In the bustling cafeteria, the second-year students were scattered across tables, eating their meals and chatting away. Elowen sat with a plate of spaghetti, her fork twirling the noodles absentmindedly, a piece of unicorn bread resting on the side of her tray.
“Mel, what are you doing for your birthday again?” she asked between slurps, her tone casual but curious as she glanced at him.
Mel sliced into his steak, taking a deliberate bite before setting his utensils down and wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I figured all of my friends would come to Atlantis,” he began, glancing around the table. “You’ll get to enjoy the parks, the food, and, of course, the fireworks. Ada created them using bioluminescent algae—it’s supposed to be spectacular.”
He paused. “Though, fun fact, I’m deadly allergic to the stuff. The first time I met Maren, I touched some, and it burned right through my hand like acid.”
“So, how’d everyone think they did on the test?” Jake, a white card buried in a massive packet of homework, asked without looking up.
“I think I passed,” Lumi said confidently, her mouth half-full as she shoveled more food onto her plate.
Sera took a long sip from her drink, set it down, and let out an unapologetic burp. “I definitely passed. You’d have to be a total idiot to fail that one,” she declared with a smirk, earning a round of laughter from the group.
“Guys, they just sent out an email with the results for who made it to the third tier,” Rue announced to the group of black card students.
Everyone immediately scrambled to check their phones—Renita, Mel, Elowen, Lincoln, Caius, Sera, Lumi, and Arid, all staring at their screens with bated breath.
The room went silent as their hearts collectively sank. All eight of them had failed the written exam. They weren’t just out of the third tier—they had been bumped all the way down to tier one.
“What…” Mel began, his voice barely above a whisper.
“The…” Arid added, his tone rising in disbelief.
“FUCK?!” Elowen exploded, her shout echoing through the hallway.
“Tier one?!” Mel muttered, his brow furrowed in disbelief as he rested a thoughtful finger on his chin. His other arm was firmly wrapped around Elowen’s waist, holding her back as she seethed with anger, ready to explode at the headmaster. “I thought we’d at least make tier two—they did say the fighting didn’t matter!” he added, his voice tinged with frustration and confusion.
Jake shook his head dismissively. “You guys are overreacting. You’re still black cards, after all.”
Arid slammed his fist against the table, his temper flaring. “Shut up, fatass! You don’t get it!”
Mel immediately stepped in, shoving Arid back. “Watch it!” he warned, his voice firm.
Without hesitation, Arid grabbed Mel’s shirt and threw a punch, landing it squarely. Mel retaliated with a punch of his own, and as the scuffle unfolded, something slipped out of Mel’s pocket and hit the floor.
Arid bent down, snatching up the fallen item—a folded piece of parchment. As he unfolded it, his eyes scanned the contents, his anger briefly replaced by confusion and curiosity. It was a map of Auroria, marked with various annotations. Above certain kingdoms, Mel had written notes in a firm hand:
Slesan: King Bimoth
Dapan Empire: Unknown to me
“What the hell is this?” Arid demanded, holding the map up for the others to see.
Arid furrowed his brow as his eyes scanned further down the map. Alongside the notes on Slesan and the Dapan Empire, there were three more names scribbled:
Terravelle: Ally of Bloodthorn
Cindralis: Status unclear
Vyranthia: Hostile to Blackthorn Dominion
“What are you even doing with this?” Arid asked, his tone shifting from anger to suspicion. He held the map up for the rest of the group to see, its significance now drawing everyone’s attention.
Mel adjusted his shirt, glaring at Arid. “Research,” he said flatly, swiping the map from his hands. “I like to stay informed about the kingdoms that matter. Got a problem with that?”
Elowen narrowed her eyes. “Wait… why are you tracking Bloodthorn’s alliances? What’s going on, Mel?”
Arid’s eyes darkened as he flipped the parchment over, reading aloud with mounting fury. “‘King of Camelot: trying to talk to him?’ And what’s this? Horace Groves? That’s my home kingdom! The hell are you doing, Mel?!” His growl echoed through the room as he crumpled the parchment in his hand.
Elowen’s gaze snapped to Mel, her voice sharp. “You’re trying to talk to my brother?” She grabbed the paper from Arid, skimming the notes with disbelief. “What is this? Are you trying to take over kingdoms or something?”
Arid’s fist clenched tighter, the paper shredding in his grip. “What’s your game, Mel?!”
Mel’s eyes flared with frustration. “What?! You think I’m plotting some kind of takeover?” he spat back.
Before he could say more, Arid’s fist connected with his jaw, sending Mel staggering. Without hesitation, Mel retaliated, slamming his forehead into Arid’s and throwing a sharp punch to his ribs.
“I’m trying to help!” Mel shouted, his voice full of exasperation as he held his ground.
“Everyone, stop it!” Renita’s voice cut through the tension as she stepped between Mel and Arid, her hands raised in a calming gesture. “We’re all just heated because we failed the test. Fighting each other isn’t going to fix anything!”
Mel took a deep breath, his chest heaving as he wiped his face. “I wasn’t planning anything crazy,” he said, his voice tight with frustration. “I just wanted to talk to the kingdoms that aren’t united—maybe keep an eye on things, make sure nothing’s brewing. I wasn’t going to act yet. I just…” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “I wanted to be ready in case he tries something.”
Arid leaned against a nearby table, clutching his ribs and glaring at Mel. “You should’ve told us instead of sneaking around with this,”
Mel sighed deeply, then reached out, pulling Arid into a firm side hug, his hand resting on the back of Arid’s head. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low but earnest. “I’ve just been caught up in all this research. I can’t lose another friend over something stupid.”
“Boys always make up so quickly, don’t they?” Elowen remarked with a small smirk as she took a seat.
Mel straightened up, brushing himself off. “Alright, here’s the plan. When school starts next week, we’ll go straight to the headmasters and find out why we all failed. Sound good?”
The group exchanged glances before nodding in agreement, their determination renewed.
After school, Anita Peak sat cross-legged on the roof of her house, a massive packet of homework spread out in front of her. She sipped casually from a juice box, her gaze flicking to Mel, who stood precariously at the edge of the roof.
“So… you’ve been tracking different kingdoms, huh?” she asked, her tone curious but nonchalant.
Mel didn’t look up as he scribbled new notes on a fresh map, his brow furrowed in concentration. The remnants of his old map, ripped apart by Arid, were long gone, but his focus remained sharp.
“It’s clear my friends aren’t comfortable with this, so here I am—in your house.” Mel sipped his juice with an exaggerated seriousness that somehow didn’t match his intense focus on the map.
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Anita, seated cross-legged nearby, doodled absentmindedly on her homework packet. “You, uh… you haven’t been looking into kingdoms outside the continent, have you?” she asked, her tone casual but tinged with unease.
Without glancing up, Mel continued writing. “No, I haven’t even started researching the Capital of Sins yet. Why?”
“Oh, nothing,” Anita replied quickly, flashing a nervous smile. Her pencil tapped rhythmically against the paper as her thoughts raced. “I can’t let anyone know…” she reminded herself, masking her unease.
Deep down, the secret gnawed at her: ”No one can find out I’m Anita Liu, the lost daughter of Andhraka Liu—King of the Napia Empire.”
Mel paced back and forth along the narrow edge of the roof as if it were solid ground, his balance unnervingly perfect. His steps were methodical, yet his mind was anything but calm. “What do I focus on? Dorian? School? The Capital of Sins? The dream? The Renaissance Kings?” he muttered to himself, biting the end of his pen in thought, oblivious to how precarious his footing seemed to anyone watching.
Mel soared back up in front of Anita, effortlessly flipping into an upside-down seated position, his legs crossed midair. “What do you think I should do?” he asked, his tone heavy with uncertainty. “Princess Rue is probably busy, and I think she’s mad at me. Elowen might not even want to talk after what I wrote about her brother. Arid… well, he’s a hothead. I don’t want to face this alone, but it looks like I might have to.” His words hung in the air, the weight of his dilemma pressing down on him.
“You don’t have to be alone,” Anita said softly, gently touching the webbed flower Mel had given her, now resting in her hair. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s loneliness.” Mel sighed deeply, his eyes clouded with a quiet understanding. “Yeah, I know it too,” he replied, his voice tinged with the weight of shared experience.
“Now I have to figure out why I failed the test,” Mel muttered, frustration creeping into his voice. With a flick of his wrist, he conjured a tall, ethereal enforcer made of shimmering silk. The enforcer swiftly snatched Anita’s stack of homework, effortlessly completing it in a fraction of a second.
“Thanks,” said Anita who looked down at the work the enforcer gave back to her. “I’ll be back, I have to set some things up for my birthday.” He flew away waving and landing in the ocean.
Anita glanced around the room before standing up and heading into her bedroom. She pulled out her white card and dialed a number, holding it to her ear. “Hello? Yeah, no—I’m not marrying your son! No, please don’t hang up!”
She added quickly, trying to calm the other person down. “I know you helped me get my identity changed, and I’m grateful, but I have something for you now. His son is here. Wait, hold on—stop yelling! I know you’re excited, but listen. He needs both of you to get along and help him. Yeah I know you hate each other, I’ve been hearing about the Blades vs Blunts war since I was a kid. How fast can you get here? No, I don’t need you now but I’ll call you when something happens. don’t cause trouble. He’s going through a lot.”
She hung up the phone and tossed her card onto the bed with a sigh. Her eyes lingered on the ceiling as she recounted the story in her mind.
"The Blade vs. Blunts War," she murmured to herself. "Few even know it existed."
It all began in the Wrath Kingdom, in the infamous city of Rageman. Merlin Shadowbane, barely 18 at the time, led a gate—a term usually reserved for a kingdom’s army of knights. But unlike most leaders, Merlin didn’t even have a kingdom to call his own. Despite that, his knights were revolutionary, their mastery of weaponry unparalleled, all thanks to Merlin's teachings.
Under his command, the gate swept through the eastern territories of Rageman, conquering and ruling with an iron grip. Their dominance was undeniable. But as the years passed, and Merlin rose to the rank of Overlord—a mysterious turn of events that no one fully understood—his once-united gate fractured.
The split birthed two factions: one devoted to the elegance and precision of bladed weapons, and the other to the brute force and raw power of blunted arms. A war ensued, brother against brother, their shared loyalty to Merlin lost in the schism.
Even now, the shadow of that conflict lingered, its legacy whispered about by those who remembered the chaos it unleashed. "And I’m..." She paused, removing her outer shirt to reveal a fitted undershirt. As she shifted, the tattoo on her neck became visible—a single word inked in elegant cursive: Blade.
"One of their former students," she thought silently, her fingers grazing the mark, a stark reminder of the life she left behind before she ran away.
In the Wrath Kingdom’s Rageman City, there stood a building divided by design—one side adorned with sharp, jagged spires, the other fortified with austere brick walls. Inside, chaos erupted as alarms blared, and people scrambled in every direction.
"It’s time! He’s alive!" shouted a bearded man with wild, silver-streaked hair, his voice booming over the commotion. He directed his words to a teenage boy sitting idly nearby. The boy, his silver hair glinting in the light, bore a tattoo on his neck that read Blade in flowing cursive. A sword rested casually across his back as he fiddled with a small device, a goofy smirk on his face.
"Time for what?" the boy asked lazily, not even glancing up from his device. "Time for what?! For the Blades to reunite with the Blunts and serve the young master, of course!" the man barked, his voice filled with urgency and a touch of disbelief at the boy's indifference.
“And why are we suddenly following the devil’s spawn now?” the boy asked with a bored tone, slipping his earphones in before the man could answer. The older man let out a furious roar. “Don’t you dare disrespect your cousin!” he bellowed. Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself, adjusted his bag, and continued packing. The boy, grumbling, began packing his own things.
“My cousin? I barely know him,” the boy said dismissively, shoving items into his bag. “Anyways,” the man continued, ignoring the attitude, “we got a call from that girl—you know, the one we helped leave three years ago?” The boy paused and nodded. “You mean the one you kept trying to set me up with?”
“No, the one you kept crying over,” the man replied with a sly smirk. The boy’s cheeks turned red, and in a flash of frustration, he hurled a knife at the man. “Shut up, old man!” he snapped. The knife embedded itself just barely into the man’s chest. He looked down at it, unimpressed. “That’s not nice,” he muttered as he casually pulled it out and tossed it aside.
The boy huffed, his pout deepening as he avoided eye contact. “…Sorry.” The man chuckled, shaking his head. “You youngins and your half-hearted apologies.” Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he motioned toward the door. “Let’s go see if your mother and sister are ready.”
With their bags slung over their shoulders, they stepped out of the room, the weight of their mission palpable. The older man, Mark Forge, carried himself with the commanding presence befitting the leader of the Blades faction, while his son, Logan Forge, followed with a mix of defiance and reluctant acceptance.