ArslanSaeed09

In the realm of Lumisgrave, humanity is thrust into chaos when ancient Vaults—portals to the demon world—begin to open. With devils emerging and darkness creeping across the lands, humanity's only hope lies in those who awaken strange powers from the Surge—each individual ranked by the mysterious P.R.I.M.E. system: Omega, Alpha, Mythic, Apex, and Zenith.

Among them is Arslan, a quiet and conflicted young man burdened with a harrowing destiny. Unbeknownst to most, he is the vessel of Kar’Thæl, a fallen entity once feared by the demons themselves. While the world sees Arslan as another Mythic-ranked warrior, deep inside him dwells a power both feared and hunted—one that could save the world or doom it.

As friendships form, betrayals unfold, and demons invade, Arslan must learn to master his devastating abilities, earn back the trust of those he once pushed away, and unravel the truth behind the demon attacks. When the monstrous demon ZARELLE invades, it sparks a battle that reshapes the world’s balance—and awakens Arslan’s true strength.

But darker forces stir beyond the Vaults.

Ancient demon lords—Nyzora, Shadrak, and Valgorr—prepare a wild card no one expects. As Arslan begins forging his legacy and his mythic allies rise in power, the fate of their world, their families, and their hearts will depend on what he chooses:

Break the bond, or burn the world.

AK : RISING MYTHIC

After a moment of silence, King Vange cleared his throat.

"Farhan," he said, surprisingly casual. "You've proven Lumisgrave's strength. But let us see how far that strength travels."

He leaned back. "Send me some of your Echelon Knights. As guests, of course. Let them walk the shadowed woods of Thornevale for a while. Let them see if our roots remain clean."

King Farhan offered a smile. "I'll send a unit from the Apex rank. Skilled. Trusted. And diplomatic."

Vange smirked. "Not too diplomatic, I hope."

But a question lingered. The two empty chairs.

King Musib looked toward them and tapped the table. "And what of King Mamba and Queen Maria? Strange they miss a table like this."

Queen Margrith looked toward Farhan, her eyes narrowing. "They were invited, I assume?"

Farhan's expression dimmed. "Yes. Invited. Warned. Offered escort. But they chose silence."

Vange gave a dry laugh. "No surprise. The wound between Lumisgrave and Eshalorn is still fresh."

Sung Kimchi nodded slowly. "And Kaivelle never healed from the trade disputes. Nor the burned envoy…"

King Musib chuckled darkly. "I still remember when Mamba accused Farhan of manipulating the border trees. Said you sent your scouts disguised as spirits."

Queen Margrith finally smiled. "And Farhan replied, 'If I could command spirits, you'd be the first to know, Mamba.'"

The table erupted in light, nostalgic laughter. Even Farhan allowed himself a grin.

The tension eased. At least for a moment.

Not long after, servants re-entered the hall with polished trays of royal lunch. Grilled skyfish from Lake Dusk, nectar-drenched rootfruit, honeybread, seared sun-wheat wrapped in violetleaf.

Goblets were refilled with sweetgold wine. Plates clinked. For a short while, the kings were not rulers burdened with doom — but old warriors, friends, rivals, tasting peace.

Stories were shared. Jokes returned. Musib reenacted his wild ride across the Sandrift Gorge. Queen Margrith told of the ice-wolf that stole her crown for a day. Vange admitted he once mistook his spy's decoy for an ambassador… and accidentally knighted him.

Even Farhan laughed — a deep, rare laugh.

When the sun shifted beyond its zenith, the hall dimmed slightly. Servants entered again, this time not with food — but with gifts.

For Queen Margrith: A crystal harp of moonlight string, echoing melodies of Altherian origin.

For King Vange: A blade forged from silent steel, rumored to never echo when drawn.

For King Sung Kimchi: A pendant containing shifting wind essence, to guide travelers by current.

For King Musib: A sandstone goblet, enchanted to never empty when raised under the sun.

Each gift was engraved with the crest of Lumisgrave, and each was received with bowed heads and genuine thanks.

As the royal carriages lined up once more outside the palace, the kings departed with more than gold. They carried knowledge, concern, hope — and the unspoken understanding that the age of comfort was ending.

From the balcony above, King Farhan watched them go. Behind him, the banners of Echelon still fluttered.

His voice was low, to no one in particular:

"Let them carry peace... while it still lives."

A distant breeze rustled the curtains.

Far off, beyond Lumisgrave's walls, something stirred.

And the Bound Threshold… pulsed once more.

AID_CONFLICT_LUNCH_DEPARTURE