AK : RISING MYTHIC

The moon hung high over Lumisgrave, drenching the city in a calm silver glow. Yet inside the Mythic Ward, peace was a distant thing. The atmosphere was heavy, even in stillness — the kind of hush that only followed after a violent storm. No wind blew, no sound dared echo inside the walls where Arslan lay recovering. The flickering light of dim wall-mounted lanterns cast long shadows over the marble floors and soft white beds.

Healers, cloaked in robes of sky-blue laced with runes of vitality, surrounded Arslan's bedside one last time. The elder healer, her hand glowing faintly green, withdrew her palm from his chest, her brow glistening with sweat. She exchanged glances with the other healers and nodded gently.

"He's stable," she finally said, her voice hushed and commanding. "But his condition is delicate. His spirit was nearly shattered, and his body is still recovering from something none of us understand."

Julius, standing to the side, arms crossed, gave a small nod. "Is he awake?"

"No," the healer responded. "But he may stir by morning. He must not be disturbed."

Another healer placed a wooden tray on the table beside Arslan's bed. On it were three orbs, faintly pulsing with blue and gold light, humming softly with a life of their own.

"These are healing orbs," the elder explained. "If he stirs, feed him water, then let him hold one orb at a time. The magic in them will restore his stamina and calm his inner pressure."

Julius nodded again. "Understood. Who will stay with him?"

"I will," came a quiet voice from behind.

The healers and Julius turned.

Malrik stood there — his heavy frame shadowing the corridor behind him. His Rune-marked cloak moved slightly with the night breeze.

He looked at Nirela beside him, who had tears brimming at the edge of her eyes.

Then he softly said, "Actually… Nirela should stay."

Nirela turned toward him, surprised.

"You're the one he'd want to see if he wakes. I think your presence might be the best medicine he can receive tonight."

Julius gave a silent nod of approval. "Very well."

The other Mythics, one by one, left the ward, offering Nirela reassuring nods and gentle words as they passed.

As the last footsteps faded, and the large doors of the ward eased closed behind the departing group, silence descended.

Nirela sat beside the bed in the wooden chair, worn from years of patient vigils. She took Arslan's hand, cold and slightly stiff, and gently wrapped hers around it. The room was warm, but her fingertips trembled.

She whispered, almost to herself, "You came back once… you'll come back again."

The night crawled forward.

Outside, the wind rustled faintly through the Lake District trees. From beyond the walls, the distant whistle of the guard's patrol echoed softly — a steady rhythm of the city's pulse continuing even as their Mythic hero lay in silence.

Inside the ward, a low hum from the healing orbs provided the only other sound.

Nirela, resting her head on the side of the bed, eventually drifted into sleep. Her arms gently held onto Arslan's.

Hours passed.

Suddenly — a shallow gasp.

"Water…" came a rasp.

It was no louder than a whisper, but it was enough.

Nirela's head snapped up, her eyes wide.

"Arslan?" she blinked rapidly, leaning forward.

His lips parted again, cracked and dry, "Water…"

"Yes—yes! Hold on!" she cried, reaching for the glass on the side table. Her hands fumbled in her haste.

She gently raised his head, slipping her arm behind his shoulders, cradling him as if holding the most fragile thing in the world. She brought the glass to his lips. Arslan sipped, slowly, weakly, but he drank.

When he finished, she lowered him gently and cupped his cheek with her trembling hand.

His eyes fluttered open — not fully, but enough.

"Nirela…" he murmured, a half-smile touching the edge of his dry lips.

"You're awake…" Nirela's voice broke with emotion, tears slipping freely down her cheeks. "You… you scared all of us."

Arslan blinked again. His voice, still faint, carried a smile despite the weakness.

"Not soon… and not without you."

A small sob escaped Nirela's lips. She bent forward, her forehead against his, and let the tears fall freely.

"You idiot…" she whispered through a smile. "You can't keep doing this…"

Her fingers trembled as she brushed a lock of hair away from his face. She kissed his forehead softly, like a vow.

"I was so scared…"

Arslan coughed softly again, then chuckled — a weak, wheezing sound. "You're here… so I'm fine."

Nirela gently helped him recline again. She took one of the healing orbs and slid it into his palm.

"Hold this," she whispered. "It will help."

He clutched it loosely, the soft light pulsing against his skin. Almost immediately, a faint warmth began to rise from the orb, a breath of energy trickling through his arm.

"You're going to be okay," she whispered.

The ward was still again, except for the soft sound of the orb, and Arslan's breathing, now steady.

Nirela didn't go back to the chair this time. She remained beside him on the edge of the bed, holding his hand in silence. She watched the rise and fall of his chest like it was the only thing that mattered in the world.

From beyond the window, the moonlight broke through the clouds, casting a soft glow over the ward. A peaceful hush returned.

And as the stars continued their quiet watch above Lumisgrave, the storm that had nearly claimed their hero gave way to a fragile, flickering light — the beginning of healing, the echo of love that refused to fade.