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Mystras had longed for adventure for as long as he could remember. For the first sixteen years of his life, all he had ever truly known was the loneliness of Sasan—a small, quiet, and isolated country wrapped tightly in its own silence. His father, a strict military commander and the revered leader of their nation, rarely spoke to him beyond duty and discipline. Love, guidance, warmth—those were things Mystras learned to find on his own, all while raising his younger brother, Spartos, almost entirely by himself.
The people of Sasan were no kinder. They kept their distance, whispering that Mystras was far too emotional to ever become an ideal Sasan knight. He was bubbly, hot-headed, curious, adventurous—too alive. He was never stoic or blank or quiet, never willing to let the rigid isolation of Sasan crush his principles or dull his spirit. And for that, he was judged as lacking.
But Mystras never let any of it break him.
After all, his dream—his truest, oldest dream—had always been to see the world beyond Sasan’s walls. He wanted to know everything there was to know about other countries: to taste water that wasn’t drawn from the same familiar wells, to drink beverages and eat foods he’d only read about in dusty library legends, to see animals he could barely imagine. More than anything, he wanted to find people—friends, a family—who would let him simply exist as he was. To breathe without fear. To lie in the grass, watching the sun melt into the horizon, and fall asleep beneath a sky blazing with stars.
To others, dreams like that sounded foolish. Excessive. Impossible.
To Mystras, they weren’t enough—not yet.
He believed, with a fierce certainty that burned in his chest, that one day he would escape this suffocating place that had never felt like home. One day, he would run straight into the ocean until his lungs burned, head thrown back in laughter that echoed into the sky, surrounded by others laughing just as freely beside him. He would make that dream real, no matter the cost. Even if it meant climbing the highest gate in the dead of night. Even if it meant faking his own death. Even if it demanded something extreme.
Adventure—true adventure—was what he had lived for all his life, and he would keep moving toward it until the very moment it was finally his.
So when word reached him of three foreigners visiting a nearby tavern—one that barred Sasan locals but welcomed outsiders—Mystras didn’t hesitate. He slipped away from training, broke from his father and the knights, and snuck inside.
As expected, the tavern owner caught him almost immediately, irritation flaring as it always did. But for the first time in his life, she didn’t throw him out. Instead, the foreigners themselves pleaded on his behalf. The charming man with purple hair—Sinbad—smiled and spoke so persuasively that the woman finally relented. Mystras could hardly believe it. That night, he tasted food richer and more flavorful than anything he’d ever known. But even more precious than the meal was what followed: laughter, warmth, and companionship. For the first time, he found himself among people who felt different—kind, unique, alive. People he never knew he was allowed to befriend.
Plus, for the first time in his life, it truly felt as though something was shifting—like fate itself had finally turned its gaze toward him.
When Mystras hesitantly asked what the outside world was like, the trio didn’t laugh or dismiss him. They accepted. And then Sinbad stood.
The moment he rose to his feet, the air in the tavern seemed to change. With a confident sweep of his arm, Sinbad raised his sword high, and a brilliant ball of blue light erupted from its blade—sparks crackling and dancing wildly through the air like living stars. Power radiated from him, vibrant and undeniable.
Mystras could do nothing but stare.
He clutched tightly to the scroll of foreign writing his new friends had given him earlier, his fingers trembling as if the parchment itself might anchor him to this moment. His breath caught in his chest, relief, hope, and pure awe flooding through him all at once as he slowly lifted his head, eyes shining.
Sinbad began, his voice ringing with pride and excitement:
“Taking on countless voyages, there’s a man who travels the world’s seas and new lands,”
He flashed a bright, infectious grin, lowering his sword just enough to point it briefly toward Mystras—acknowledging him, seeing him—before lifting it skyward once more.
“He captured mysterious Dungeons,”
At once, lively, adventurous, pirate-like music seemed to swell through the space, as if the very world itself were joining the tale. Mystras’s heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline surging through his veins as glowing images appeared behind Sinbad—visions of roaring oceans, distant lands, towering ruins, and impossible trials.
Sinbad’s voice rose higher, brimming with exhilaration: “and was the first adventurer to obtain the spirit’s almighty power!”
A powerful figure of light manifested behind him, radiating the same brilliant blue energy that surged from his blade. The music shifted again—more hopeful now, more daring, filled with promise and boundless possibility.
Mystras sat frozen, starstruck, eyes wide, barely daring to believe what he was witnessing.
Just maybe… this world was real.
Just maybe… there was a place for him in it.
As the night settled and the tavern quieted, Mystras found himself seated on a bench between Ja’far and Hinahoho. Their presence was steady, warm—comforting in a way he had never known before. For the first time, he didn’t feel alone among strangers.
Meanwhile, Sinbad stood before them, posture proud and unshakable, his voice carrying a sense of ceremony—as if he were opening the gates to a new life. And for Mystras, standing on the edge of a path he had chosen the very moment he stepped into this tavern, everything changed.
Because as Sinbad determinedly and proudly announced, “I’ll now unveil the tale of Sinbad’s adventures!” It was that exact instant where Mystras knew—deep in his soul—that nothing would ever be the same again.
…
The next day, as evening crept in once more, Mystras knelt down in front of his brother. He placed his hands gently on Spartos’s shoulders, grounding both of them in the moment. Tears clung stubbornly to his brother’s eyes.
“So, don’t cry,” Mystras said softly.
He closed his eyes, steadying his breath before continuing, his voice trembling just slightly as warmth filled it.
“You can’t become strong if you keep crying.”
A knowing grin tugged at his lips as memories of the previous night flooded back—of laughter, light, and three strangers who had somehow become something far more precious in the span of a few hours. If he had cried then instead of taking that chance, if he had let fear win, he would never have been here now. He would never have had the opportunity to step into the world beyond Sasan and build a life alongside them.
As his words settled, the sky deepened into gold and crimson, the sun hovering at the edge of the horizon as if reluctant to leave. Mystras stood and turned, finding his three new companions waiting for him. Sinbad had told him there were others—more allies, more stories yet to cross his path, and one traveling on a journey of his own—but for now, these were the people who mattered.
He offered them a reassuring smile. They returned it instantly, warm and welcoming, as though he had always belonged at their side.
Mystras turned back one last time, lifting his arm high and waving with everything he had.
“See you!” he called loudly, his voice carrying over the quiet stone walls.
Then he walked forward.
He rejoined his companions, meeting their genuine, excited smiles with a foolish, passionate grin of his own. Together, they stepped beyond the towering gate and walls of Sasan—and for the first time in his life, Mystras stood outside them. His steps were light, almost bouncy, excitement buzzing through every inch of him.
The moment his foot landed fully beyond Sasan’s border, he stopped.
A sharp exhale left his lungs, followed by a breath so full of relief, joy, hope, and excitement that it spilled out as laughter—loud, free, and unrestrained.
He ran ahead a few steps before stopping, turning back toward the others. Ja’far met his gaze with a knowing grin. Hinahoho offered an amused look, fondness already shining in his eyes as he gave a firm nod.
Sinbad strolled up beside him without a word and slung an arm around Mystras’s shoulders, his grin tight with pride and certainty. The two exchanged bright smiles, and in that simple gesture, Mystras finally let himself relax.
He had found them.
A place.
A path.
A family.
And with the open world stretching endlessly before them, it was finally time to unveil the tale of Mystras’s beginning adventures.