In the Persian Market: The Roar of an Empire

Episode Twenty-Three: The Singing Sand Trap, the Charge of the Hetairoi

1. Lions Lured into the Open

“…Too quiet.”

General Philotas, commander of the elite Macedonian cavalry—the Hetairoi—reined in his horse.

According to Cyrus’s false ledger, the Market Army had retreated through the eastern valley.

Scattered there were abandoned carts and empty waterskins, as if the merchants had fled in haste.

“Cowardly market rats. Fast runners, at least,” Philotas sneered.

“Pursue them! Drive them beyond the sandstorm and drag every last one before the Great King!”

Golden armor clashed as five hundred heavy cavalry thundered forward.

But what they entered was not a valley—

it was the Corridor of Singing Sand, where bottomless terror lay in wait.

2. The Earth Begins to Cry

“…They’ve arrived. The prey has entered the trap.”

From a ridge above, Cyrus watched a sandglass.

At his side stood Danesh, master of terrain, and Shahab, eyes cold and predatory.

With every удар of hoof against the ground, the desert began to sing.

Gyu… gyuuuuu…

A shrill, unnatural cry rippled through the earth.

The famed warhorses screamed and reared in madness.

“What is that sound!? An ambush!?”

“No,” Nirfar said calmly.

“This is not a curse of the desert.

It is the scream of Persian land you have trampled.”

3. The Sinking of Steel

At the precise point Danesh had calculated—the point of resonance—

the vibration of five hundred charging riders caused the stable sand layer to liquefy.

The ground collapsed into a massive, swirling sea of quicksand, like a colossal antlion pit.

“The horses are sinking! Pull back!”

Too late. Heavy cavalry cannot stop once momentum takes hold.

Riders piled into one another, and the pride of Macedon—the “Companions of the King”—

were dragged under by the very weight of their glorious armor.

“Now! Shahab—show them the etiquette of the market!”

Cyrus’s command cut through the chaos.

4. Blades of Shadow, the Flute of Despair

From behind the dunes, Shahab and Kabir’s covert unit surged forth.

They rode sand-sleds, gliding like spirits over the dunes, tormenting the trapped cavalry.

Shahab’s flute pierced the air, a sound that stabbed into Macedonian ears—

a melody that led only to death.

“This desert was guarded by Hosein!” Kabir shouted.

“There’s no place for you here!”

His dagger flashed toward the throat of the sinking Philotas.

Yet even half-submerged, the famed general deflected the blow with a broken spear.

“…Cowards! Face us head-on!” Philotas roared.

“There’s no ‘cowardly’ or ‘honest’ in business!” Cyrus shouted back,

leaping down the dune with blade drawn.

“There’s only profit—or loss!”

5. The Arrival of the Storm

In the midst of battle, the sun vanished.

The sky shifted from yellow to a blood-dark red,

and visibility shrank to mere meters.

A true, colossal sandstorm—a haboob—was descending upon the battlefield.

“Cyrus! It’s coming! If we stay, we’ll be swallowed too!”

Azad’s voice was torn apart by the wind.

“…I know,” Cyrus replied, smiling faintly through the sand.

“But this—this is exactly what we wanted.”