The transition through the dimensional portal felt like plunging into a dream made of stars and fire. Arslan felt weightless, his body spun through a kaleidoscope of memories, colors, and power. There was no floor, no ceiling, only the howling of energy and the invisible hand of fate guiding him and Kar'Thael through the fold between worlds.
Then, as suddenly as it began, it ended.
They emerged into the darkened skies of Sunland, Arcana.
The portal shimmered behind them, casting ripples through the thick mist as it sealed itself shut with a quiet thrum. Before them stretched an ancient, forgotten land—rolling green hills carpeted with moss and grass, but shrouded beneath roiling, heavy clouds. Thunder rumbled in the distance, casting long shadows across crumbled ruins and fractured stone roads.
It was a land that once flourished, Arslan could feel it in his bones. There had been peace here, once. Laughter. Civilization. Now, silence reigned, broken only by the occasional flap of wings or a whisper on the wind.
As soon as Arslan set foot on Arcana's soil, a sharp pain shot through his chest, just above his heart. He staggered slightly, wincing.
"Gah…!" he gasped.
Kar'Thael was at his side in an instant, steadying him with a firm grip on his shoulder.
> "You'll feel that often," Kar'Thael said with a grim tone. "Ten days of that, at least. Your vessel and soul are adjusting to Arcana's frequency. The pain… it's part of the process."
Arslan straightened, breathing hard, but nodded. "I'll endure."
They stepped forward into the ruins of Sunland, the place where Kar'Thael had once lived as a prince—before betrayal, before war, before exile.
The ground was littered with the broken bones of cities. Obelisks leaned at strange angles. Statues of forgotten warriors had lost faces to weather and time. But beyond the mile-long stretch of rubble, signs of life emerged.
Cracked but standing buildings, ancient Arcanean houses made from dark stone and sun-fired clay, lined the horizon. The architectural elegance remained despite the decay.
Arslan paused. His hand instinctively moved to the hilt of his blade.
> "Kar'Thael... demons."
Shapes slithered through the shadows, growling faintly. Black-skinned, horned, some quadrupedal, others winged—all patrolling the area with snarling vigilance.
Kar'Thael's jaw tightened. "They've infested what's left of my home."
> "Do you have a plan?" Arslan asked, scanning the perimeter.
Kar'Thael turned to him, his ruby eyes alight with intensity.
> "Yes. We need to reach my friend Richet. If he's still alive, his help could get us to the Binding Center."
> "Binding Center?"
> "A temple," Kar'Thael explained. "Where all vessels were once unbound. Where my soul can be freed from yours. And you… you can walk as yourself again."
Arslan nodded. "But how do we get there? Demons are everywhere."
Kar'Thael smirked, a hint of his old cunning returning.
> "I know the old paths. Secret ways only nobles used."
They moved swiftly, ducking through back alleys and subterranean tunnels that ran beneath the shattered streets. The air was thick with dust and the scent of sulfur. Arslan's steps were light, his instincts sharp. Kar'Thæl led with purpose, one hand glowing with infernal energy to light the path.
After what felt like hours, they emerged beside a fallen aqueduct, approaching a partially collapsed house nestled behind broken stone pillars. Smoke curled from a chimney—a sign of life.
Kar'Thæl's breath caught.
> "This is it."
He stepped forward cautiously and knocked on the door, a rhythmic sequence known only to old allies.
The door creaked open.
A tall, gaunt figure stood in the doorway. His long hair was tied back in a ragged bun, his right eye replaced with a blackened scar, and his left leg missing, replaced by a crude mechanical limb made from Arcanean scrap. Despite his wounds, his posture was proud.
When he saw Kar'Thæl, his expression cracked.
> "By the Eternal Flame… it's true."
Kar'Thæl stepped in and embraced him fiercely.
> "Richet! Who did this to you?"
Richet's voice turned bitter. "Your uncle. After your disappearance, he branded every loyalist a traitor. He slaughtered entire houses that bore your family's crest. What you see of me… is merciful compared to others."
Kar'Thael's fists clenched, a flicker of red lightning crackling across his fingertips. "He will answer for this."
Richet looked over Kar'Thæl's shoulder at Arslan.
> "And who is this?"
Kar'Thael stepped aside.
> "This is Arslan. My vessel."
Richet's one eye narrowed as he studied Arslan.
> "Strange. I can read him. His soul… feels Arcanean."
Arslan took a half-step back. "What? I'm from Earth. I've never been here before."
Kar'Thæl folded his arms.
> "The bond between vessel and demon runs deep. Some things awaken when you cross into this world."
Richet exhaled, the weight of it deep. "If he bears Arcanean essence, then fate has truly chosen you well."
> "We're here for the Binding Potions," Kar'Thæl said. "To free him. To separate our souls."
Richet limped toward a dusty table, brushing off old maps and parchment.
> "They're only found in the Binding Center, but you'll face high security. Your uncle has placed his most fanatical guards there."
Kar'Thæl leaned forward.
> "Then we'll burn through them."
> "Before you do anything reckless," Richet warned, "tell me—what's your plan?"
Kar'Thael took a deep breath.
> "First, I need to raise the banners again. Let our people know I'm back. I need allies. Fighters. Believers."
Richet paused, eyes wide.
> "So you're serious. You want to declare your return."
> "Yes," Kar'Thael confirmed. "It begins now. But I need your help. First—give us a way to the Center. Then gather who you can. Let them know their prince has returned."
Richet gave a slow, solemn nod.
> "Then let Arcana tremble. The exiled heir walks once more."
And so, the fire was lit.