By the time we reached the outskirts of Ascal, the sun was already sinking behind the mountains. The air smelled of dust, smoke, and iron — the scent of a town that had seen too much war and learned to live with it.
Reginleif crouched behind a cluster of broken stone, her brown hair catching the last glint of light
"There," she whispered. "That's the east gate. The Brotherhood closed the main one two days ago. Soldiers are checking papers — no way through without identification."
I peered through the cracks. The gate was crawling with guards, their armor reflecting the torchlight. The crests on their shoulders didn't match hers. Different faction, maybe mercenaries.
"So, we knock and ask politely, or…?"
Reginleif shot me a flat look. ,"We sneak in. There's a drainage tunnel beneath the wall. Locals use it when the patrols get rough."
"Sounds delightful."
She didn't smile this time; her tone was all business. "Stay close, and don't make noise."
We slipped down the slope, moving through tall grass and broken masonry. The sound of crickets covered our footsteps. Reginleif led the way to a rust-stained grate half hidden behind an overgrown bush. She knelt, pressed her dagger against the lock, and with a quick twist, it gave.
The tunnel stank of mud and rot. Cold water reached my ankles, and the echo of each step seemed far too loud.
"Smells like a five-star experience," I muttered.
"Keep your voice down," she hissed. "We're almost under the inner wall."
We followed the narrow path until a faint light glimmered ahead. Reginleif climbed first, pushing open a metal hatch that groaned in protest. She peeked through the gap, then nodded for me to follow.
When I emerged, the world had changed again.
We were inside the town — a maze of narrow streets, flickering lanterns, and shuttered shops. The people here moved fast and quiet, like they knew better than to draw attention.
Reginleif pulled her hood over her head. "Stay close. If anyone asks, you're a hired guard. Don't talk unless I tell you to."
"Wouldn't dream of it," I said, though my eyes kept wandering.
For a border town, Ascal was alive in its own secret way. Merchants whispered deals in alleyways. Children darted through the crowd, laughing as if the world outside the walls wasn't on fire. And above it all, a watchtower loomed — its flag black and silver, rippling against the dusk sky.
We passed through the market square. Reginleif moved with purpose, head down. I followed, trying to look like I belonged.
That's when I noticed him — a man leaning against a post, face hidden under a hood, watching us. He didn't move, didn't speak. Just watched.
"Reginleif," I murmured under my breath. "We've got eyes on us."
"Keep walking," she whispered back. "If he follows, we deal with him in the alleys."
We turned into a side street, the sound of the market fading behind us. The shadows thickened, the smell of spice and smoke replaced by damp stone.
Footsteps echoed softly behind.
Reginleif stopped. Her hand went to her dagger. "He's still there."
"Then let's say hello," I said, stepping out from the corner.
The man froze when he saw me. His hand twitched toward his belt — too slow. I grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall.
"Why are you following us?"
He coughed, raising both hands. "Easy— easy! You're new here, right? You don't walk through Ascal at night without protection. That's how people disappear."
Reginleif narrowed her eyes. "Who sent you?"
He smirked. "No one. But if you want safe lodging — and a way out of the Brotherhood's eyes — you'll want to talk to my employer. Name's Merric. He runs the Night Bazaar under the east district."
Reginleif hesitated, glancing at me.
"We can't trust him."
"We don't have to trust him," I said. "We just need a roof."
The man smiled thinly. "Smart one, aren't you? Follow me, strangers. You'll like what you find in the dark."
Reginleif sighed. "I already hate this plan."
Still, she followed. So did I.
The alleys narrowed, torches faded, and before long the world above seemed to vanish entirely. What waited beneath Ascal wasn't just a hiding place — it was something else. Something older.
And for the first time since I'd fallen into this world, I felt the same chill I'd felt in Tokyo… right before everything changed.
The next morning arrived with a cold wind crawling through the trees.
I woke up before Reginleif — couldn't sleep much anyway. My mind wouldn't stop replaying everything that had happened since that rift swallowed me.
I needed answers.
About this world. About the power I saw in those soldiers. About why my life suddenly felt like someone else's story.
"Hey," I said, glancing toward Reginleif as she adjusted her armor. "Do you know if there's a library in this town?"
She looked up at me, slightly surprised. "A library? Yeah, there's one near the old chapel. But be careful — you stand out here. Take my cloak."
I took it from her hands. It was heavier than I expected, smelling faintly of iron and smoke. "You're really protective, huh?"
"I just don't want to drag your corpse back if you get caught," she said with a grin.
"Touching."
Pulling the hood low, I slipped into the streets.
The town was still waking up — vendors setting up stalls, guards patrolling, the smell of bread and smoke mixing in the morning air.
The library wasn't large — more like a cathedral that had been turned into one. Dust clung to the air like ghostlight.
Inside, the silence was thick.
Rows of ancient tomes stretched to the ceiling, some written in a language I barely recognized… and yet, somehow, I could read them.
Maybe it was whatever happened that night.
Maybe it was this world.
I spent hours reading — maps, histories, myths. Most of it felt like gibberish until I found one particular book.
A dark, leather-bound tome.
Its title burned faintly when I touched it.
"Mythic and the Roots of Qliphoth."
I frowned. Mythic?
Flipping through the pages, strange diagrams of a blackened tree appeared — its roots reaching downward instead of up, its branches twisting like veins.
"Each soul carries a Seed — a fragment of the fallen Tree.
These Seeds, when awakened, draw power from the Qliphoth's broken divinity.
Yet, with every use, the mortal shell weakens — consumed by what it seeks to command."
My chest tightened.
A tree. Seeds. Power that eats you from the inside.
It was too specific. Too much like… me.
I shut the book, the sound echoing through the empty hall.
"Mythic…" I whispered. 'What the hell did I fall into?"
Mythic is divided into three primary categories: Manifestation, Alteration, and Invocation.
"Manifestation users shape Mythic into physical forms — weapons, shields, fire, ice. Ete."
"Alteration users enhance their bodies or change the properties of matter."
"Invocation users call upon greater forces — spirits, relics, or divine entities."
That last part made me pause.
Something about it felt… familiar.
I flipped another page.
While Mythic is a natural art, excessive use without proper attunement can lead to Resonance Overload — a collapse of one's life force.
"Guess even magic comes with fine print," I muttered.
After an hour of reading, I stepped outside. The sunlight felt harsher now, and the city seemed louder than before.
Mythic, huh.
So that's the name of the game here.
And if everyone could use it…
Then I'd better learn fast.
Because in a world built on Mythic — power wasn't a choice.
It was survival.