Mythology's Made Missions— BOOK 1

In the town of Firao.

The streets were overflowing with life; market stalls lined the stone roads while merchants yelled over one another trying to sell fruits, fabrics, antiques, and old trinkets claimed to be “blessed” by forgotten gods. Children darted through crowds like loose arrows, their laughter mixing with the sounds of wagon wheels scraping against the pavement and distant radios crackling from open shop windows.

Near the center of town, groups of people gathered beneath striped canopies, cackling and arguing about the current myths spreading across the world. Stories about creatures in forests, voices heard from abandoned tunnels, entire villages disappearing overnight without any remains. Most dismissed it instantly.

“People believe anything nowadays.”

“Ghosts? Please.”

“Just another story to scare children into sleeping early.”

The laughter that followed was loud, careless, almost rehearsed.

Yet not everybody shared the same confidence. Some remained quiet during those conversations, glancing at newspapers with uneasy expressions or lowering their voices whenever the topic became too specific. Strange things had been happening recently. Ships drifting back to shore without crews. Radio stations broadcasting voices in languages nobody could identify. Hikers returning from mountain trails days later with memories missing like torn pages from a book.

The world refused to agree on what was real. One side clung tightly to logic, insisting there had to be explanations buried beneath the fear. The other side believed humanity simply lacked the courage to admit the truth; that myths were not stories born from imagination, but warnings born from experience.

And among those people stood someone who believed the latter.

Lumin Yru. A young man weaving silently through the crowded streets with a worn satchel hanging from his shoulder and several folded papers tucked beneath his arm. Unlike the others, he never laughed whenever myths were mentioned. He listened. Observed. Remembered.

His amber-colored eyes drifted across the town carefully, lingering on details most ignored completely: the old woman hurriedly hanging protective charms above her doorway, the missing-person posters half-ripped from walls, the priest standing outside a chapel repeatedly tracing symbols against his chest whenever dark clouds gathered overhead.

Firao looked lively on the surface.

But underneath the noise, something felt wrong.

Lumin had noticed it weeks ago.

The birds stopped gathering near the northern trees. Dogs barked endlessly at empty alleyways after sunset. Even the air itself occasionally carried a strange metallic scent before vanishing moments later. Small things. Easy things to dismiss.

Yet they kept happening.

And every strange event seemed connected to one specific rumor spreading throughout town like an infection whispered from mouth to mouth.

The ruins beyond the forest.

Ancient structures recently uncovered after a landslide near the outskirts of Firao. Structures no historian could identify. No records mentioned them. No maps acknowledged their existence. According to the workers who discovered the site, the stone walls beneath the earth were untouched by moss, untouched by erosion, untouched by time itself.

As if the ruins had not been buried.

As if they had been waiting.

Lumin tightened his grip on the papers under his arm before continuing down the street. Printed across the front page of every document was the same headline:

"UNKNOWN RUINS DISCOVERED NORTH OF FIRAO"

Below the title rested a grainy black-and-white photograph.

Most people saw broken stone pillars.

Lumin saw the shape standing between them.

The television resting inside a small electronics store crackled loudly as passing civilians slowed near the window to watch the morning report. Static occasionally swallowed pieces of the audio while pale lines dragged across the screen like scratches against old film.

Broadcast:

"On 2007, 12th of December. Ruins had been found near the lake of Oryin, inside the town of Firao. Investigators found two bodies, that were tangled up with ropes to hide the wounds that somehow worked. There was no signs of struggle, and the ruins itself was untouched. As if the world simply didn't see it."

Several people watching immediately began speaking over the broadcast.

“See? Murderers using those ruins as hiding spots.”

“Probably cultists.”

“The media always exaggerates everything.”

But one old man near the back remained silent, staring at the screen with an expression too uneasy to belong in a casual crowd. The cigarette between his fingers trembled slightly before he crushed it beneath his shoe and walked away without another word.

Meanwhile, Lumin stood near the edge of the street holding a folded notebook against his chest. Unlike everyone else, he paid attention to the details hidden beneath the report rather than the report itself.

• Untouched ruins.

• No signs of struggle.

• Bodies tied together after death.

None of it felt natural.

He adjusted the strap of his satchel before continuing through the market. Rain clouds slowly drifted over the town overhead, dimming the warmth of the morning sunlight little by little. The once lively streets suddenly felt narrower than before.

Lumin stopped beside a newspaper stand and picked up a fresh issue. Across the center page rested another image of the ruins near Lake Oryin. Tall stone pillars leaned inward at impossible angles while dark entrances descended beneath the earth like open jaws.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

There were markings along the stone walls.

Not letters.

Not symbols either.

Something else.

The shapes almost resembled scratches layered on top of one another repeatedly until they formed patterns too uneven to understand. Looking at them for too long caused a strange pressure to build behind his eyes.

The newspaper seller noticed his stare and scoffed quietly.

“Don’t waste your time with that nonsense, kid.”

Lumin glanced toward him.

“You think it’s fake?”

The man shrugged while organizing stacks of papers.

“Every year there’s another ghost story. Another cursed forest. Another ‘mysterious ruin.’ People panic for a week and move on.”

He paused briefly before lowering his voice.

“Still… those bodies bother me.

Lumin folded the newspaper carefully.

“Why?”

The seller looked toward the cloudy sky before answering.

“Because they said the ropes were wrapped around the wounds after they died.”

A brief silence followed.

“Almost like someone wanted to keep something inside them.”

The distant sound of thunder rolled across the town.

Lumin said nothing after that. He simply paid for the newspaper and continued walking. Yet those words remained lodged inside his thoughts like splinters.

Keep something inside them.

As he moved farther from the crowded streets, the noise of Firao gradually faded behind him. The roads became quieter. Buildings became older. Even the air carried a colder feeling near the northern edge of town.

Eventually, Lumin arrived at a narrow apartment resting above an abandoned tailor shop. The wooden stairs creaked beneath his footsteps as he climbed upward and unlocked the door.

The room inside was dim despite the daylight outside. Papers littered nearly every surface imaginable. Maps pinned against the walls were covered in red circles and handwritten notes. Old photographs rested beside books discussing mythology, disappearances, ancient civilizations, and unsolved deaths from across the world.

At the center of the room stood a large map with one location marked darker than all the others.

LAKE ORYIN

Lumin placed the newspaper beside the map before opening his notebook. Several pages were already filled with observations written in hurried handwriting.

— No erosion on ruins.

— No historical record.

— Bodies showed no resistance before death.

— Witnesses report nausea near site.

— Animals avoid surrounding forest.

He hesitated briefly before writing one final line beneath the others.

The world noticed the ruins too late. Why?

The pencil stopped moving.

Outside his window, the wind suddenly howled through the streets below hard enough to rattle the glass slightly.

Two quick knocks struck the apartment door.

Not loud. Not rushed.

Just precise enough to feel intentional.

Lumin froze for a moment, his eyes shifting toward the entrance. The wind outside continued to press against the windows, but the knocks had cut through it cleanly, as if they belonged to a different layer of sound entirely.

He didn’t move immediately.

Then—

"Mr. Lumin.

Please, come out here."

A voice followed. Calm. Controlled. Neither friendly nor hostile. It carried the tone of someone who already knew the outcome of their visit before speaking at all.

Lumin slowly set his notebook down. His gaze lingered on the door for a few seconds longer before he stepped forward. The wooden floor creaked beneath him as he reached for the handle.

Outside the door stood no one visible at first glance.

Only a sealed envelope rested neatly against the floor, placed directly in front of his entrance as if it had been delivered without physical presence. No footsteps were visible in the dust along the corridor. No shadow lingered near the stairwell.

Just the letter. Waiting.

Lumin picked it up. The paper felt heavier than it should have been. Not physically, but in a way that made his fingers tighten slightly as he closed the door behind him.

Inside his room, silence returned immediately, sharper than before.

Later that evening, the small apartment was lit only by a single warm lamp resting on the table. Outside, Firao had settled into its quieter nighttime state, though it never felt fully asleep. Somewhere in the distance, dogs barked at nothing again.

Lumin sat at the table with the envelope now opened in front of him. The paper inside was clean, formal, and disturbingly direct.

INVITATION TO MYTHOLOGY'S MADE MISSIONS ORGANISATION.

"Salutations, Mr. Lumin.

We are currently in a state where we don't have many members to begin our work and sending out recruitment letters to anybody above twenty who is jobless.

The job pays about 900K per mission. The missions we do are HIGHLY authorised and spreading any information about any myths inside the missions is illegal and HIGHLY RESTRICTED.

If you choose to accept this job, then we'll greet you happily. If you choose to refuse, it's fine. Find another job.

If accepted, please leave your hand signature here:

And meet us on Tuesday afternoon at Dan's Restaurant. Excuse us for the poor meeting place.

Sincerely, Head Of The Mythology Made Missions.

Thank you."

Lumin didn’t move for a while after reading it. Lumin paused at the last line of the letter.

“Dan’s Restaurant.”

He blinked once. Slowly.

“…Of all places.”

The words weren’t spoken loudly. More like they were dropped into the air and left there to figure themselves out.

His eyes drifted back to the paper. The seriousness of the message didn’t change, but the meeting location now sat in his mind like an oddly placed object in a cathedral. He exhaled through his nose, almost imperceptibly. Then continued reading anyway.

The lamp’s light flickered slightly, casting shifting shadows across the map-covered walls of his room. Lake Oryin remained marked in deep red at the center of everything.

900K per mission.

Highly authorised.

No information allowed outside the missions.

It wasn’t written like a job advertisement.

It read like permission.

Permission to step into something already decided.

Lumin leaned back slightly in his chair, eyes narrowing as he studied the final line again and again. The ink looked ordinary, but the longer he stared at it, the more it felt like it was pressing outward from the page rather than sitting on it.

Outside, another distant knock echoed somewhere in the building.

Not at his door this time.

Somewhere below.

He exhaled slowly.

Then reached for a pen.