Rain danced upon the arched stone roof of the Mythic Base like a slow drumbeat. The twilight light outside filtered through the small window in Arslan's room, washing the stone walls in shades of gray-blue. Drops streamed steadily down the glass, each one a quiet punctuation to the coming storm — not of weather, but of war.
The moment was heavy.
The King's command had echoed across all bases the night before: "Lumisgrave must prepare." The threat of King Mamba and his approaching Magic Knights, empowered by spirits, was no longer rumor. It was war.
In the silence of Arslan's chamber — lit only by the cool glow of the floating blue lamps — Kar'Thæl's voice emerged, a shadow crawling from the edge of his soul.
> Kar'Thæl (whispering, deep, serpentine tone):
"This is the moment, Arslan... the moment to test your weapon… and your will."
Arslan stood near his metallic locker, slowly strapping his reinforced bracers. The black threads of his cloak flowed around his figure like smoke in the dim light. His expression was calm, but within, a storm stirred.
> Arslan (softly, brows furrowed):
"Kar'Thæl… these spirits… what are they exactly?"
The voice inside answered without hesitation, his tone edged with ancient memory.
> Kar'Thæl:
"They are not beings of flesh or bone... but tiny souls of undefined origin. Fragments of creation, born without identity — until they find purpose."
> Arslan (pausing):
"You mean they grow? Like us?"
> Kar'Thæl (firmly):
"Yes. Once bound to a Knight, a spirit evolves with its host. Each one holds only one kind of power. A fire spirit, for example… will only grow stronger in the art of flame."
Arslan's hands froze mid-buckle, the metal buckle dangling loose.
> Arslan:
"Are they stronger than us?"
There was a rare pause.
> Kar'Thæl (calmly):
"No. But they are like Mythics — undefined... unpredictable. A trained spirit with the right user can rival one of your rank."
That drew a low exhale from Arslan. Not fear. But awareness.
> Arslan (quietly):
"Then this… will be a real war."
> Kar'Thæl (chuckling darkly):
"Indeed."
A flash of lightning lit up the small window. A second later, thunder rolled above the mountains — a deep, trembling growl, like the world drawing breath.
Arslan took one last look at his room — the books, the gray bed, the scrolls of techniques, the energy barriers pulsing faintly outside his window. He turned, now fully geared — black coat flowing behind, his aura low but poised.
Rain had lessened into a misting drizzle. The courtyard of the Mythic Base, carved into the mountainside, bustled with movement. Horses were being brought from the stables, steel-armored mounts breathing heavily. Weapons were distributed, enchantments polished, cloaks flared in the wind.
All sixteen Mythics were there — gathering, readying.
The air shimmered with energy — not just from their powers, but from tension, anticipation. The kind of weight that sits in the chest before battle.
Arslan stepped out under the archway, boots tapping wet stone.
He saw Vaelith Ren, standing beside his sky-white horse, speaking to Ismere Daeva, whose crimson aura flickered faintly under the gray sky. Tharion Vale tested his warhammer's weight, while Yuna Solthrae murmured to a healing glyph etched onto her vambrace.
> Tarric Vohl (to Kyren Daxe, laughing):
"So Magic Knights now want to steal Lumisgrave? What's next — they'll try to steal the moons too?"
> Kyren (smirking):
"Wouldn't be surprised. That Mamba fool is drunk on spirits — literally and figuratively."
Arslan walked past them, calm, unreadable. A few turned toward him.
> Seris Vahla:
"Arslan. Heard you were quiet last night."
> Arslan (shrugging slightly):
"Thinking."
> Zhalya Neris (leaning on her spear):
"About Mamba?"
> Arslan:
"About what we're really fighting."
A hush rolled across a few of them. His tone had that heavy certainty again — the kind that could split stone.
Behind him, thunder rumbled.
Maelis Kyrn walked up holding a scroll of assigned Mythic squads. Her expression was serious, her hair wet from the rain.
> Maelis:
"King's orders were clear. We're not just defense. We're retaliation."
She unrolled the scroll on a stone table under the central pavilion. Names and squads were listed, with deployment locations.
> Orien Dravell (Soulflash wielder):
"So he's actually coming with spirits. That's rare. Most Kings don't risk it. Spirits bond for life."
> Ravik Durn:
"He's desperate. Or arrogant."
> Elyra Thorne (quietly):
"Either way, Lumisgrave isn't backing down."
A strong gust of wind blew over the courtyard. A flag atop the central tower flapped fiercely — the banner of Lumisgrave, silver wings over obsidian flame.
> Tharion Vale (slamming his hammer on the ground):
"Mamba wants a war? He'll get it. But he'll also remember why Mythics are feared."
Cheers rose from a few of them, but Arslan remained quiet, eyes scanning the ridges of the courtyard.
Then, Kar'Thæl whispered again.
> Kar'Thæl:
"Do not underestimate spirits, Arslan. They fight without fear. No morality. No restraint. They are tools of perfection. But they are... not invincible."
> Arslan (internally):
"Then I'll break their perfection."
As they prepared, a quiet argument sparked between Vaelith and Malrik Envor.
> Malrik (arms crossed):
"We should've tried diplomacy. At least once. A war with spirits will cost lives."
> Vaelith (firmly):
"You don't talk to a man who prepares knights in secret and sends spies into our capital. You stop him — before he stops you."
> Yuna (softly):
"I… don't want to see anyone die. But what choice do we have?"
> Nirela Quen:
"We fight. And we protect Lumisgrave. All of it. No matter how undefined those spirits are."
Arslan remained still, soaking it all in. These were not just warriors. These were people — burdened, uncertain, brave.
---
Preparations Begin – Weapon Awakening
As others loaded carriages, Arslan walked toward the back field — a small secluded spot for one-on-one sparring. There, he pulled out a black blade bound with silver inscriptions, embedded with a dark red stone — his personal weapon, formed with Kar'Thæl's merged power.
> Kar'Thæl (smirking):
"This blade will cleave through spirit energy. You'll see."
Arslan swung once. The blade hummed, reacting to his dark aura. Rain slid off its edge like oil on fire.
> Arslan (low growl):
"Then let's end this peacefully... or terribly."
The gates of the Mythic Base creaked open. Drums of alert echoed from far across the valley. Riders galloped toward the northern cliffs. Light was beginning to return to the gray morning as clouds lifted faintly — a sign of things stirring.
> Ravik Durn (grinning):
"Let Mamba come. We'll show him what it means to challenge Mythics."
> Ismere Daeva (quietly to Arslan):
"We'll all make it back. Right?"
Arslan met her gaze. For the first time in days, a faint smile touched his lips.
> Arslan:
"Yes. But the world won't be the same after."
The gates slammed behind them.