The soft light of Kaivelle's twin moons filtered through silk curtains as the golden hour gave way to a vibrant late morning. After two or three hours of well-earned rest following their arrival in the Royal Guest Apartments, the Mythic-ranked warriors began to stir. The scent of lavender incense lingered in the rooms. A calm breeze swept through, brushing over polished floors and half-closed windows.
Arslan stood alone near the balcony of the suite, eyes surveying the distant mountains where clouds hung low. A quiet resolve emanated from him. Behind him, Caelis adjusted his cloak, Tharion stretched his arms, and Nirela yawned, brushing moonlight-colored strands behind her ears.
A sharp knock echoed from the outer door.
A Royal Guard entered, adorned in violet-trimmed armor with the crest of Kaivelle etched into his chestplate. He stood tall, voice firm yet polite.
"The carriage is ready."
Tharion turned his head with a half-curious frown. "For what?"
The guard gave a respectful bow. "Queen Maria is waiting for you in the castle. She wishes to meet you all."
Yuna, graceful and lively, stepped forward, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Then we shouldn't keep her waiting, should we? Come on."
Without further delay, the Mythics gathered. Velvet-lined steps led them to the awaiting gold-embellished carriage outside. Its body shimmered under the Kaivelle sun, drawn by four sleek beasts—part horse, part elemental spirit—with faint trails of mist curling from their hooves. A second carriage followed, carrying the rest of the group.
As the procession made its way through Kaivelle's inner roads, the sights shifted. Children pointed excitedly. Street vendors paused mid-sale. Locals whispered and bowed, recognizing the elite status of these chosen ones from Lumisgrave. The sound of bells chimed from the upper watchtowers as a gesture of welcome.
The royal carriage came to a halt before the Grand Royal Gate of Castle Kaivelle.
Two lines of armored guards in gleaming steel stood tall. At a single command, the massive gate opened in synchrony. The creaking iron mixed with trumpets blaring from the watchposts.
The castle itself loomed like a living monument of old magic and divine artistry. Towers spiraled high into the sky, capped with sapphire domes. White-marble bridges arched above glistening waterfalls that flowed through inner courtyards. Stained-glass murals caught the light, painting tales of Kaivelle's history across the stone paths.
As the Mythics passed through the courtyard, fountains erupted in rhythm. Roses danced in elevated wind currents created by unseen spells. Elven musicians played gentle chords from golden balconies, heralding their arrival.
They moved through a series of arched gates before finally being led into an opulent hall. Pillars of starlight crystal glowed with enchantment. Silk drapes swayed as if aware of the guests. The air shimmered faintly with fragrant magic.
There, upon a raised dais, sat Queen Maria of Kaivelle. Regal yet radiant in presence, her gown shimmered like sunlight on ocean water. Her brown curls cascaded over her shoulders, and her crown—set with moonstones—rested gently upon her head. Beside her stood Thamere, the Arch-Mage of Kaivelle, and Serrelle, Commander of the Royal Valkyries.
The Queen smiled as the Mythics entered. She stood from her seat, voice musical.
"Welcome. Please, be seated."
The chairs were velvet and crystal, arranged in a crescent before the dais. The Mythics took their seats, their eyes sweeping the exquisite chamber.
After a delicate pause, Queen Maria spoke with a graceful sigh. "Finally, King Farhan has accepted my invitation—and sent you all here."
She gestured with open palms. "I trust you're enjoying Kaivelle's hospitality so far?"
Caelis nodded, voice calm and sure. "Yes, Your Majesty. In fact, we've been honored with more respect than we expected."
A smile tugged at the corner of Maria's lips. But then, her gaze shifted—drawn like a magnet—to one figure in the crowd.
Her eyes locked with Arslan.
She tilted her head slightly, studying him, voice quieter but more intimate.
"You... I hope the knights from other kingdoms will bow before you, not just before the dragons."
Thamere and Serrelle glanced toward Arslan, their expressions unreadable but focused. Their shared thought lingered unspoken: So this is the Arslan—the one Maria mentioned with such curiosity.
Arslan returned her gaze, voice measured and calm. "We came here to become better. If others see value in that… they'll bow on their own."
Queen Maria's smile widened, her voice soft. "I like your confidence."
Something shifted in the room.
The royal light dimmed just a little, but not from magic—rather, from a pause in Maria's heart. Her breathing changed. Her composure wavered—if only slightly. Her eyes lingered too long. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her silk sleeve.
The Queen of Kaivelle—known across the continent for her grace, strength, and poise—seemed momentarily captured.
By Arslan.
Her voice trembled. "I... will meet you again... tomorrow. At the Grand Event."
Without further words, she turned swiftly, her gown flowing like water as she walked toward her chambers. The doors closed behind her.
Thamere cleared his throat and gave a small nod to a nearby guard. "Take them on a tour of Kaivelle. Let them see the city."
The Royal Guard bowed and motioned to the Mythics.
They rose, curiosity sparked, and exited the royal hall. The tour took them through Kaivelle's bustling arcades, glowing market squares, enchanted libraries, and floating gardens.
Everywhere they went, people bowed. Children offered them flowers. Local knights looked upon them with awe.
The Mythics—proud and strong—smiled humbly, and for a day, they were not just warriors. They were honored guests.
But Kaivelle wasn't just welcoming one kingdom.
From all across the continent, the best-ranked knights began to arrive.
From Embercrest, riding phoenix-feathered steeds. From Nordhelm, cloaked in frost and runes. From Vorthenmar, with banners made of obsidian silk. From Thornevale, where the winds whispered their oaths. From Eshalorn, masters of shadowcraft. From Varneth, sworn defenders of justice. From Cael'Lorien, wielders of elven mysticism. From Altheria, home to the blade-born prodigies.
And many more.
Kaivelle brimmed with presence. With pride. With power.
As the orange glow of the setting sun blanketed the city, the Mythics returned to their apartment. The air inside was calm, scented with lavender and dusk.
Laughter bubbled as everyone settled into seats, couches, and cushions.
Ravik said, chuckling, "Did you see the way that merchant almost kissed Seris's boots today?"
Seris rolled her eyes. "He was just being respectful. And I didn't let him."
Tarric joked, "Or maybe he just feared her toxin powers."
Then, the tone shifted slightly as Nirela leaned closer to Arslan, voice teasing but gentle.
"I noticed something today... Queen Maria seemed nervous. But only when looking at you."
Arslan blinked. "Oh no. You're starting this again."
"I'm serious," Nirela whispered with a sly smile. "She couldn't stop glancing. You've enchanted her."
Tharion added with a grin, "Well, the Queen of Kaivelle has good taste."
Arslan waved it off, but inside, a strange warmth stirred.
Was it admiration? Respect? Or something deeper he wasn't ready to face?
Either way, tomorrow was the Grand Event. And nothing would be the same.