AK : RISING MYTHIC

The night was long. The stars above the Bound Threshold sky flickered like dying embers. Within the Mythic Base, silence had taken over the halls. But in Arslan's room, silence wasn't peace—it was torment.

He lay on his bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling as if answers were carved into the stone. But all he found were shadows and echoes of what he had done.

> "What have I done…" he whispered to himself, voice hoarse from both fever and sorrow.

No warmth in his limbs. No whisper in his mind. Just the unbearable quiet.

He had pushed everyone away.

He had raised his voice to Nirela.

He had told Kar'Thæl—the only one who truly understood him—to leave.

And now, Kar'Thæl was about to do exactly that.

The thought was unbearable.

A dull orange light crept through the window, signaling the rise of a new day.

But Arslan never slept.

His forehead burned. Sweat matted his hair. His body trembled.

The fever had taken hold.

Outside, the Mythic members gathered at breakfast as usual. The courtyard echoed with the soft clangs of spoons, and the faint chatter of morning banter—though lighter than usual.

Nirela sat quietly, eyes cast downward.

She hadn't laughed in two days.

Seris offered her some fruit, whispering, "He's still silent. Still distant."

Nirela nodded. "I know," she said faintly, "but… something in me still says he's hurting more than he shows."

Vaelith, sitting a few chairs down, looked up from his cup. "Sometimes we build walls not because we want to stay inside, but because we don't want others to see us fall."

Nirela didn't reply. But a tear nearly fell into her tea.

--

He dragged himself out of bed.

Legs trembling.

Sweat dripping down his neck.

He had to move.

> "I'll go to the medical ward…"

He muttered, stumbling toward the door. His hand trembled as it clutched the wall for support.

Step by step, pain pulsing in his muscles.

Each heartbeat louder than the last.

He reached the hallway. Took a deep breath.

And then—his knees buckled.

The world around him spun.

He crashed to the ground.

---

Kyren and Elyra were walking toward the training arena when Kyren halted suddenly.

"What was that sound?"

They rushed down the hall, followed by Zhalya and Milo.

"Arslan!" Seris shouted from the other side of the corridor.

He was lying there—face pale, sweat soaking his collar, eyes closed, unconscious.

Nirela dropped her cup and ran forward.

Together, they lifted him and rushed toward the medical ward.

---

Arslan opened his eyes slowly.

The world blurred at first, then sharpened.

He was lying on a cot, with a cold cloth pressed to his head. The room was quiet, save for the low hum of magical healing runes carved into the walls.

Two figures stood by the door—Tharion and Seris.

Their faces were hard, unreadable.

Arslan slowly sat up, groaning.

> "Tharion… Seris…"

They turned slightly.

"I…" he began, voice dry and cracked. "I'm sorry. For everything. For my words. My behavior. All of it."

But they said nothing.

Not a single word.

They gave him one glance, then quietly turned and walked away.

The sound of the closing door was sharper than any blade.

---

> "You're awake. Good. Now let's go."

The voice echoed from within his chest.

Kar'Thæl.

Cold. Distant.

Void of warmth.

> "Let's go to the Bound Threshold. It's time to unbind."

Arslan's face contorted with pain—not from fever, but from dread.

> "No… I'm not going."

> "Don't behave like a child," Kar'Thæl snapped. "I said go."

> "Please…" Arslan whispered, gripping the edge of the cot. "Don't go. I can fix this. I can make it right."

Kar'Thæl's tone was unrelenting.

> "Make it right?" he scoffed. "You think a sorry can undo the wounds you inflicted? You think they'll trust you again?"

> "Give me a chance," Arslan pleaded, "Just one chance. I'll speak to them. I'll show them who I really am."

A heavy silence followed.

> "You saw it yourself," Kar'Thæl said, "Even Seris and Tharion—two of the most patient among you—left without a word."

> "Because I deserve it," Arslan whispered, eyes shimmering. "But let me earn it back."

His body suddenly tensed with pain.

He growled low, clutching his ribs.

His fever surged again.

The weight of illness and guilt bore down together.

He collapsed back onto the cot.

Eyes flickering.

Vision fading.

> "Kar'Thæl…" he mumbled, lips barely moving. "Don't leave… not yet…"

Darkness crept over him.

And once again—Arslan fell unconscious.

But this time, even in the silence, Kar'Thæl didn't say another word.