The sky wore the colors of a dying fire, the sun inching downward behind the rugged hills of Lumisgrave. The Mythics gathered silently at the edge of the city, their silhouettes bathed in burnt orange light. Carriages—grand but battle-worn—stood prepared, their wheels creaking slightly as if aware of the rough road ahead. Arslan stood at the back, his hoodie shadowing his pale face, his expression unreadable.
Vaelith adjusted his leather gloves. "We'll reach Kaivelle by dawn if luck walks beside us."
Tharion checked the undercarriage of the lead wagon. "Luck? We might need a few runes for this road."
"No more delays," Elyra murmured, brushing silver strands of hair behind her ear. Her tone was cool, distant, but her violet eyes flicked with anticipation.
With one last glance toward Lumisgrave's towers, the caravan moved forward. The hooves of enchanted beasts clopped over stone, their armored sides glowing faintly with sigils of protection. The Mythics began their journey just before the evening curtain fell entirely.
---
The road ahead twisted like a scar over the land. Cliffs loomed on either side, trees whispering dark secrets in the wind. Hours passed, and then the attack came.
It was near a narrowing pass, where shadows crowded the road and moonlight dared not tread. A shrill whistle split the night. Crossbow bolts rained down from above.
"Ambush!" Malrik shouted, his voice a command.
Blood echoed through the trees as Ismere leapt from the carriage, blades drawn. Zhalya's eyes glowed crimson—her Blood Sight piercing the dark.
"Left ridge! Three bowmen!" she barked.
Tharion raised his fist and slammed it into the earth. The ground shuddered, rock spires erupting and flinging two attackers into the air. Arslan stood still at first, then raised his hand. A swirling black aura expanded, forming a dome around the left flank.
"Stay close," he growled, his voice barely audible under the roar of battle.
Seris released a cloud of toxins, disorienting the rear ambushers. Nirela cast moonlight over the trees, blinding the rest. The scuffle lasted mere minutes—but it was a clear warning: this journey would not be gentle.
---
They buried two of the attackers. Not out of mercy, but to prevent any cursed energy from resurrecting them. Afterward, the group rotated duties. Ten would rest half the night, six would guard. In the second half, they'd switch.
Yuna tended to scratches on Orien's shoulder, her Healing Pulse glowing soft.
"Next time, duck sooner," she teased lightly.
Orien chuckled. "Next time, tell me when the arrow's coming."
In the cold middle of the night, Arslan remained awake, watching the road, hood pulled low. Malrik came beside him.
"You didn't say much back there."
"Talking doesn't stop bolts," Arslan replied..
As night surrendered to dawn, golden light spilled across the horizon like molten glass. And then—there it was.
Kaivelle.
Towering buildings of stone and light, their spires gilded with sunfire. Airships floated lazily between high towers. Markets shimmered with early activity, and from the mountainsides above, dragons soared.
Their wings cut the wind like ancient kings reclaiming sky.
Malrik's eyes widened. "That's why they call Kaivelle the Land of Dragons."
Vaelith exhaled deeply. "We made it."
The carriages slowed as they approached the massive gates of Kaivelle. Guards in golden armor, Magic Knights in arcane robes, and Royal Members in velvet-lined attire stood tall.
But before them—commoners.
Dozens, perhaps hundreds, had gathered. Children perched on shoulders. Merchants stood with awe. Many clapped. Some bowed. Whispers rippled through the crowd:
"The KNIGHTS of Lumisgrave came...."
"That one—She is so beautiful"
"Who is the leader?"
Zhalya gave a quick glance. "We're not used to this."
Elyra nodded. "Respect is a heavier crown than hate."
General Thamere stepped forward—an older man in white and blue armor, medals shining on his chest. In his hand, a bouquet of rare blossomgale flowers.
"Welcome, brave ones," he said, his voice proud and practiced. "Kaivelle honors your arrival. Please, accept these as a gesture of our kingdom's gratitude."
He presented the flowers to Vaelith, assuming he was the leader.
"I'm General Thamere, commander of Kaivelle's External Defense Order. We've prepared apartments near the eastern gardens. You must be tired."
The Mythics bowed slightly.
Thamere signaled, and armored guards stepped forward to gather luggage.
"Ensure they are treated with highest dignity. Escort them to the Guest Apartments, and see that food and rest await."
His eyes passed over each Mythic face because he wants to look at Arslan—but he did not recognize Arslan. Just another pale youth with a hood.
As they passed under the gates, the sound of the city washed over them. Chimes, merchant calls, dragon cries in the sky. The streets were paved with sun-carved stones, and arcane runes glowed faintly in water channels alongside the paths.
Children ran beside the carriages.
"They're so cool!"
"That one has thunder powers!"
Tarric waved, his smile effortless. Nirela conjured a wisp of moonlight for the kids, letting it float.
The caravan finally stopped before three towering Guest Apartments. Vines of glowing flora ran up the walls, windows shaped with elegance and reinforced enchantments.
Thamere gestured. "These will be your homes during your stay in Kaivelle."
He turned to his guards. "Handle their luggage with respect. Clean quarters, hot water, and prepared meals. Understood?"
A synchronized salute echoed. "Yes, Commander!"
As the guards moved, Thamere added, "If there is anything else you need, inform the steward inside. Rest well, heroes."
Then he left.
The Mythics entered one by one. Velvet beds. Crystal chandeliers. Arcane wards humming softly. Some fell on couches. Some wandered to balconies. Others simply closed their eyes where they stood.
Arslan paused at the window. He could still see the dragons, still hear the distant cheers. But inside—he felt the weight of the road.
He dropped his bag silently and sat near the corner.
Vaelith entered behind him. "Two more hours of rest before the reception. Use them."
No response.
But in the silence—Arslan closed his eyes.
And for the first time since leaving Lumisgrave, he allowed himself to breathe.
---
Kaivelle had welcomed the Mythics. But what lay ahead—remained veiled in morning mist.
For now, rest.
For soon, the war of worth would begin.