The sun had just crested the horizon, casting a golden haze over the polished stone walls of Kaivelle. Morning winds rustled the banners that crowned the Arena's watchtowers. The city—usually buzzing—was oddly quiet, expectant.
In the Apartment where Mythics are stayed..a light knock echoed.
"It's time," said a Royal Guard, clad in Kaivelle's indigo and silver "To go to Arena"
Sixteen Mythic-ranked individuals stirred from their resting chambers, each wearing fresh uniforms marked by their kingdom's insignia. Arslan, having barely slept, tightened the laces of his gauntlet with mechanical calm. His hoodie hung loose beneath the standard battle vest provided for the Arena preview.
They followed the Guard through wide stone corridors lit by glowing runes, and then through towering gates, until they stepped into an open-ground arena—simple, minimalistic.
A soft breeze blew through the vast field. The ground was smooth, pale clay—flat, with few natural obstructions. On each side of the field, five large crystalline structures stood rooted like sentinels—translucent, humming softly with stored energy.
The crystals pulsed faintly, like heartbeats. Blue for one side, crimson for the other. The mechanics of the game were visible even before the rules were spoken.
Already there were groups gathered. Knights from other kingdoms, standing in formation, their coats of arms stitched boldly into their uniforms. Among them were warriors from Nordhelm—stocky, armored men known for their strength and brash arrogance.
Yuna whispered to Ismere, "They look like they're here to punch walls, not pick crystals."
Arslan stayed quiet, hands in his hoodie pockets, walking to the edge of the arena where a line of stone benches had been placed for waiting participants. He took a seat on one of them—a rock bench warmed faintly by the morning sun.
Before long, two men—both in their mid-thirties, broad-shouldered and loud with their boots—broke from the Nordhelm crowd and made their way over to him. The arena was not yet filled with noise, so their heavy steps were audible.
One of them, with a thick scar running across his lip, sneered.
"Kids are not allowed here," he said in a voice loud enough to attract nearby attention. "Go and just drink milk, baby boy."
A few muffled chuckles rose from Nordhelm's side.
Arslan didn't move.
He slowly looked up, his pale expression flat but unwavering. "I think you're losing your senses as you've grown old. So you need milk—not me."
The second knight, with a twisted grin, barked, "Oh-ho! Baby got angry."
He stepped forward, seized Arslan's collar with one armored hand, yanking him halfway up.
"You talk too much."
But that was the last thing he managed to say.
With a whisper of displaced air, a faint black shimmer blinked where Arslan had been—and he was gone.
Fwoosh!
Gasps echoed through the arena.
He was behind them.
A shadow-flare shimmered briefly beneath his feet—Shadow Stride.
The two knights spun, startled. One stumbled back. The crowd, including Mythics and Knights from other kingdoms, had turned their full attention to the scene.
Yuna, watching from a few feet away, smirked. "Nordhelm Knights are messing with the wrong guy."
Ismere folded her arms. "This'll be quick."
Arslan lifted his right hand. His palm began to glow with coiling black energy that crackled into form—Dark Lightning Strikes.
ZZZZT!
Bolts of jagged black lightning arced through the air and came to a halt just inches from the eyes of both Nordhelm knights. The energy hissed and cracked with pressure, locked in place. The air smelled of static and something... scorched.
The two knights froze. Their earlier arrogance drained into horror.
CRACK! ZZZZTTT! A strand of lightning veered so close it singed a strand of hair.
Then... it stopped.
Arslan raised his hand higher, the lightning collapsing into the void with a final pop.
"Now," he said coldly, his eyes half-lidded, calm, "I hope you understand who rightly deserves milk... and who talks too much."
The knights backed away, visibly shaken.
A slow, deliberate clap echoed from the eastern entrance.
Queen Maria had arrived.
She dismounted her white mare, dressed in regal battle-trim—white armor laced with gold, her sapphire eyes scanning the arena. Behind her rode Thamere and Serrelle, flanked by a small procession of elite Royal Guards.
The Queen's voice was smooth but edged with command. "Still... there's time before the event begins. You should all save your energy for it."
She glanced at Arslan longer than the others. Something about the cold grace of his movements held her gaze. It wasn't just curiosity. It was fixation.
One of the Royal Guards raised his halberd and barked, "All participants! Please go stand at your designated spots!"
The commotion slowly cleared as the Knights spread out, facing toward their respective crystals. Arslan rejoined the Mythics. Vaelith patted him on the shoulder with a grin.
"That was... tactful."
Thamere, now standing atop a carved platform, raised a scroll. The chatter ceased.
"I now declare the formal rule structure of today's Arena Challenge," he announced, his voice magically amplified. It boomed across the field.
"Six knights will participate from each kingdom. Five will play, and one shall serve as a substitute, available to replace any active member during the match."
He unrolled the scroll further.
"Each side of the Arena has five crystals. The objective is simple—steal the opposing team's crystals. The first team to successfully retrieve all five enemy crystals wins."
A murmur of approval and understanding rippled across the field.
Serrelle stepped forward, her platinum hair catching the light.
"There will be no outside interference. No summoned beasts or familiars from outside the five-member team. No teleportation beyond mid-field. Powers may be used for strategy but not to destroy crystals. You break them—you forfeit."
Her eyes gleamed as they scanned each team.
"Substitutes must remain behind the protection line until called. That decision must be made through your team's lead representative."
Arslan narrowed his eyes slightly. Behind him, Caelis leaned in and said, "They're watching everything. Even the Queen."
And indeed, Queen Maria had not taken her eyes off Arslan. Not for a moment.
A deep hush fell again. Morning light had fully bathed the Arena now, and the crystals glimmered like beacons. The first match was about to begin, and the ground itself seemed to pulse with rising tension.
Yuna whispered to Arslan, "Guess you already won round one, huh?"
Arslan gave no reply.
But his faint smirk, barely visible, said enough.
The calm before the storm had ended.
The Arena of Legends was about to come alive.