Arcane: Red Sands

Cassiopeia moved through Urzeris like a shadow.

She had spent years in these streets, watching them from the balcony of her estate, observing how power shifted hands.

Noxians had come to rule these lands, but the sands still belonged to Shurima.

And she had found someone who knew them better than anyone.

Sivir.

The mercenary was as infamous as she was untouchable, known for leading sellswords deep into the ruins of dead civilizations—and coming back richer every time.

And she had the Chalikar.

The very thing Cassiopeia needed.

That meant two things.

Sivir was useful.

And she would not leave this city alive.

---

The tavern was loud, humid, and stinking of sweat and stale alcohol.

It was the kind of place Cassiopeia would never have set foot in as a noblewoman.

But tonight, she was not noble.

She was a hunter.

She spotted Sivir immediately—reclining in a chair at the back of the room, boots on the table, tossing a golden, curved weapon between her hands.

The Chalikar.

Cassiopeia had seen many weapons before.

But this one felt different.

Like it wasn't meant for her hands.

Like it never would be.

She pushed the thought aside.

It didn't matter.

It would be hers soon enough.

She approached the table, lowering her hood.

Sivir's eyes flicked up, landing on her with mild curiosity.

Then, a slow smirk.

"Now this is interesting."

Cassiopeia arched a brow. "You know who I am?"

Sivir leaned back. "Let's just say I Know a thing or two."

She tossed the Chalikar into the air and caught it with ease.

"I also know noblewomen like you, usually don't come to places like this."

Cassiopeia smiled.

"The rumors are true then, you are smarter than you look."

She took the empty seat across from Sivir.

"I need a guide."

Sivir raised a brow. "A guide?"

"To a tomb. Buried deep beneath the sands."

Sivir let out a low whistle, setting the Chalikar down.

"See, that's interesting. 'Cause I just got back from a tomb."

She tapped the blade with her fingers.

"And I came back with this."

Cassiopeia forced her expression to remain neutral.

She had already known.

But hearing it out loud made her blood turn cold.

"It's an impressive weapon."

Sivir grinned. "And it's not for sale."

Cassiopeia folded her hands on the table. "I don't need the weapon. I need you."

Sivir's smirk widened. "Flattered. But I don't work cheap."

"Gold is not an issue."

Sivir hummed, tapping her fingers against the table.

Then—she leaned in slightly.

"See, here's the thing, noble girl. You might have money. You might even have a name that means something."

Her smirk sharpened.

"But out here? You're just another fool chasing ghosts."

Cassiopeia tilted her head.

"And yet, you'll take my coin."

Sivir chuckled.

"Damn right I will."

She extended a hand.

Cassiopeia looked at it.

A mercenary's handshake. A meaningless gesture.

But still—she took it.

Sivir's grip was firm. Calloused.

"We leave at first light."

Cassiopeia nodded. "Then I suggest you rest while you can."

Because you won't be coming back.

--------------

The desert was merciless.

They traveled for days, the sun scorching their backs, the wind whispering between dunes.

Sivir and her crew were experienced, moving like ghosts through the shifting sands.

Cassiopeia rode near the front, her hood pulled low, the dagger from her mother tucked against her thigh.

She could feel it pulsing.

Like a heartbeat that wasn't hers.

Like something waiting.

"So," Sivir said as they rode, "what's in this tomb that's worth all this trouble?"

Cassiopeia didn't hesitate. "A secret lost to time."

Sivir snorted. "You sound like a scholar."

"I prefer the term survivor."

Sivir chuckled. "You don't look like the surviving type."

Cassiopeia smiled.

Neither did Sivir.

And yet—only one of them would live to tell this story.

-------------

By the time they reached the entrance, the sun had begun to set.

The tomb was half-buried, its entrance marked by crumbling stone pillars, worn smooth by time.

Cassiopeia stepped forward, running a hand along the ancient carvings, depicting an ancient catastrophe , centered around the ancient Sun disc.

The stone was warm.

She could feel something inside.

Something old.

Something hungry.

"Shall we?" she asked.

Sivir smirked. "After you, noble girl."

Cassiopeia smiled.

And stepped inside.

---

The tomb's entrance yawned open—a staircase descending into blackness.

Delra lit a torch, stepping forward first.

"Tombs like this," she muttered, eyeing the walls, "they don't like visitors."

Cassiopeia followed close behind, each step feeling heavier than the last.

The walls were carved with winged figures—Ascended warriors with hollow eyes and sunburst halos.

The torchlight made the stone serpents writhe along the ceiling, fangs bared.

"I don't like this," Ilik whispered. "This place feels… wrong."

Torven elbowed him. "Shut it."

Sivir, ahead of them all, only chuckled.

"Stick close and keep moving. Ancient tombs are like women."

She shot Cassiopeia a sidelong glance. "The moment you hesitate, they eat you alive."

Cassiopeia smiled thinly.

"Then let's not keep her waiting."

---

The corridor stretched deeper into the earth. The air grew colder with each step.

Delra knelt at a junction, running her hands along the flagstones.

"Wait," she hissed.

Haskar grunted. "What is it?"

Delra didn't answer. She produced a thin metal rod from her belt and tapped the floor. Once. Twice.

Nothing.

The third tap—the stone cracked open beneath her.

A cloud of darts shot from the walls.

She threw herself backward, but two found her throat.

Delra collapsed, hands clawing at her neck as black veins spread from the punctures.

Poison.

The mercenaries swore and surged forward, but it was too late.

Delra's body twitched, then went still.

Silence.

Sivir knelt beside the corpse, pulling one of the darts free and sniffing the tip.

"Serpent venom," she muttered. "Fresh. The traps are still active."

Her eyes rose to meet Cassiopeia's.

"Whatever's down here—it's still guarded."

Cassiopeia's pulse quickened.

"Good."

They pressed on, the mood taut as a drawn bowstring.

The tunnel walls narrowed as the carvings grew more elaborate: depictions of great great Catastrophe centered around The ancient Sun disk, a 'Great betrayal'.

And, over and over again, the serpent motif.

Stone vipers slithered along the walls, their eyes marked with obsidian shards.

Cassiopeia couldn't shake the feeling that those eyes were watching her.

"This isn't right," Ilik said. "The walls—they're…moving."

Haskar barked a laugh. "You're imagining things."

But Cassiopeia saw it too.

The carvings were… closer.

The hallway seemed to twist and shift when they weren't looking.

Suddenly, the floor beneath Haskar gave way.

He dropped with a bellow, landing hard on a stone platform below.

Cassiopeia rushed to the edge.

The floor had collapsed into a pit of writhing serpents.

The creatures coiled around Haskar, their scales glinting obsidian black.

He swung his axes desperately.

"Get me out of here!"

Sivir unhooked a rope. "Hold on!"

But the snakes were too many.

They surged over him, coiling around his limbs, forcing his arms back.

Then, one reared up.

Its jaw unhinged—far wider than any normal snake.

Haskar screamed as it struck, burying its fangs into his skull.

Blood gushed.

The serpents dragged his body into the shadows.

The pit grew still.

Torven crossed himself. "O great Ancestors protect us."

Sivir's jaw tightened. She cast a murderous glare at Cassiopeia.

"Still think this was a good idea?"

Cassiopeia's eyes lingered on the pit.

The carvings had shifted again.

The Ascended warriors were now Guarding something.

"Yes," she whispered. "We're close."

---

The corridor ended at a massive stone door, marked with a single symbol:

A serpent devouring its own tail.

The Chalikar hummed faintly at Sivir's hip.

Cassiopeia's heart raced.

"Use the weapon," she said.

Sivir hesitated. "What?"

"The Chalikar. It's the key."

Sivir's gaze darkened. "How do you know that?"

Cassiopeia smiled.

"Because it's why I hired you."

For a moment, Sivir didn't move.

Then—with a muttered curse—she hurled the Chalikar toward the door.

The blade spun through the air and slammed into the stone.

The wall shuddered.

The carvings shifted again.

The serpent's mouth opened.

The door split down the center with a deafening crack, revealing a staircase spiraling downward.

Sivir retrieved her weapon. "After you."

The chamber below was vast—an enormous vault lined with stone sarcophagi.

At the center stood a pedestal, atop which rested a small, obsidian key carved like a serpent.

Cassiopeia's breath caught.

This was it.

The power her mother had promised.

The power that would elevate her above mortality.

She stepped forward—then froze.

The moment her foot touched the floor, the walls hissed.

Torven, at the rear of the group, screamed.

Stone serpents burst from the walls, coiling around his body.

Ilik turned to help—too late.

The snakes dragged them both into the shadows, their cries abruptly silenced.

Now it was just the two of them.

Cassiopeia and Sivir.

The pedestal gleamed in the torchlight.

Cassiopeia stepped toward it.

"Careful," Sivir warned.

"I know what I'm doing," Cassiopeia said.

Sivir reached out to stop her.

Cassiopeia moved.

The dagger slid into Sivir's back, just beneath the ribs.

The mercenary gasped, eyes wide with shock.

"You…"

"You were useful," Cassiopeia whispered. "But now you're in the way."

She twisted the blade.

Sivir collapsed to her knees, clutching her side.

Cassiopeia stepped past her, reaching for the obsidian key.

Her fingers brushed the surface.

And the serpent eyes along the walls flared with emerald light.

The chamber trembled.

The stone serpent at the pedestal's base came to life, its mouth gaping wide.

Cassiopeia turned, too slow.

The serpent struck, burying its fangs into her neck.

The venom was ice and fire, racing through her veins.

She screamed, falling to the ground.

Through blurred vision, she saw Sivir's crumpled form—and then a flash of golden light as the Chalikar pulsed.

Sivir's body vanished, consumed by the light.

--------------

Pain.

Raw, searing, all-consuming.

Cassiopeia's world was fire—a raging inferno burning beneath her skin, twisting through her veins like molten metal.

She tried to scream, but her voice caught in her throat, swallowed by the venom coursing through her body.

She was dying.

No—she was becoming something else.

The tomb around her was collapsing, but she couldn't move.

Her limbs felt wrong.

Heavy. Unfamiliar.

Her fingers dug into the stone, but where once there had been smooth skin—there was something else.

Something hard. Scaled. Alien.

She gasped, her breath ragged, her body convulsing as bones shifted, skin hardened, muscles twisted into something unnatural.

She tried to stand—but the weight of her own body betrayed her.

Her legs gave out.

Or rather—her legs were gone.

Cassiopeia collapsed against the stone, her vision swimming.

Somewhere in the distance, she thought she could still hear Sivir's voice.

A whisper. A memory.

"You don't look like the surviving type."

Cassiopeia clenched her teeth.

Survival wasn't about looking the part.

It was about taking what was yours.

And she was not going to die here.

Not like this.

Through the haze of pain, Cassiopeia forced herself forward.

The tomb was crumbling, dust and debris falling in thick clouds, the carved faces of long-forgotten gods watching her from the walls.

They had seen this before.

They had seen ambition turn to ruin.

But she would not be another corpse buried in the sands.

She dragged herself toward the exit, her body resisting her every movement.

The heat of the desert night hit her like a blade.

She spilled onto the sand, gasping for breath—only to realize it was different.

The air smelled sharper, the desert clearer, her senses heightened beyond human limits.

She felt everything.

The shift of the sand beneath her.

The heartbeat of the creatures lurking in the dark.

And the slow, crawling realization that she was no longer who she had been.