The first rays of dawn spilled softly across the golden spires of Kaivelle. Morning mist clung to the lush palace gardens like a whispered veil, birds chirped their gentle songs, and bells rang softly from distant towers. Within the royal castle, silence reigned for a brief moment before Queen Maria's voice echoed through the grand corridor.
"Summon the Mythics to the Sunhall. Breakfast shall be served with the Queen herself."
It wasn't a mere invitation—it was a declaration that echoed with both warmth and purpose. Attendants rushed through corridors lined with shimmering drapes and violet glass panes, each step wrapped in anticipation.
Moments later, the 16 Mythics walked slowly through the vast corridor leading to the Sunhall—each of them dressed in simple robes lent by the Kaivelle caretakers, their injuries mostly healed, though some still bore remnants of battle.
As they entered the dining hall, the aroma of freshly baked bread, grilled fruits, and delicately spiced meats floated in the air. The table stretched long beneath an arched ceiling painted with ancient skies, and silver platters shimmered under golden chandeliers. Velvet chairs awaited the heroes, and sunlight kissed the polished floors with a warm embrace.
Queen Maria stood at the head of the table in regal calm, her sapphire gown flowing like water and her crown adorned with feathers of silver.
"My brave guests," she spoke, her voice both royal and tender, "please be seated. This morning is for you—not as warriors, but as honored souls who fought with unshakable courage. Eat. Speak. Be at peace."
The Mythics exchanged glances before slowly taking their seats.
Vaelith Ren, ever the composed Life Healer, leaned toward Ismere. "This bread has the scent of elderberries... and mint?" he whispered.
Ismere chuckled. "Kaivelle knows how to blend flavors."
Tharion Vale, the Earthshocker, grunted approvingly as he bit into a honeyed ham. "I never thought I'd enjoy anything from this far north."
Yuna, radiant and kind, looked around the room. "It feels like a dream. After all that bloodshed, after all that fire... peace tastes strange."
Arslan remained quiet for a moment, then picked up a piece of spiced fruit, savoring it slowly.
Queen Maria observed him from across the table. "You eat like a man who knows war."
Arslan bowed his head slightly. "And peace... Your Majesty."
The hall filled with gentle chatter, laughter, and light music played on unseen strings by Kaivelle's invisible orchestra. Golden birds fluttered across the stained glass windows, casting dappled light across the table.
Once the meal neared its end, Arslan cleared his throat and stood.
"Your Majesty," he said, every syllable precise and polite, "we are grateful. But we came to Kaivelle only for the event. The battle has ended, and we must now return to Lumisgrave."
His words brought a stillness over the table. Forks were lowered. Conversations ceased. Queen Maria's smile faded, just slightly.
"I see..." she said after a pause, her voice tinged with subtle sadness. "But you are still recovering. The Healers of Kaivelle, though gifted, cannot erase the toll of such a battle overnight."
"We are well enough to serve, Your Majesty," Arslan replied. "Our people await. We have duties. We cannot delay."
Maria looked into Arslan's eyes—deep pools of resolve and burden. She nodded.
"Then I shall not stand in your way. But before you go, you must receive what is owed to you."
The Queen rose. Her long sleeves fluttered behind her like wings as she gestured toward the hall. "Come."
They followed her through winding corridors, past moonlit balconies and marble halls etched with ancient glyphs, until they reached the ceremonial armory. The chamber doors opened with a low rumble, revealing a vast room bathed in pale sunlight. At the center, ornate mannequins wore enchanted armor forged from starlit metal. Gilded weapons—each humming with quiet magic—rested atop velvet displays.
Maria turned and addressed the Mythics. "Each piece has been chosen to match your essence. Take what calls to your soul."
She moved with grace, handing a thorn-wrapped staff to Maelis Kyrn. "For one who grows life from ruin."
To Caelis Morvayn, she gave a frost-carved blade. "To chill the fires of any storm."
Tarric Vohl received thunder-woven boots. Elyra Thorne, a brooch that shimmered with frozen emotions. One by one, she gifted the heroes with not just arms, but with legacies.
When all had received theirs, Arslan stood quietly at the end of the line.
Maria approached him last.
But instead of a weapon or robe, she met him with a solemn nod.
"You will receive your reward in Lumisgrave," she said softly.
Arslan gave a slight bow. "As you wish, Your Majesty."
Then, outside the ceremonial hall, a low, thunderous growl shook the sky.
The castle gates opened, revealing a creature of legend—a massive dragon, its scales glimmering like polished obsidian, its wings spanning wider than any ship. It bowed its great head in reverence.
Maria stepped beside it. "This is Solvahr. He shall take you home. With my Royal Guards escorting you from the skies, your journey will be safe."
The Mythics stood in awe.
Seris Vahla took a slow breath. "I've never flown before."
Zhalya Neris, her eyes wide, whispered, "Is this real?"
Maria smiled. "Your journey need not always be burdened by war. Let this moment be one of wonder."
The Mythics climbed aboard the great dragon, its back lined with golden saddles and energy threads holding them safe. The moment Solvahr flapped his wings, a gust of wind swept the courtyard. The guards, on shimmering wyverns, rose alongside.
From below, the people of Kaivelle gathered to wave. Cheers erupted. Songs rang out. Queen Maria raised her hand.
"Farewell, Knights of Lumisgrave. Remember Kaivelle not as a battlefield, but as a home."
With a great roar, the dragon soared into the sky.
Clouds danced around them. The earth fell away into tiny fields, trees became moss-like patches, rivers shimmered like ribbons of silver.
The Mythics were silent at first, each caught in the spell of the skies. Then Ravik Durn shouted over the wind, "This view! It's madness!"
Nirela laughed, holding her hand out into the breeze. "I want to fly forever."
Vaelith smiled faintly. "Even pain feels lighter here."
Arslan sat still, gazing forward. The wind tousled his hair, but his eyes stayed fixed on the horizon.
Elyra leaned closer. "You thinking about the reward?"
"No," Arslan said. "I'm thinking about what comes next. This was peace. But it never lasts."
As the dragon crossed over the cliffs of Arkanthra, birds joined in playful flight. Below, shepherds and children looked skyward in awe, pointing at the flying legends.
By sunset, Lumisgrave's borders appeared—its ancient walls and banners visible even from the skies. The great dragon descended slowly, the city square prepared to receive its champions.
The people of Lumisgrave ran out to greet them. Cheers erupted. Bells rang again.
And as the dragon touched down, Arslan stepped onto the earth once more, greeted not just as a warrior—but as a symbol of something greater.
Behind him, the Royal Guards of Kaivelle saluted one final time before flying away. The dragon roared in farewell and vanished into the horizon.
Peace hung in the air.
But only for a moment.
For the next page of fate waited already—deep in the heart of Lumisgrave.