated risk—one your Raiders failed to compensate for."

Su stepped closer, his crimson eyes locking onto Dorrik's. "Calculated risks don't include sacrificing your own soldiers for nothing. Their blood is on your hands."

The tension in the room thickened, the officers exchanging nervous glances.

Dorrik's smirk faded, replaced by a cold glare. "Careful, Captain. You forget your place."

"And you forget your duty," Su countered, his voice rising. "Your incompetence cost lives—good Noxian lives. And if you can't see that, you're not fit to command."

Dorrik's composure cracked, his fist slamming onto the table. "You dare question me? You're a blunt instrument, Su'Rhaal. A savage dressed in armor. You exist to follow orders, not give them."

The insult landed like a blow, and for a moment, the room was silent.

"So be it."

Then Su moved.

In a flash, he closed the distance between them, grabbing Dorrik by the front of his tunic and yanking him forward. The table shook as Dorrik's back hit its edge, his breath catching as Su's crimson eyes burned into his.

"You're a disgrace to your armor," Su said, his voice low and menacing.

The room exploded into motion. Dorrik's personal guards drew their weapons, stepping toward Su with practiced efficiency. Su's forces reacted instantly, their own blades flashing as they positioned themselves to protect their captain.

At the back of the room, Samira tensed, her hand drifting to her pistol. Her golden eye flicked between the two groups, her heart pounding.

"This is bad," she muttered, her fingers tightening around the weapon. "Real bad."

Dorrik sneered, though a flicker of fear crossed his face."You think you scare me, Demon? I've faced worse than you. And if you can't control yourself, I'll have you hanged for insubordination."

Su's grip tightened.

"Enough!"

Zanaiya's voice cut through the chaos like a blade. She stepped between Su and Dorrik, her hands raised in a gesture of peace.

"Captain," she said, her tone firm but calm. "This isn't the way. Stand down."

Su hesitated, his gaze flicking to Zanaiya.

"Please," she said, lowering her voice. "Not here. Not now."

After a tense moment, Su released Dorrik, shoving him back into his chair.

"This is your last warning, General," Su said, his voice cold as ice. "If your incompetence kills my men again, I'll deal with you myself."

Dorrik straightened his tunic, his sneer returning. "Threaten me again, and I'll make sure you are executed."

Su turned to leave, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. "Better Men have tried."

The Desert Raiders followed their captain, leaving the room in tense silence.

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As the door closed behind them, Dorrik slumped in his chair, his hands trembling slightly. He reached for his flask, taking a long pull before setting it down.

The silence was broken by the soft sound of boots against stone. Lieutenant Gadriel stepped forward from the shadows, his presence unnervingly quiet.

"My Men couldn't recover any of his blood," Dorrik said, his voice tight. "But I'll get it next time."

For a moment, Gadriel said nothing. Then his voice shifted, the tone unnatural and distorted.

"You cannot fail," he said. His figure changing, and becoming a shadow in the form of a woman, covered in darkness. Her glowing eyes irradiating power.

"She needs you now, more than ever". Then the figure started fading into the shadows.

Dorrik's breath hitched as 'Gadriel' vanished, leaving only a black rose on the floor where he had stood.

His gaze drifted to the portrait on his desk—a younger version of himself holding his daughter, she looked frail and small in his arms. Her pale skin and sunken cheeks spoke of the sickness that had plagued her since birth. Even in the painting, her weak smile etched with sadness.

"for you, Briar." he whispered, his voice cracking.