Day 88, Week 4, Month Florathir, Year 12120, Era Elyndris
(3 Years Ago)
Night shrouded the ancient reading room of the Atlantis School, as heavy as the burden of past regrets. Beneath the dim glow of a low lamp, Rinoa sat with her shoulders hunched over her unfinished thesis, laid out before her:
"Gamma—The Island That Changes: Traces of Magic, Loss, and Rebirth."
The map sprawled before her was not merely an island; it was the fluid silhouette of Gamma Nation, a realm cloaked in mystery, nestled at the heart of Mythranis—a land wrapped in an ethereal mist, concealed from the prying eyes of most. Her fingers glided over the faded borders, tracing marked trade routes that had long since slipped into memory, alongside the specters of cities swallowed by storms of arcane energy. Ancient glyphs and plasma cycles sprawled across the parchment, murmuring secrets the world was never meant to uncover.
In her thesis, she explored the tale of the Gamma Cataclysm—an explosion that did not destroy Gamma but transformed it, cloaking it in layers of illusion and solitude. This singular event tore the very fabric of Mythranis; its western shores were now haunted by thick magical fog and the echoes of abandoned towns. Gamma had become a symbol of survival, its memory a bittersweet lullaby of a forbidden civilization whose descendants still wielded power over the tides of magic and conflict.
Amid her scattered notes, Rinoa stumbled upon a page in Hector's familiar handwriting:
"Should you find this message, it means I have not returned. The mist is more than mere sorcery; it craves memory, yearnings, and those burdened by unfulfilled affection. At the very heart of Gamma lies a gate, hidden beneath the brilliant crystal towers of Old Etren. If Rinoa ventures in search of it—she must tread carefully, for to seek its depths is to prepare to relinquish all but hope. Gamma takes as much as it gives."
Her heart ached at the realization. The tale of Gamma was intertwined with her own.
The door groaned as it swung open. Fitran stepped inside, his gaze weighed down by the burdens of battles fought and remembered.
"Fitran… I know this may seem unreasonable, but I long to journey to Gamma. Not just the isle or the nation—the truth of Mythranis calls to me. If we venture into the mist and plasma there, perhaps we might uncover why the world feels so empty. Why do the nightmares never cease?"
Fitran's shadow stretched across the map, a silent echo of the weight his words carried. "Rinoa, Gamma is not just an ancient land. It's a wound carved deep into the very fabric of Mythranis. I lost someone dear within its shadows—magic fades away in that fog. Flames cool, water disappears into nothingness, and memories slip through one's fingers like falling sand."
"You always keep the truth from me. I have the right to know," she pressed, her voice steady but tinged with longing.
Fitran's facade weakened. "In days long past, Gamma was a civilization as grand as Atlantis or Gaia. Its fall gapes like a wound in the heart of Mythranis. I made a solemn vow to Hector: never allow you to set foot in Gamma until the curse on memories is lifted. If you enter unprepared, you might become its next guardian—or another forgotten soul, as countless others did in the aftermath of the Cataclysm."
"But if we let fear bind us," Rinoa pressed, her voice steady yet tinged with urgency, "Gamma will continue to devour us whole. Its magic seeps into the very land of Atlantis and Gaia—into the marrow of my being. The dreams I have, the relentless pull… it's not just remnants of the past; it courses through my veins."
Fitran's anguish flickered in his eyes, a haunting shadow. "The mist is not lifeless, Rinoa. Gamma feeds on those who cling to their longings with fervor. I heard my friend calling my name—her voice transformed into the mist itself. Gamma is not merely an isle one may seek; it is a realm you must endure to escape."
At the estate of Alfrenzo, flames danced wildly, casting elongated shadows that swirled like wraiths in the night. Lady Marian, Lionel, and Cassandra stood in solemn anticipation.
Lionel was the first to break the silence. "You have tasted freedom for far too long, Rinoa. Ever since Father's fall, nothing feels right. We must protect what remains, for it is fragile."
"Guard, or confine?" Rinoa snapped, her features becoming sharper as her brow furrowed. "What specter do you fear I will unearth in Mythranis?"
Cassandra's voice trembled, barely above a whisper as she spoke.
"It's not just Gamma's ruins that haunt us. We witnessed the devastation the Cataclysm inflicted on Father's mind. Fitran was the last person to see him."
Lady Marian clutched a sealed letter tightly in her hand—it contained Hector's final words, marked with the ancient crest of Mythranis.
"Some secrets weigh heavier than a heart can bear. If you choose to pursue Gamma, do not expect us to follow in your wake. Mythranis has consumed greater names than yours."
"Why am I the only one who dreams of mist?" Rinoa implored, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
"Some doors should not be opened. Do not compel us to seal them for you," Marian warned, her expression as unyielding as the stone statues that guarded their garden.
5 Years Ago.
The rain lashed violently against the ruins along Mythranis' southern shore. Hector, his breath coming in ragged gasps, grasped Fitran's wrist with desperate force.
"Promise me, if I fall—do not let her fall into Gamma's hands. Unless the curse is broken, she must live. Gamma is not merely a land; it is a ravenous hunger that will claim her," he pleaded.
Fitran drew a blade and cut his palm, their blood mingling in a grim oath.
"Swear it, Fitran." Hector's gaze was frantic, driven by an urgency that clawed at the edges of his sanity. "Not just for my sake—but for hers, and for the sake of Mythranis."
"If I break this vow, may the mist consume my very name first," Fitran swore, his voice trembling under the weight of his commitment.
Day 154, Week 19, Month Verdantis, Year 12123, Era Elyndris (Present)
Thirtos City
In the moonlit garden, adorned with fragrant blooms and whispering leaves, Fitran encountered Evan, the Mad Hatter, emissary of a hidden power lurking among the exiled mages of Mythranis.
"Do you still wish for Gamma?" Evan asked, spinning a gleaming coin between quick fingers. "My master shudders at the thought of what Rinoa might become—a guardian once more, or just a fleeting shadow in the records of Mythranis. The land of Gamma holds its own hidden truths."
Fitran's voice was as resolute as polished steel. "I must wager everything I have."
Evan tipped the brim of his hat in a knowing manner. "The mists of Gamma are filled with prophecy, not mere geography. If Rinoa ventures into the depths of Old Etren unprepared, the cycle of the world could begin anew. She might be a blessing or a wound that will never heal. Gamma takes all it demands—not names, not love. Leave, but understand the cost."
Deep beneath the shimmering waves of Atlantis, the council observed magical readings rise—patterns reminiscent of the ancient Gamma Cataclysm that once devastated Mythranis. Arcane waves rippled across the continent, distorting memory and the very fabric of spellcraft.
Beatrix trembled at the implications. "Each anomaly leads us back to Gamma. Rinoa's questions could spell disaster, or she may be our sole beacon of hope."
Bismarck's jaw tightened, stark determination etched on his features. "Let her go; our safety rests upon Atlantis. If we hold her back, another will try. Mythranis never sleeps."
Elena of Arkanum Veritas interjected, her voice steady yet compassionate: "If you force her hand, you risk breaking her spirit. The world chooses its avatars; when Gamma calls, no council can silence it."
The discussion among the council wove a tapestry of hope, dread, and ambition ancient as the stars.
Alone upon the roof, Rinoa gazed up at the glowing moon, her thoughts drifting in the chill night air.
"I grow weary of being told what I cannot know. Gamma consumes hope, yet from its depths arise new names. If the cost is to forget all but hope, then to love is to face the specter of loss. Fitran, Father—if I should falter, let it be by my own will. Gamma beckons; I shall heed its call. The fate of Mythranis remains unwritten."