Dim blue light filtered through the small window in Arslan's room, casting soft patterns on the stone walls. The air was quiet, with only the occasional whisper of energy humming from the glowing lamps. The moon hung low beyond the protective barrier of the Mythic Base, its pale light struggling against the magical dome that shielded the world's most elite warriors.
Arslan sat on the edge of his bed, his black hoodie slightly wrinkled, sweat drying on his forehead from earlier training. He looked down at his palms, slightly trembling from exhaustion, but his mind raced with unrest.
"I think we should go now," Arslan said firmly. His voice echoed with determination, cutting through the calm of the room. "We should go to Arcana."
A pause lingered.
Kar'Thæl's voice responded from within, deep and reverberating like the growl of thunder buried in the soul.
"No… Not yet," Kar'Thæl said. "You're still not fully recovered, Arslan. If you rush into this, you'll lose more than time. And worse—there are devils there."
Arslan's eyes narrowed. "Devils?"
"Yes." Kar'Thæl's voice lowered, carrying the weight of ancient memories. "The Arcana World—my home—is no longer what it once was. It has fallen. It is now under the control of demons."
A cold shiver passed down Arslan's back. "But how? How did they even get there?"
Kar'Thæl's tone darkened, shadows of sorrow curling into every word. "It began the day my uncle opened the door..."
Arslan leaned forward, absorbed.
"My uncle used a key—a forbidden relic of Arcana. It held the power to form a gateway between realms. One day, he used it to visit the Demon World, claiming he sought knowledge and allies. But greed clouded his heart. He opened the portal fully… and the demons poured in."
Arslan clenched his fists. "He… let them in?"
"Yes," Kar'Thæl said solemnly. "They attacked in full force. My people fought back—warriors of light, flame, storm, and shadow. We held them for days, then weeks. But betrayal is a poison."
Arslan stood, pacing slowly. "But… you're powerful. And I assume your people were too. How could they lose?"
Kar'Thæl's voice, though strong, carried a quiet ache. "You're right. We were strong. I was strong. But when those closest to you turn their backs, when the ones you trust break that trust for the throne… even the strongest fall."
Arslan stopped walking. He turned slowly. "What does that mean?"
"My uncle shook hands with the demons," Kar'Thæl said, bitter and furious. "He sold Arcana for power. Promised them dominion in exchange for the crown. And those loyal to him… followed. They let the demons walk through our sacred cities. They let them burn our forests, enslave our people. Arcana was betrayed from within."
The weight of Kar'Thæl's words crashed over Arslan like a storm tide. His jaw tightened. "That's… that's not just betrayal. That's treason against your world. Against your blood."
"Yes," Kar'Thæl whispered. "A wound deeper than blades."
Silence swallowed the room. The lamps flickered gently, casting moving shadows on the walls.
Then Arslan exhaled. "So what do we do now?"
Kar'Thæl's response was calm but calculated. "We wait. Two, maybe three more days. You're still recovering, and we must sharpen you more. There are two more combination techniques you must master before we return."
Arslan nodded, but impatience clung to his shoulders. "Alright. Then we start now."
For a brief moment, a warmth fluttered within him—not his own. It was Kar'Thæl's pride, silently shared.
"Yes," Kar'Thæl said. "Tonight, we begin."
The soft bluish glow from the wall-mounted lamps shimmered gently across Arslan's room in the Mythic Base. The twilight outside had faded into full night, casting the sky into a starless black, barely touched by the moon's muted light. The atmosphere inside was tranquil, yet something surged within Arslan—a mix of purpose and quiet anticipation. He tightened the wraps on his hands, preparing for tonight's session with Kar'Thæl.
A sudden knock echoed against the stone door.
Arslan turned, his black hoodie rustling softly. "Come in."
The door creaked open, revealing Nirela Quen. Her silver-white hair was tied back tonight, letting her moonlit eyes shine even brighter in the low light. Dressed in a soft lavender robe, she stepped into the room with a delicate grace that contradicted the strength she wielded as a Mythic.
"Hey," she said softly, closing the door behind her.
Arslan stood still, a bit surprised but not unwelcome. "You're here."
She smiled gently. "I wanted to check on you before you disappear for training again. You've been pushing yourself harder than ever."
"I have to," Arslan replied, voice low. "Time isn't on our side."
Nirela moved closer, her fingers brushing lightly against his wrist. "I know. But even warriors deserve a moment to breathe... and feel."
He looked into her eyes—curious, silent, unreadable. She continued, her tone a soft confession.
"—I realized something."
Arslan tilted his head slightly. "What?"
"That someone who endures that much pain... must carry a heart just as heavy as his fists."
For a moment, silence bloomed between them—thick, warm, unsaid emotions swimming beneath their words.
Nirela smiled again. "I love you so much. I just come to see you..."
Arslan replied smile "I love you too...My whole life"
She turned and walked out, leaving a faint trail of moonlight fragrance behind her.
Arslan, now alone, breathed in deeply. "Let's go," he whispered.