Mel, Clyde, and Lance stood together in a grassy field on the outskirts of Solstice City. Clyde gripped his scythe tightly, panting as he tried to mimic Mel’s Hidden Cloud Technique. His movements were clumsy, and frustration weighed heavy on his face.

“Mel, this is incredibly hard,” Clyde groaned, wiping sweat from his brow. “My arms are killing me. How am I supposed to do this without magic?” He looked down at the ground, his voice faltering with insecurity.

Lance stepped up beside him, cracking his knuckles as he adjusted his stance. “Trust me, it was hard for me, too. I could barely manage thirty punches before my limbs gave out,” Lance admitted, pointing toward Mel.

Mel stood a short distance away, fluidly weaving threads of webbing above him, his body moving with effortless grace in perfect sync with the threads, like he was performing Tai Chi. The webs floated and pulsed like living extensions of himself.

“It takes speed, Clyde,” Lance said, nodding toward Mel. “Speed that only he can reach. But once I got stronger, it started getting easier—even without magic.” To prove his point, Lance pivoted and unleashed a Hidden Cloud Punch, his strike sharp and precise.

Clyde licked his lips, watching carefully before tightening his grip on the scythe. “Even without magic…” he muttered under his breath. Determined, he planted his feet, adjusted his stance, and swung the scythe with everything he had.

The blade moved so fast it was nearly invisible, slicing clean through a nearby tree. Clyde stumbled back, his eyes widening as the tree creaked and fell—only for its roots to shimmer and regrow instantly, a strange enchantment restoring it to its original state.

“Gah!” Clyde cried out, clutching his arm as pain shot through his shoulder.

“There you go!” Lance cheered, clapping Clyde on the back before grabbing his arm. “Hold on—I’ve got this.” He yanked Clyde’s arm, trying to pop it back into place. Clyde let out a loud groan of agony as Lance’s eyes widened in panic. “Whoops… I thought I could do it like Sensei did to me.” Lance gave an apologetic grin before calling out desperately, “Sensei!”

Mel sighed, walking over with the calm demeanor of someone who had seen this before. “Jeez, Lance, are you trying to break his arm?” he muttered, crouching beside Clyde. With a practiced hand, Mel expertly reset Clyde’s dislocated shoulder in one smooth motion. Clyde winced but exhaled in relief, his face relaxing. “Thanks, grandmaster…”

“Next time, leave the fixing to me,” Mel said, shooting Lance a playful glare. Lance grinned sheepishly. “Hey, I was trying to help.” Clyde chuckled weakly, shaking his head as he tested his arm. “If this is what training with you guys is like, I’m not sure I’ll survive…”

“You’re strong, like your… brother,” Mel said, hesitating briefly before ruffling Clyde’s hair with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Clyde glanced up at him, his voice trembling. “D-Do I… look like him?”

Mel paused for a moment, the question hanging in the air. He turned away, his gaze shifting to the rolling clouds above. “You know, I ask myself that same question every day,” he said quietly, his expression unreadable.

Before Clyde could respond, Mel pulled out his card, glancing at a glowing message displayed on its surface. He gave a quick nod and turned to Lance. “Lance, train Clyde in two-step weapons,” he ordered, his tone decisive. Without waiting for a reply, he started walking toward the forest.

“Wait! What do you mean by that?!” Clyde called out, reaching for him. But his hand fell short, and he stood frozen as Mel disappeared into the trees.

Clyde clenched his fists, his thoughts spiraling. “Do you also fear that people see you as your father? The same way they see me as my brother?“

He bit his lip, staring at the spot where Mel had vanished. For the first time, he felt a glimmer of understanding—and the weight of the same unspoken burden.

Moments later, Mel found himself sitting cross-legged on the floor of Elowen’s dorm room, watching as she wrestled with her reflection in the mirror. She held up strands of golden thread, her hands fumbling as she tried to weave them into her hair.

“What’d you call me over for?” Mel asked, tilting his head slightly.

“Friends can’t invite friends over anymore?” Elowen shot back with a playful eye roll, turning her focus back to the stubborn threads.

Mel raised a brow, his curiosity piqued. “What are you doing?”

Elowen let out an exasperated sigh, spinning in her chair to face him. “These threads are impossible to work with! They’re supposed to add some flair, but they just refuse to cooperate.” She groaned, holding up a section of her hair in defeat.

Mel stood and moved behind her, gently guiding her to sit back in the chair. “Let me help,” he said with a hint of a smirk. His fingers worked deftly, weaving the golden threads into her hair with practiced ease. Thin strands of his silken webs extended to hold the threads in place, moving with precision as if they had a mind of their own.

“Wow, you’re really good at this,” Elowen muttered, watching in the mirror as Mel worked deftly with the golden threads in her hair.

“Thanks,” he replied simply, stepping back to admire his handiwork before sinking into the floor again. Elowen spun her rolling chair to face him, the wheels softly squeaking as she settled beside her neatly arranged desk, where her finished homework was stacked.

“So, how’s Clyde?” he asked, casually tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Mel leaned back on his hands, a small smile tugging at his lips. “He’s a good kid. A bit more timid than I remember, though,” he admitted, his tone thoughtful.

“How come you’re suddenly collecting students? First Lance, now Clyde?” Elowen teased, spinning herself back and forth in her chair with a smirk.

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“They’re like my little brothers, that’s all,” Mel replied nonchalantly, lifting himself into an effortless “L” calisthenics pose, his strength on full display.

Elowen stopped spinning, tilting her head. “How many ‘little brothers’ are you planning to adopt?” she asked, standing to face him.

Mel straightened up, his taller frame subtly emphasized as he looked down at her. With a calm smile, he reached out and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I think you’re insinuating something,” he said, his voice low as he leaned in, their faces now mere inches apart.

Elowen met Mel’s intense gaze, her eyes softening for a moment before she gently pushed him away by the chest. She wheeled herself back to her chair while Mel settled on the floor again. They exchanged small smiles.

“Why would I think you’d be planning to form a gate just to take on Dorian?” Elowen teased, her voice light.

Mel fiddled with his fingers, glancing up at her. “Would you join if I did?” he asked, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Would I?” She chuckled softly. “I’m your shield, remember?”

Mel leaned back with a sigh, his smile fading slightly. “It’s been seven months, and Dorian hasn’t made a move. I don’t know what’s going on. I wish I had a spy or something.”

“Wanna come to aerial sword fighting with me?” Elowen asked, standing up and packing her bag. She slipped a standard sword inside, her movements quick and efficient.

“Why aren’t you taking Excalibur?” Mel asked, tilting his head curiously.

Elowen flicked his forehead with her finger, smirking. “Why would I bring Excalibur—a legendary weapon crafted by the Lady of the Lake in Camelot—to practice with a bunch of red cards and a handful of black cards?” She sighed dramatically, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Be serious, Mel.”

She gestured for him to follow her, and he rose to his feet, trailing behind as they exited the dorms. The crisp air greeted them outside, and Mel glanced at her curiously. “Since when has there been aerial sword fighting at this school?”

Elowen bit her lip, her excitement barely contained. She grabbed his arm and pulled out a holographic display from her pocket, projecting an image of a glowing poster. “Since this was announced!” she exclaimed, pointing at the floating text. The poster depicted swords, hoverboards, and students locked in fierce combat midair.

“It’s a competition at the end of the school year,” she explained, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. “The winner gets a ton of knightstones!” She practically hopped with excitement as they walked toward the main school building.

“And you want to win?” Mel asked, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

“Duh!” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “It’s not just the knightstones. Winning—or even just making the team—means internships with top-ranking knights. This is huge, Mel.”

As they reached the school’s gates, a shadowed figure peered out from a high, darkened window. Princess Rue stood shrouded in the gloom of her room, her eyes glowing an eerie green as she fixated on the two below. Her breathing grew heavier, her frustration tangible.

“M-M-Mel!” she growled through clenched teeth, her fist slamming against the glass. Scales shimmered along her arm, their green hue vivid in the dim light, and a faint plume of smoke escaped her lips. Her breath was hot, almost fiery.

“You’re always around women!” Rue roared, her voice echoing faintly before she retreated deeper into the darkness of her room.

The gym buzzed with a chaotic energy, its high-vaulted ceiling echoing with the clatter of swords and the hum of hoverboards. Students crowded the expansive space, split into groups by skill level. On one side, a cluster of beginners wobbled precariously on their hoverboards, their faces etched with a mix of determination and frustration. Most attempts ended in failure—hoverboards sputtering out of control or dumping their riders onto the padded floor. Instructors darted between them, barking out tips and offering steadying hands as students groaned and clambered back on.

Nearby, a more advanced group practiced aerial maneuvers, weaving through glowing hoops suspended in the air. Their movements were clumsy at times, hoverboards jerking as they adjusted their weight to stay balanced. The occasional shout of triumph broke through the din as someone managed a clean pass through the obstacles.

At the far end of the gym, students sparred with dulled swords, the clang of blades meeting steel reverberating in the air. Their movements were sharp but deliberate, each strike aiming to mimic real combat without causing harm. Some pairs engaged in ground duels, their hoverboards stacked neatly at the side, while others fought midair, their boards buzzing with life as they darted around their sparring partners in jerky arcs.

A few standout students effortlessly blended both skills. Hovering just above the ground, they parried and struck with precision, their movements fluid and graceful. These elite few drew the attention of onlookers, who paused their own fumbling attempts to marvel at the mastery on display.

Elowen and Mel entered quietly, taking in the bustling scene. Elowen’s eyes sparkled with anticipation as she adjusted the strap of her bag. “This is going to be amazing,” she whispered, more to herself than to Mel. He remained silent, his gaze drifting from the struggling beginners to the confident experts.

“So, where do you want to start?” Mel asked, his tone casual but curious as he glanced at her.

“Where else?” Elowen grinned, nodding toward the sparring students with a gleam of determination in her eyes. “The real fun’s up there.”

She pointed toward the midair duels, where swords flashed and hoverboards zipped through the air like streaks of lightning.

A few moments later, Elowen teetered precariously on her hoverboard, her knuckles white as she clung tightly to the back of Mel’s shirt. Her knees wobbled with every slight motion, and the board hummed unsteadily beneath her.

“So... you can’t ride a hoverboard?” Mel asked, his voice laced with confusion as he glanced back at her.

“N-no!” Elowen stammered, her voice shaky as she tried to maintain her balance. The hoverboard jolted forward slightly, and she yelped, tightening her grip on Mel's shirt. “I thought they’d teach us here, but apparently, this is a team for yellow cards who’ve trained for this stuff! I—I haven’t!”

Mel sighed, his expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. “And you didn’t think to maybe... practice first?”

“I didn’t think it’d be this hard!” she shot back, wobbling dangerously to one side. “It’s just a board that floats! How hard could it be?”

“Hard enough that you’re holding onto me like your life depends on it,” Mel quipped, steadying her with a firm hand before she tipped over completely.

“Shut up!” Elowen muttered, her face flushing red as she tried to regain control. The hoverboard hummed again, mocking her with its instability.

“Flying is funny, but easy. When flying, you just have to trust yourself and let go of the fear of falling.” Mel explained and began expertly flying around the gym through the sparring matches. Through the hoops ect. Earning awes from people and Mel landed by Elowen. “Easy to say for someone who can fly already,” She sighed and Mel held her waist to help her off.

The coach floated effortlessly toward Mel, flanked by two students on hoverboards. He had a whistle hanging around his neck, a weathered jacket, a full beard, and long hair that flowed as he moved. His hands remained casually tucked in his pockets.

“Melanthius Shadowbane,” he began with a nod. “I’m Watson Ross. You’ve got exceptional flying skills. How would you like to—”

Mel raised a hand, cutting him off politely but firmly. “Sorry to interrupt, Coach, but Elowen’s dream—however peculiar—is to fly on this team. And I can’t outshine her.” He glanced at Elowen with a small smile, and she leaned into him, beaming with gratitude.

One of the students snickered. “Isn’t she always in your shadow, though?”

The other joined in with a laugh, but Mel’s calm smile didn’t waver. “You talk as if most people don’t appreciate the shade,” he said coolly. The laughter stopped, the boy shrinking under the weight of Mel’s confident gaze.