The orders went out, and the camp buzzed quietly with controlled readiness. Minutes later, the first squad reported back:
"Contact. Two suspects have been taken down. They weren't soldiers, General. They were dressed as dig workers."
Wei Lan's jaw tightened from anger while thinking enemy was already inside the camp.
She leaned over the holographic display, give a command in her voice calm but sharp as a blade.
"Alert the archaeologists. We've been infiltrated. From this moment, every worker, every crate, every trench is under scrutiny. If the enemy wants what's beneath these ruins, they'll find I'm already waiting for them."
The tent fell silent. Outside, the wind picked up, carrying with it a whispering hiss across the dunes—like the desert itself was holding its breath.
The following dawn broke harsh and colorless, the desert sky streaked with pale orange red. Wei Lan hadn't slept; she remained in the command tent as reports trickled in through the night. More disguised infiltrators had been flushed out—three among the laborers, one hiding in a supply convoy. Each was silent, trained, and well-prepared.
By morning, her suspicions were confirmed: the enemy wanted these ruins badly enough to send spies rather than soldiers.
She walked the excavation trench herself in order to examine it when the shout came.
"General! We've found something!"
Wei Lan descended the scaffolding, boots crunching against the sandy stone. At the bottom, floodlights illuminated a massive slab—half-buried, etched with symbols none of the archaeologists could translate. The stone wasn't eroded like the rest; it gleamed faintly, almost metallic, as though it had been forged instead of carved.
The lead archaeologist turned to her, dust streaking his face. "This isn't a wall. It's a door."
Wei Lan stepped closer, brushing her gloved fingers across the surface. Cold. Too cold for desert stone
"Can it be opened?"
"Possibly. The alloy isn't natural. We'll need cutting equipment—or whatever key it was designed for."
Before Wei Lan could answer, the floodlights flickered. Once. Twice. Then every light in the trench dimmed, as though something beneath the sand had drawn power from the air itself.
Soldiers tightened their grips on rifles. The archaeologists exchanged nervous glances.
Wei Lan's voice cut through the unease.
"Get your equipment ready. But until I say otherwise, no one touches that door."
She looked up at the ridge, where the desert stretched endless and empty. For now.
"They're coming. The infiltrators were just the first wave."
As if on signal, a sudden interference hinders her command. A security guard's panicked voice followed:
"General! Multiple intruders are fast moving towards the southern trench! Looks like a fully equipped with assault rifle and munitions!"
Wei Lan's eyes hardened. She turned back to her troops, her coat whipping in the sudden desert wind. Gives a command
"Form perimeter defense! Evacuate noncombatants into the lower trenches. If they want the past—" she glanced back at the massive sealed door, its strange etchings pulsing faintly in the gloom, "—they'll have to bleed for it."
The desert storm was about to break.
The first gunshots cracked across the southern ridge just as the wind rose, whipping sand into the floodlights. Shadows moved in the storm, too fast and too many to count.
Within moments, tracer rounds cut across the night, sparking against steel barricades and sending soldiers scrambling for cover.
"Perimeter units, hold the line!" Wei Lan barked, her voice carried through comms and across the chaos. "No breaches—no excuses!"
The camp erupted into a warzone. Sandbags shuddered under fire, sirens wailed, and the archaeologists were herded deeper into the trenches by escort teams. Armored transports roared to life, turrets swiveling to spit fire into the storm. The enemy moved with precision, masked and heavily armed, their advance methodical as they pushed toward the excavation pit.
Wei Lan stood at the center platform, headset locked, one hand steady on the railing.
"Second company—flank left! Drive them toward the ridgeline! Third—cover the north perimeter, they'll try to split us!"
Explosions lit the dunes, fireballs briefly turning the night into day. Sand rained down on the trench, rattling off her shoulders, but Wei Lan didn't flinch. She tracked the battle like a chessboard, each move answered with ruthless efficiency.
Then came the second wave.
Out of the darkness rolled heavy carriers, their armored hulls etched with unfamiliar markings. From their ramps stormed operatives clad not in standard combat gear but reinforced suits—sleek, angular, built for speed and resilience. They pressed hard toward the trench where the door lay buried.
Her adjutant cursed. "They're ignoring our lines—they're going straight for the ruins!"
Wei Lan's jaw tightened. She drew her sidearm and snapped a new command into comms.
"All units, converge on the excavation trench! Do not let them touch that door!"
Gunfire thundered as her soldiers shifted formation, cutting down enemy squads that dared breach the outer lines.
Wei Lan leapt from the command platform, landing heavy in the sand, leading the charge herself. The cold gleam of the sealed door loomed behind her, its etchings faintly pulsing—as though it too had sensed the battle.
Through the chaos, she fired into the oncoming operatives, her voice ringing out above the roar of the fight:
"This ground is ours! You want the past? Then you'll drown in it!"
The desert storm had become a battlefield of steel and stone, and Wei Lan was at its eye.
---
Each step it took cracked the earth, sparks of silver fire trailing from the seams of its armor. Its face was a mask of jagged stone, eyes burning with a cold intelligence that made the operatives recoil as if facing judgment itself.
The enemy broke first. One squad opened fire, rifles screaming, tracers carving arcs into the figure's chest. Bullets sparked and shattered harmlessly against the silver plates. The guardian did not falter—it raised an arm, and with a low hum, their weapons melted in their hands, barrels twisting into slag.
Wei Lan didn't hesitate. She charged, rifle snapping in disciplined bursts as she closed the gap. Her rounds found seams in its plating, each shot striking true—but instead of falling, the guardian staggered forward, bleeding molten light that hissed as it hit the sand.
Another door-shock rippled outward. Two more giants emerged.
"Damn it," Wei Lan muttered, discarding the rifle for her blade. The steel shimmered under the strange glow, alive with reflected lightning. She turned back to her soldiers, voice raw but unshaken:
"Focus fire! Pin them down—I'll cut them apart!"
The first guardian lunged, faster than stone should move, its massive arm swinging down like a collapsing tower. Wei Lan met it head-on, blade flashing, the clash ringing out like a bell across the battlefield.
The desert storm roared back to life, as if the heavens themselves wanted to witness what came next.