A soft gust of air ruffled Arthur’s hair as he sat outside of the Village Hall. He sat there quietly, staring off into the distance until he noticed Myrddin walking out of the hall with a pot of tea and a loaf of bread. He stood up to help, but Myrddin simply gestured that he was fine.

Placing the tea and bread on a small round table, Myrddin pulled out two cups as he sat across from Arthur.

Pouring each a cup, Myrddin motioned for Arthur to take a sip.

Hesitant at first, Arthur took a sip, and much his surprise, the tea didn’t taste like boiled water. There was a slightly sweet taste coupled with a smooth, natural flavor. With his eyes slightly wide, he couldn’t help but comment,” this is really good tea.”

Myrddin simply chuckled. “Well, thank you. It is one of my special crafts.”

“Tea making is a craft?”

“Yes, very much so,” replied Myrddin as he squinted his eyes. “What did you think it was? Just boil some leaves in water and drink? There is an art and mastery to it.”

Hearing this, Arthur thought back to the Old Man. ‘Boil and drink? That was precisely what the Old Man did.’ However, after hearing Myrddin’s tone, he apologized. But it was understandable, all craftsmen would be offended if their crafts were demeaned or discredited.

Accepting Arthur’s apology, Myrddin relaxed as he took a sip of his tea. “How do you feel now? Better?”

“Yea, I feel very comfortable and relaxed. Maybe I should make tea a regular part of my day.”

“That you should. Tea is the essence, I repeat the essence of a calm mind. When tea becomes ritual, it takes its place at the heart of our ability to see greatness in small things. It inculcates purity and harmony, the mystery of mutual charity, and the romanticism of order. There is something in the nature of tea that leads us into a world of quiet contemplation of life. The art of tea making and drinking is essentially a worship of the imperfect, as it is a tender attempt to accomplish something possible in this impossible thing we know as life…”

Listening to Myrddin’s spiel on tea, Arthur quietly laughed. How could he forget that for every craftsman, their greatest joy comes from educating others of their craft? But he had to admit that it was very educational.

Relaxing as Myrddin’s words rolled over his ears, Arthur entered a state of pure calm and relaxation. Who knew Myrddin’s voice could be so soothing?

“….so how was your first dungeon experience?”

With the sudden change of flow in Myrddin’s words, Arthur was pulled out of his blissful world. “Huh, what?”

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“How was it? The dungeon.” He repeated.

“Oh? Ohhh…” And with that, Arthur began to talk about his experience within the dungeon. Ranging from the Ruryrm to realm integration to the trial and then the chaos creature. He even spoke about Gawain and Lancelot, but he wasn’t too sure if they made it out alive.

All the while, Myrddin listened quietly as he continuously took sips of his tea.

After Arthur ended his story, Myrddin place down his cup of tea.

“Interesting. Firstly, you said the name was Ruthra?”

“Yes, why? Are you familiar with the name?”

“No, not exactly. It’s just something I once read about special dungeons. The book discussed and explored some theories behind special dungeons. One of the more notable theories talked about special dungeons being links linked to certain fates and tie certain souls to those fates. It’s an interesting theory because the author made a valuable point. They said that it’s due to those connections that a special dungeon’s difficulty always goes through changes almost as if trying to match something or someone. The growths in difficulty are rarely exponential, but steady. Even within the domains of the realm, aside from a base difficulty fitting for each domain, the difficulty levels seem to match ratio wise.”

“Nevertheless, what is interesting is the fact that you were able to find the trial and complete it in your first run through it. I can’t help but feel that there might be some merit to that theory. Because from what I have heard from Orias, that dungeon throughout it’s existence, recently arrived on this continent after traveling all over the realm. Considering how many talented geniuses there are all over the realm and with how long that dungeon has existed, you would think it would have been cleared by now. This is interesting, I wish I still had that book with me.”

Digesting the sudden influx of information, Arthur took another sip of his tea. “From what you are saying, are you implying that the dungeon was looking for me or more precisely waiting for me?”

“Yes, but that might have to do with the fact that most special dungeons hold legacies. And these legacies do indeed fall to those fated to wield them. However, what’s really piqued my interest is the soul bound aspect the book discussed. If that’s true, then there might be more going on in the realm than I previously thought. There are many mysteries in the realm. Despite how long nations, states, and empires have existed, there hasn’t been a single concrete answer to those mysteries.”

Arthur nodded, though he been in the realm for a short period, he began to pick up some things, but as of now, he currently had no answers. Nonetheless, he still gave Myrddin a questioning look, as he said. “I understand that point. But why did you ask about the name Ruthra though?”

Looking at Arthur with a firm gaze, Myrddin replied. “It’s because isn’t Ruthra just Arthur spelled backward?”

…

…

…

Elsewhere on Arthur’s continent, a lone figure was laboriously striding through a seemingly endless desert.

Their clothing had been shredded to rags and hung loosely on their body.

Sand filled the air reducing visibility to a mere meter. But the figure seemed unperturbed as they clutched a small glowing stone in their hand.

After walking for a while further, they stopped as the stone in their hand shone a bright purple and gold light unto the surrounding.

As this happened, the ground beneath the figure began to tremble, and the raging flights of sand calmed.

Soon the trembling stopped as a large arch appeared. The arch gave off a feeling of nobleness and pride.

Seeing this, the figure pulled down their makeshift sand mask with their purple and gold eyes shining an intense light as they stared at the arch.

“Just you wait, Nero. I will have your head on a pike.”

And with that, the figure stepped through the arch with their stone in hand.