*Splash*

The cold kiss of the river water hit Sylvan's face like he was being smacked by an ice cube, but the refreshing bite of the cold water brought him an overwhelming sense of brief ecstasy as the water dripped down his face. This refreshingly cold water also helped to wash his face of the dirt and dust that had accumulated into his gills while travelling. Sylvan was a Mystic, a race of powerful humanoid creatures that had spectacular abilities and spectacular features. Long, pointed ears were a sign of a Mystic being male, while shorter, rounder ears were a sign of a Mystic female. Of course, Mystics are still humanoid creatures, so other womanly features obviously define their gender as well. Mystics commonly have green-tinted skin and green hair as well, but probably the most interesting feature of Mystics is their distinct lack of a nose or mouth. Instead, a bandit mask-like dragonhide skin replaces a nose or mouth, and a set of gills on either side of their faces does all the breathing. However, with no mouth, the question of how a Mystic communicates is an important one. Mystics communicate by thought sharing, they can transfer their thoughts to other competent brains to convey what they need to convey.

"Oi, Mystic, what are you doin' out here?"

Sylvan turned to see a burly Draconic with a spear in its hands.

~I mean you no harm, I am a simple traveler searching for Mok'Tilarr~ Sylvan replied

"Mok'Tilarr? You kidding? That place doesn't exist." the Draconic replied, gritting his teeth.

~It is not a place, it is an entity. I intend to find it and I have no business with you, so let me be.~ Sylvan responded

"I'm afraid I can't do that, you're in Drak'olar, and we don't welcome outsiders, especially Mystics." the Draconic said.

~You cannot defeat me in a fight, I am far too fast for you and far more powerful.~ Sylvan said back.

"You Mystics are always so cocky, bring it on!" The Draconic replied.

~If you say so.~ Sylvan responded calmly.

The Dragon-like humanoid charged at Sylvan with his spear pointed towards him, a fire ignited in his eyes. However, when the thoughts of slaying the young Mystic and protecting his homeland had crept into his head, the Draconic realized that the world was spinning quite quickly - and the Mystic was nowhere to be found.

*THUD*

There the Mystic was! - with his curved dagger cleanly sliced through the Draconic's sturdy neck, and next to the Draconic's body - about 10 feet from where the Draconic's head was on the ground. The Draconic's body fell to the ground in a cartoonish fashion, and the world went dark for the brave Draconic.

I am no murderer, but sometimes I have to assert my dominance. Sylvan thought.

Now, time to find Mok'Tilarr!

Setting out on foot and walking away from the clear blue river, Sylvan was once again reminded of the reason why he was undertaking this journey. It had been 10 years, Sylvan was only 8 when he woke one morning to an empty bed. His brother, Salvo, was gone. Turning to the night stand, Sylvan saw a piece of paper with a drawing of a purple vortex surrounded by chains and pitch-black obelisks. The words "Mok'Tilarr" in Mystic runes were scratched into the paper. Sylvan knew the legend of Mok'Tilarr, it was a common story passed down in the Mystic race, and he knew at once that his brother Salvo had found it. Salvo was no pushover, he was the captain of the Mystic guard and by far the strongest Mystic that had ever stepped foot into the land - the land known as "Alteria." - Mystics believed in different dimensions, and strongly encouraged scientific efforts to find these other dimensions. Many of the other races - Draconics, Cerberi, Dantuss, Aer Draghig, Centai - regarded Mystics as stupid overthinking hippies, but could recognize their raw ability and power. Mystics were able to reproduce any material they came into contact with, regardless if they understood the material or not, which was extremely helpful in building shelters and creating armors of the finest quality. As a result, these deep thinking hippies had the best infrastructure of any of the other races that they co-existed with. Along with this incredible ability, Mystics were insanely fast on their feet, literally faster than lightning. There is even an ancient game in the Mystic community where the children try to meet lightning strikes at the ground when a storm is raging. Sylvan was different, though, he didn't experience much of the Mystic lifestyle because he was always just trying to find his brother.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Soon, the moon rose to take the place of the sun, and Sylvan had to call it a night again. He was walking across an emerald green open meadow, and the only thing he could see was some mountains to his left and a forest to his right.

Well, I figure I dash to the trees and contact the wood on the trees to build myself a nice little shelter Sylvan thought.

Placing his right foot behind his left, Sylvan pushed off of the soil and shot forward with lightning speed towards the treeline, which he arrived at momentarily with a loud crack of the air behind him. Just beyond the treeline, an orange glow emanated from a stony hill.

I wonder what that is, maybe someone is having a fire? This is a weird location, I will scout it out. Sylvan thought.

Sylvan waved his hand in front of his face, turning his body invisible, and crept towards the orange light. What was not a person or a fire, though, it was a lit torch next to a cave entrance.

Ooh, a cave, this is exactly like where I could find Mok'Tilarr, haha! Sylvan thought, making a joke to himself considering he had searched countless caves in the years he had been searching.

Still, it is odd that a torch would just be lit sitting here Sylvan's thought was interrupted by the noise of a bowstring.

Mystics also have the best sense of hearing of any of the other races, only coming short of the night wolves. The most trained Mystics could hear a pin drop from a mile away.

*Psssssoooooooo*

The arrow made a whistle noise as it left the bowstring and headed towards Sylvan. Though, his fast reflexes allowed him to easily move out of the way of the arrow - or so he thought, the bow shooter was either able to calculate where Sylvan would move to, or he was a bad shot and got lucky, but Sylvan stared face to face with the arrowhead, holding the wooden arrow shaft in his hand, barely catching it before it sunk into his skull.

~Who goes there?~ A mysterious Mystic communication entered Sylvan's head.

~Err, are you a Mystic as well? I am known as Sylvan.~ Sylvan responded.

~Sylvan? You mean Sylvan Cryo? Brother of Salvo Cryo?~ The voice inquired.

~That is me, who are you?~ Sylvan responded.

~I cannot reveal my identity, but I have been waiting for you. Enter the cave ahead and don't look back.~ The voice reponded.

Hearing the instructions and not wanting to risk his life, Sylvan shut off his thoughts and peered into the darkness of the cave, stepping forward with a newfound purpose.

~Welcome, Sylvan, to Mok'Tilarr.~ The voice said.