"So, Myth, which one do you want?" Sira asked gently.
Myth paused, thinking for a moment.
"I want to become a Pawn. Their abilities—like face-changing or mimicry—are versatile. I'd be able to adapt to any situation. And more importantly, I'll be able to access 100% of the Pawn's potential."
Sira frowned slightly. "Are you sure? You know that Pathway is often linked to… mental instability. And do you even understand the nature of the extraordinary task required for it?"
Myth exhaled slowly. "The mental part… I don't really know how to deal with it right now. But I'll figure something out."
He looked up at her and added, "As for the task… I think it's about how your presence changes a situation—or how well you can change yourself to fit it."
Sira sighed, concern evident in her eyes.
"That does make sense. But Myth, I still think this entire plan is insane… Please, just rethink it one last time."
"I already have," he said without hesitation. "And my decision hasn't changed."
Later that evening, after dropping Sira back at the hotel, Myth returned to his room. He retrieved his gun, slid it into a holster, and secured it beneath his jacket.
There was a reason Myth chose Ashfall Ridge.
Because Ashfall Ridge had a operational portal—one that connected directly to a ruined city called Undercity somewhere in Redfall lawless.
His intended destination had never been one of the country's safe zones.
The portal had last functioned four years ago. During its final activation, a strange incident occurred: over a hundred civilians standing nearby—around 100 to150 people vanished. Since then, the portal had remained completely inactive.
It was located deep within a Miles Military camp, under constant guard by Seeker units and top-tier scientists conducting research on dimensional travel.
Most cities had their own portals, connecting them to others across the nation. But portal transport was extremely expensive—powered by Grade 6 Energy Cores, a rare and potent fuel source.
Myth parked the car just outside the police station, leaving his gun tucked safely beneath the seat.
The building was large—surprisingly so for a place rumored to be useless. Two storeys tall, its chipped walls were dressed in dull gray paint that had long since lost its shine. Despite its worn appearance, the inside was alive with motion.
He stepped through the front doors into a wide, echoing space lit by overhead tube lights. Officers moved about, some stationed behind cluttered desks, others hunched over flickering monitors.
The buzz of conversation, clacking keyboards, and the occasional metallic clank of cuffs filled the air. A few officers sipped tea while casually chatting. Across the room, two young men—culprits of some petty crime—were being processed in handcuffs, heads down as they were led deeper into the station.
Myth walked up to the reception desk, where a bored-looking officer sat flipping through a digital log.
Without lifting his head, the officer at the desk asked, "What brings you in?"
"My… big brother, ahh.. a close friend—went missing four years ago," Myth said. "His name was Sid. Sid Hayden. He was a Seeker. He was a friend of Ryan Reed" Myth paused for a second " I have his documents"
The officer finally looked up, brow slightly raised. "Four years back… Sid Hayden,Ryan Reed you said?"
"Yeah," Myth nodded.
The officer began typing on the old terminal, fingers tapping steadily as he searched through the database.
"And your name?" he asked.
"I am Myth, Myth Nyxen."
"Please submit your identification documents."
Myth slid the folder across the counter. The officer took a moment to verify them, then began inputting details and filled out a digital complaint form.
"Alright," the officer said after a pause, "as of now, there's no record of a missing person named Sid Hayden in our system. But leave your contact number. We'll check with other branches and get back to you by tomorrow."
Myth nodded and wrote down his number on the form, watching the officer tear off the slip and place it into a tray filled with other unprocessed requests.
Myth's idea was simple.
The portal incident at Ashfall Ridge remained unresolved. If he reported a missing person—Sid Hayden, a Seeker who vanished the same day as the incident—it would likely catch the attention of investigators still searching for leads.
Especially if the system had no record of Sid ever being reported missing before.
But this may not be enough ....
So Myth also gave a reference of Ryan Reed , the detective of the incident, who was indeed a seeker who died investigating the portal incident, detectives tried to follow up but all lead to dead ends
In a case like this, the local detectives would naturally want to follow up with Myth—the only known contact of a Seeker who went missing during one of the country's most baffling transport failures.
That made Myth valuable. And when you're valuable, people talk to you. They give you details. They slip up.
An imaginary thread of hope for a real case.
No one needed to know that Myth barely knew Sid, or that he was using this story to wedge himself deeper into the investigation. He just had to act like someone trying to find an old friend—someone persistent enough to keep knocking until someone answered.
And Sira would handle the probabilities. She'd smooth the inconsistencies, and maybe—just maybe—make this whole thing seem legitimate enough to open doors.
There was almost no chance of the plan actually working.
But even a 1% opening was enough for Myth.
Because it gave him another card to play.
After leaving the police station, Myth headed to the most popular tavern in Ashfall Ridge. The place was dimly lit but buzzing—music in the background, groups talking in low murmurs, and the scent of old wood mixed with synth-liquor in the air.
He approached the bar and leaned forward slightly.
"I'll take a drink," he said casually.
The bartender, a wiry man with greying stubble, raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you a little young for anything alcoholic?"
"Yes, I am," Myth replied without missing a beat. "So give me the most expensive non-alcoholic drink you've got."
He slid a credit chip across the counter—100 creds.
The bartender gave a low whistle. That much could buy several rounds of strong liquor.
"Alright, kid." He inserted the chip into a verifier tucked into the bar's corner. The green light flashed. "Legit."
As he began preparing the drink, the bartender glanced back. "So, what are you really here for? And don't say the drink."
Myth kept his voice low. "Information. About the portal incident. Everything you've got."
The bartender paused, then reached beneath the counter and slid over a small card.
"Contact this number. Name's Rik. He deals in answers. But fair warning—his rates aren't negotiable."
Myth nodded, slipping the card into his wallet.
It was just as he'd suspected—there was more to the portal incident than what the public reports or the missing persons databases revealed. The police's indifferent attitude, the bartender's casual familiarity with selling information—none of it sat right.
There was something deliberately kept from the public eye. A layer beneath the headlines and official statements.
Something that made even the mention of the incident feel like stepping into dangerous territory.
He leaned back and waited for his drink. If he was paying premium money, he might as well enjoy the taste.
A minute later, the bartender slid over a tall glass filled with a sparkling blue liquid. Wisps of vapor curled from the surface like it was alive, and it shimmered under the dim tavern lights.
"The Blue Frost. Non-alcoholic. Sweet, citrusy, and rare enough to justify that price," the bartender said, wiping his hands with a towel.
Myth picked up the glass and gave it a quick sniff. It smelled like a mix of mint, lemon, and something oddly metallic.
He took a sip.
His face twitched almost instantly.
It wasn't bad—it was weird. Like someone had tried to bottle the flavor of electricity with a hint of bubblegum and failed
halfway through. It fizzed down his throat and left a strange cool-burning aftertaste.
He set the glass down slowly.
"…This tastes like burnt money," he muttered under his breath.
Myth let out a small sigh and pushed the glass aside.
But despite the taste, he didn't regret it. The contact card in his wallet was the real purchase—and it might just be the first step to the truth he was after.