The courtyard of the Mythic Base basked in the golden afternoon light, where echoes of laughter and the soft clinks of teacups still hung in the air. The marble beneath their feet retained the warmth of the sun. Nirela sat with one leg tucked beneath her on the fountain edge, flicking droplets of water with a fingertip as Elyra and Maelis exchanged jokes over half-sipped cups of cinnamon tea. The warm scent of cardamom floated around them. Arslan leaned quietly against one of the stone pillars, gazing into the far clouds, his hood down for once, letting the breeze tousle his black hair. The courtyard was peaceful.
But then came a low, resonating clatter—a distant yet rhythmic rumble that pulled attention away from chatter.
"Do you hear that?" Seris raised a brow, tilting her head toward the long path that wound up toward the base.
The sound grew louder.
Clop-clop-clop.
The sharp hooves of horses pounding against the stone path echoed through the hills. Birds took flight from nearby trees as a long, glimmering royal carriage came into view—drawn by six obsidian-coated steeds with gilded reins and silver-tipped hooves. The carriage was vast—lengthy enough to seat twenty people in comfort, its body adorned with the crest of Lumisgrave: a radiant sun above a shield wrapped in thorns and roses. Velvet curtains swayed within the long glass windows, and golden lanterns swayed gently from the corners, even in daylight.
Behind it, riding with upright posture and solemn grace, came Julious, the Leader of the Guardian Council. His majestic white stallion trotted beside the carriage with noble composure. His black robe fluttered like wings behind him, and the crest on his chest shimmered beneath the sun's kiss. His gaze was firm but kind, his presence commanding yet comforting.
One by one, the Mythics stood.
"Looks like we're up," said Tarric, tightening the strap on his gauntlet. "Julious doesn't come just for a cup of tea."
The carriage came to a halt before the courtyard archway. The horses neighed, tossing their heads. The guardsman atop the vehicle snapped the reins gently, then dismounted. The main carriage door opened but no one stepped out.
Instead, Julious trotted ahead on his stallion, entering through the tall arch as the warm wind ruffled his robe. The stallion's hooves clicked rhythmically over the marble as he approached.
He drew to a halt, eyes sweeping across the gathered Mythics with approval.
"Hello, Mythics," Julious called, dismounting with a fluid grace. His voice was steady and confident. "I hope you're ready for the event."
A brief silence.
Then, with bright energy, the Mythics responded in unison, "Yes... We are!"
A smirk crossed Julious's lips. "That's what I expect from our finest."
He paced before them like a commander before an elite unit. "You've trained well, and now, your first test awaits you beyond the capital walls. The journey will not be ceremonial. Prepare your weapons and your bags. The carriage is waiting outside."
Kyren crossed his arms. "Wait—are we leaving before evening?"
"Yes," Julious nodded. "You'll be riding straight through the twilight and must reach Kaivelle before dawn. It's not just distance—it's what lies in between."
Several glanced at one another.
Before the questions grew louder, Julious turned toward Arslan and spoke directly, "Arslan, inform your team about the concern we discussed."
Arslan, who had been silent but listening closely, gave a slight bow. "Yes, sir."
Julious mounted back onto his stallion. His voice lowered slightly. "Remember, you carry not just skill, but the pride of Lumisgrave. Ride well." Then he tapped his heels against the horse's side. The stallion reared slightly with a whinny before galloping off down the path.
As the dust settled behind him, all eyes turned to Arslan.
He stepped forward, the afternoon light casting faint shadows beneath his eyes. His voice, calm and precise, rang clearly through the courtyard.
"Before we begin this journey… there's something you all need to know." He paused, scanning their faces.
"The King and Julious told me there is a high chance of enemy activity on the road—spies, and even hired mercenaries, from other kingdoms. They may try to intercept or delay us."
Tyrus grunted. "Let them try."
But Arslan didn't smile. "They won't play fair. They may pose as merchants, travelers, even villagers. We need to be sharp. One mistake could cost one of us. So I want all of you on high alert."
Nirela's voice was soft but strong. "Are we to engage if spotted?"
"We'll avoid conflict," Arslan replied, "unless we're forced. Our duty is to reach Kaivelle safely and together. No unnecessary risks."
Seris placed a hand on her scabbard. "Understood."
Then Orien raised his cup, now empty of tea, and with a mischievous grin shouted: "Then let's protect the dignity of Lumisgrave!"
The others lifted their fists or nodded.
"We protect the dignity of Lumisgrave!" they echoed.
One by one, the Mythics gathered again—now dressed in armor or travel gear, their expressions serious, focused. The once warm and casual courtyard now carried the pulse of imminent action. The scent of tea had faded; now, it was oil, steel, and rising anticipation.
The carriage doors opened once more, velvet seats glowing in the gold of sunset. Inside, the ceiling glimmered with embedded spirit crystals that would light the space through night. There was room for all—two rows facing each other, with soft cushions and weapon racks built into the floor.
Outside, the horses stirred, their breath steaming as evening approached. Guards adjusted the last of the reins.
Vaelith turned to Arslan. "Do you think… this is what it's like? When the real path begins?"
Arslan looked toward the horizon.
"No," he said softly. "This is only the first page."
With that, they began boarding the carriage—one by one, determined steps echoing against stone.
Elyra, Maelis, Caelis, Nirela, and Ismere on one side. Tharion, Yuna, Ravik, Orien, Tarric, Malrik, Kyren, Zhalya, Seris, Vaelith, and finally Arslan on the other.
As the carriage door closed with a deep thunk, the driver flicked the reins.
The carriage lurched forward.
The Mythic Base gates opened slowly—stone against stone, loud and ancient.
And they were off.
---
As the sun dipped behind the mountains, casting shadows of lavender and fire across the sky, the royal carriage of Mythics rolled down the forested trail. The wheels creaked, horses thundered, and spirits burned with silent fire.
They weren't just riding to Kaivelle.
They were riding into destiny.
And it had only just begun.