TRUTH TO MYTHIC

The courtyard was kissed by the golden light of early morning, the first rays slanting through the stained glass arches of the Mythic Base. The air was crisp and fresh, carrying the soft hum of magical wards humming faintly overhead. Birds chirped from enchanted trees along the inner garden, where tables had been laid out for breakfast.

Arslan sat with his tray on the central marble bench, clad in a loose charcoal tunic, hair slightly tousled from the breeze. Around him, the Mythic-ranked companions were slowly gathering.

Tharion, ever the early riser, had finished half his meal already. Yuna quietly sipped a morning herbal infusion. Seris, leaning back with one leg on the bench, stirred her spiced broth with a blade. Laughter sparked nearby as Orien, Kyren, and Zhalya debated the flavor of the rations.

Arslan bit into a soft roll and remained quiet, content to observe — until Kyren leaned in a little, voice gentle but curious.

"Arslan… if you don't mind, can you tell us… how your father was lost?"

The noise at the table lowered. Spoons slowed. All eyes shifted subtly to Arslan.

He paused, finishing the bite in silence.

His voice, when it came, was steady — not broken, but marked by memory.

"Alright… I'll tell you."

He looked down at his cup. Steam rose in tendrils.

"My mother told me… sixteen years ago, my father was working just in front of our house. It was a normal morning. I was too young to remember much. But then—"

He raised his gaze.

"A portal opened. Out of nowhere. Right in the street."

The group sat up straighter.

"Two figures came out of it. She said they were cloaked, silent, powerful. They didn't speak. They just looked at my father… and took him. Pulled him into the portal. Then vanished."

A long silence followed.

The courtyard felt colder for a moment.

Seris was the first to speak. "Did your mom… ask for help?"

Arslan nodded. "Yes. But no one believed her. They said she imagined it. There were no records, no magic disturbances in the registry. They said she was delusional. A grieving wife."

His voice tightened slightly, but he held back the weight.

"Eventually… she stopped talking about it. But she never stopped believing he was alive."

Orien Dravell leaned forward, placing a hand on the table.

"Arslan… we're not like the people back then."

He met Arslan's eyes with a warmth only a soul-flash user could carry.

"We're your friends. We'll help you."

Yuna nodded, her voice soft. "You've been through so many trials. Anyone else would've broken."

Tharion grunted in agreement. "This explains why you're stronger than all of us. You've been carrying storms for years."

Nirela, dressed in her silver-laced moonweave coat, set her spoon down gently.

"And from this day onward," she said, voice unwavering, "we will all help you find your father. Whatever it takes."

A strange emotion flickered across Arslan's face — part surprise, part relief. He'd never asked for help. Never expected any.

He gave a slight nod, his voice low.

"Thank you."

The tension broke as Ravik suddenly muttered, "He probably escaped to get some peace from his brilliant, brooding son."

Laughter broke around the table.

Arslan rolled his eyes but smirked. "Oh, shut up, Ravik."

Maelis raised her cup. "To Arslan's dad. Wherever he is."

They all raised their goblets, tapping them gently.

As the breakfast wrapped up, the group slowly made their way to the training ground. The usual buzz of enchantments lit up across the combat ring as each Mythic initiated their focus drills.

Today, there was something different in the air — not just energy, but unity.

Tarric thunderstepped across the agility track, crackling sparks under his boots.

Nirela twirled her crescent glaive, channeling Moonlight Control into slashing beams.

Zhalya closed her eyes and focused her Blood Sight, reading the movements of nearby insects with eerie precision.

Arslan stepped forward calmly. He felt stronger today. Mentally and physically.

His Split Pulse Technique from the night before had stabilized. His muscles felt loose, ready. Even Kar'Thæl remained quiet — silently impressed.

> "You're stronger today," he whispered. "Because they carry your pain with you now."

Arslan ran into the open field, channeling his Void Chains into a smooth loop before pulling back and launching into a shadow-stride spin.

Dust spiraled upward as he landed cleanly.

From across the yard, Orien clapped. "Much better, Shadow King."

They trained for hours. Each member cycling through technique refinement, stamina drills, and controlled sparring. Ismere shattered her record for glyph weaving. Vaelith managed a dual-restoration cast in under five seconds.

When the training bell chimed, they regrouped beneath the central crystal obelisk.

Hearts pounding. Clothes drenched. Weapons sheathed.

But eyes shining.

Their bond had grown stronger — not just through combat, but truth.

As they walked back toward the Base, the sun was high, and their spirits lighter.

Arslan lagged just a little behind, taking one last glance back at the training field.

Yuna paused beside him.

"Thank you… for telling us."

Arslan nodded. "It helped more than I expected."

Kar'Thæl murmured within.

> "This is why you survive. Not because of me. But because of them."

And for once, Arslan smiled — a full, unguarded smile.

"Let's find him," he whispered to himself. "No matter what it takes."