The sun was still rising over the towering crystal trees that bordered the Mythic Base, casting shimmering reflections across the eastern wall. The usual quiet hum of morning energy lingered beyond the stone corridor. Inside the room dimly lit by bluish arc-lamps embedded in the walls, Arslan sat silently at the edge of his bed. His eyes stared forward, unfocused, his mind clearly elsewhere.
The room was still — almost too still — except for the slow flicker of a spectral blue flame from the enchanted lamp near the bookshelf. Scrolls, training manuals, and a barely-finished tea sat untouched on the nearby table. Even the energy barriers seen through the small window looked motionless, as if time had paused.
Then, the silence was broken by a faint crackling sound in the air — like flame splitting through mist.
A deep, yet familiar voice echoed through the stone chamber.
"So... the King is ready to organize the collaboration training."
Arslan didn't flinch. He exhaled, already aware of the fiery presence behind him.
From the corner of the room, shadows curled into each other like smoke forming a storm. The air heated subtly, and then Kar'Thæl emerged — tall, menacing, with eyes glowing a molten red. His horned silhouette seemed to vibrate with otherworldly energy, his flame-like aura licking against the edges of the room without burning it.
Arslan tilted his head slightly.
"Yes," he replied. "This will be helpful for all Echelon Knights. I think it'll push them beyond limits."
His voice was calm, yet held a trace of something else — detachment, perhaps unease.
Kar'Thæl paced, his shadow trailing behind like liquid fire.
"But one thing," he said, his tone narrowing with interest. "Julius claimed we are going to Alberto."
Arslan's brow lowered slightly. He stood, his hands slipping into the pockets of his dark cloak, and turned toward his demonic counterpart.
"Maybe…" Arslan paused for a moment, thinking aloud. "Maybe that's just a trick. To show others I'm going somewhere simple — so no one questions where we really are."
Kar'Thæl narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms.
"So you believe the King intends to divert attention?"
Arslan gave a single nod.
"If that's the motive… it makes sense. No one will suspect Arcana if everyone thinks I'm off in a different continent."
Kar'Thæl moved closer, his voice lowering like a whisper carried by heat.
"Then we must be certain. We should open the letter. No more assumptions."
Arslan hesitated — not out of fear, but respect. The envelope bearing the King's seal sat on the small metallic table, untouched since Julius handed it to him.
He moved toward it, fingers brushing the ancient parchment. The seal was still intact — a crest embedded with gold threads and a magical lock that pulsed faintly with the King's energy signature.
As he broke the seal, a slight hum echoed through the room — the magic dissolving into a whisper of light. Slowly, Arslan unfolded the letter and began to read.
His eyes moved across the script — his lips silently repeating each line:
> "Arslan,
I've told everyone that you are going to Alberto. This is the official record. In reality, this is your chance to complete your mission. I have faith in what you and Kar'Thael are attempting — and I've cleared the way for you to move freely, without suspicion. No one will interfere.
Tomorrow, you may begin your journey to Arcana.
Best of luck.
– King Farhan"
Arslan stood in silence, absorbing the words. The letter trembled slightly in his hand.
Behind him, Kar'Thæl let out a low chuckle.
"So… the King planned it all. For us. That man… always five moves ahead."
Arslan nodded slowly, folding the letter again with care. His eyes reflected a quiet intensity.
"So we really are going," he murmured, half to himself.
He looked up, meeting Kar'Thæl's burning gaze.
"Tomorrow… Arcana."
Kar'Thæl gave a sharp smile — not of mischief, but of excitement.
"It begins."
The air grew thick with anticipation. Arcana — the forbidden land — lay ahead. No longer just an idea, no longer whispers between the two, but a reality they were about to walk into.
Arslan walked toward the window and gazed out at the open horizon. Beyond those sky barriers, beyond the floating crystal ranges and magic-lit skies, existed a realm full of unknown dangers — and truths.
Would Arcana accept them? Or fight against them?
Would they return unchanged? Or not return at all?
Kar'Thæl's voice snapped him from his thoughts.
"You've been ready for this since the beginning. The only question is…How would be it look like now"
Arslan said nothing. He merely looked at the horizon.
The light from the window flickered against his face — half-cast in shadow, half-lit by hope.
In that moment, something deeper stirred in Arslan's heart — not fear, not excitement, but a deep awareness of trust. The King had trusted him with a lie. A beautiful lie to shield a hidden truth.
That lie would cost him visibility. While the others — Caelis, Tharion, Nirela, and the rest — engaged in collaborative training, their bonds growing, Arslan would be gone. Absent from their unity. Distant from the progress of his own kind.
But necessary.
He knew he had to disappear — for something larger than battle drills and tactical coordination. Arcana was more than a place. It was the doorway to something ancient, and perhaps even redemptive.
Kar'Thæl finally turned to leave, fading slowly into black mist that slithered along the corner wall.
"Rest," he said before vanishing. "Tomorrow, the doors open."
Arslan didn't move. He simply reached for the folded letter again and placed it into the metallic locker near his bed — locking it with a quiet click.
Then he rose, walked to the window, and looked out one last time.
The stars over Lumisgrave shimmered in quiet rhythms, and in that moment, they didn't seem like watchers from above…
They felt like farewells.