AK : RISING MYTHIC

The morning sunlight streamed gently through the stained-glass windows of the courtyard hall where breakfast was served in the Mythic Base. Plates clattered, cups steamed, and the mood in the air was much lighter than it had been in recent days. It was as if the previous tension and the edge of battle had softened, replaced with a quiet hope and camaraderie among the Mythic-ranked warriors.

As Arslan stepped into the hall, still adjusting the collar of his dark robe, he was greeted with the cheerful murmurs of his fellow Mythic members already deep in discussion over fresh bread, fruit, and warm tea.

Vaelith leaned back in his chair, half-laughing, half-boasting.

"I swear, the Spiral Prism trial made me feel like I was stuck inside an exploding flower made of fire and pressure."

Tharion grinned, chewing through a chunk of meat.

"At least you weren't paired with someone who ignored you the whole time." He side-eyed Elyra who shot him a smirk.

Kyren Daxe chimed in, his voice filled with awe.

"But seriously, that Crimson Verge Arslan used… that was something else. A blade formed of darkness, but sharp like it could slice time itself."

The room shifted. Eyes turned to Arslan as he walked past.

"That was amazing, Arslan," said Seris Vahla, tipping her cup in his direction. "We've seen your Shadow Blades and the Dark Bow, but Crimson Verge was… different."

"It looked alive," added Yuna softly, her healer's eyes still shining with admiration. "Like your soul shaped it."

Arslan nodded modestly, sliding into his seat. "Just something I have been working on. Still needs more control."

That's when Nirela, who sat just across from him, glanced up from her cup. She met his eyes for a moment, then smiled warmly.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

Arslan blinked. "For what?"

"For stepping forward. When Tyrus attacked me… I didn't expect anyone would."

He paused, looked down at his plate, then replied, "You didn't deserve to be treated that way. None of us did."

The group shared a moment of silence before laughter picked back up. It was warm. Earnest. Healing.

By midday, the group had assembled in the open, rune-marked grounds where Mythic-ranked members trained. The sun beat down softly, and floating crystals provided shadows across the marble platforms where warriors stood, moved, and practiced.

Today's goal was different from raw power or flashy battles. It was about control, stability, and focus.

Orien Dravell worked on stabilizing his Soulflash, trying to avoid the scattered aftershocks that had once knocked over three practice targets unintentionally.

Zhalya concentrated deeply, eyes glowing crimson, as she controlled her Blood Sight, scanning practice dummies while keeping her heart rate in check.

Ravik Durn braced his stance as his Stone Armoring hardened over his limbs layer by layer—this time more refined and mobile than the thick, sluggish armor he used before.

Nirela Quen let her Moonlight Control dance between her fingers, forming small orbs of soft energy, trying to stabilize their hover mid-air with precision.

Meanwhile, Arslan stepped into the shade of the outer platform, rolled his shoulders, and began his physical training. Push-ups, hand-stands, explosive sprints, shoulder rolls—he kept moving without rest, sweat pouring across his brow. His body strained, not from exhaustion, but from purpose.

Kar'Thael whispered within him,

"You must master the movement. The weapons you forge must obey your breath, not just your will."

After his physical set, Arslan summoned each of his weapons one by one—Dark Bow, Abyssal Fangs, Shadow Blades, Dark Shield, and finally the glowing red hue of Crimson Verge.

He didn't unleash their power. He moved with them. Walked. Ducked. Rolled. Slid. Swung.

He trained the precision. The reaction time. The breath-to-blade harmony.

Just as Arslan was transitioning between spins with Shadow Blades, a nearby Mythic member—Malrik Envor, who had recently awakened his Rune Surge—suddenly stumbled. His runes glowed erratically, burning across his arms, and his breathing became unstable.

Arslan rushed to him.

"Focus, Malrik. Count backwards from five. Inhale deep—slow it."

Malrik, gritting his teeth, followed Arslan's calm yet commanding instructions. The runes gradually dimmed from wild flares to a controlled pulse. He exhaled deeply, trembling.

"Thank you… I almost lost control," Malrik gasped.

"Don't rush it," Arslan said, patting his shoulder. "You have power. But without mental stability, it'll own you."

Malrik nodded in understanding, eyes filled with new confidence.

As the sun passed overhead, the group took a pause under the shade of the upper arches where cool wind breezed through.

"Okay but seriously," Elyra joked, "Did you all see the look on Kaelen's face when Arslan blocked Tyrus's fireball with Dark Shield like it was just a soap bubble?"

The group laughed.

"I wish I had painted it," added Caelis Morvayn, brushing his silvery-blue hair back. "Frame-worthy."

Arslan sat at the edge of the bench, a small smirk on his face." I think, I have just did that should needed at that time"

Even Kar'Thael, deep within, hummed a low chuckle.

"You're learning something else today," Kar'Thael whispered. "How to carry power with humility."

Arslan simply sipped his tea and looked around.

"All of you have undefined powers, you should cross your limits.... You have to master skills you own ... " ...

Elyra replied "How can we know about our hidden powers, "

Arslan gently said," you should study or research for the skill you owned, .... Once you understood about your skill then you can craft new skills"

Seris said" We have to do it if we want to cross our limits "..

Nirela said "And we will as Arslan said"

Arslan smiled and said " ok... Now we have to go back to Base"

Then All mythics go to the Base