At night, shadows engulfed the school’s corridors, and the air hung heavy with an eerie silence. A shadowy figure crept atop the lockers, moving with unnatural agility. Suddenly, it raised a powerful arm and swung down with immense force, obliterating an entire row of lockers in a single blow. The sound echoed through the halls, alarming the wardens and headmasters.

The commotion drew them to the scene, but the darkness was suffocating, making it impossible to discern the intruder’s features. Draven was the first to act, dashing at the figure with impressive speed. But before he could land a blow, the figure leapt high into the air, using Draven’s head as a springboard to propel itself further. The impact drove Draven into the ground with a loud crash, his eyes widening in shock as he coughed from the force.

“This strength… it’s far beyond any of the students!” Draven growled, gritting his teeth as he struggled to rise.

Jasper, undeterred, charged forward next. The figure didn’t even flinch. It grabbed Jasper’s arm with ease and hurled him aside as if he weighed nothing. The casual toss packed an astonishing force, sending Jasper skidding across the floor, his body reeling from the impact.

The figure let out a loud, guttural snore, its shoulders heaving as though it were sound asleep. The wardens and headmasters exchanged bewildered glances, their confusion mounting.

Kai narrowed his eyes and signaled the others to stay back. But before he could act, the figure suddenly stirred, snapping out of its slumber. With almost comical precision, it swept Kai’s legs out from under him, sending him sprawling. In one swift motion, the intruder darted toward the nearest window.

With an almost surreal speed, it leapt through the glass, shards scattering in its wake, and bolted into the night. Its movements were erratic yet terrifyingly fast, like something out of a nightmarish cartoon.

The wardens stood frozen, watching the figure vanish into the darkness. Draven rose to his feet, brushing off debris and glaring at the shattered window. “What in the name of the heavens was that?” he muttered, the weight of the encounter heavy on his mind.

In the morning, students arrived on campus, their chatter buzzing with curiosity and unease. As they entered the building, they were immediately greeted by a grim sight: the front door’s window shattered and an entire row of lockers demolished, now cordoned off with caution tape.

“Whoa,” Arid muttered, his eyes widening as he took in the destruction. “Looks like whoever did this wasn’t done yet.”

Mel stood nearby, nodding absently as he rubbed the back of his neck. He looked like a mess—his face pale, his eyes ringed with dark circles, and a crusty residue clinging stubbornly to his lashes.

Arid took one look at him and flinched. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked, half-concerned, half-disgusted.

Mel let out a long, tired yawn. “I haven’t been sleeping well,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse. “And yesterday, this kid sold me some kind of drink. Charged me extra… said he was hungry.”

Arid raised a brow. “Wait, so you bought some sketchy drink from a random kid, and you overpaid for it? That tracks,” he said dryly, crossing his arms. “What was it? Energy sludge?”

Mel shrugged, his expression still groggy. “Don’t know, didn’t ask. Just trying to stay awake here.”

In the bustling cafeteria, the air buzzed with whispers and speculation about the recent break-in. Students gathered in small groups, their voices a mix of curiosity and unease.

At one table, Elowen leaned over and lightly tapped Mel on the shoulder. He jolted awake, his head snapping up from the table where he’d dozed off.

“What?!” he blurted, his voice louder than he intended, drawing a few amused glances from nearby students.

Elowen raised an eyebrow, suppressing a smirk. “Relax, Mel. Didn’t mean to scare you,” she said, her tone teasing. “You’re seriously falling apart.”

“Shouldn’t have drunk that drink,” Arid muttered, eyeing Mel with a look of mild concern. Jake leaned forward, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “What if we all volunteer to keep watch over the school at night?”

Mel shook his head, already zoning out. “Me and Elowen have hoverboard practice tonight. I’m setting up a whole obstacle course and everything…” He trailed off, his words drifting as he dozed off again, only to jolt awake moments later, sipping from the drink that kid had sold him.

Anita suddenly appeared at the table, causing Mel to jump in surprise. “Where’d you come from?!” he asked, his heart racing. She sat down casually, unfazed.

“Maybe we should do what Jake suggested,” Anita said, glancing around the group. Arid groaned, shaking his head. “I don’t want to do that. I have therapy this week,” he muttered, absently rubbing a cut on his arm.

Lance, noticing the scar, gestured toward it. “I heard the criminal jump out the window. You’ve got a scar, Arid.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Arid shot back, a little defensive.

Lance shrugged with a grin. “Just joking.”

Meanwhile, within the enigmatic Magisterium—a vast domain brimming with arcane energy and wizarding artifacts—the nine council members sat at a grand, circular table. The air shimmered with magic, and floating before them were enchanted playing cards, pulsating faintly with life.

One of the council members leaned back, a sly grin tugging at their lips. “King,” they declared, their voice echoing with an air of authority. With a sudden flourish, the card they referenced shimmered and transformed, materializing into a regal figure. The King, now animated, strode across the table with a commanding presence, only to approach the discarded deck of cards.

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Without hesitation, the King plunged a shimmering blade into its own chest, the act precise and almost theatrical. The figure collapsed, dissolving into a cascade of glowing dust before merging back into the deck. It landed neatly, once again taking its place as an ordinary playing card.

The council watched the display with amused indifference, as if such displays were mundane in their world of wizarding wonders.

“What are we gonna do about Michelangelo?” one of the council members asked, tossing a card onto the magical mat with a casual flick of their wrist.

“That bloated psycho?” another replied with a snort. “He’s killed kings for us. We’ve got him wrapped tight. As long as he’s hiding from Leonardo and Raphael, he’s no threat to us.”

A third member rapped their knuckles on the table, summoning a floating pitcher of beer that poured itself into their mug. They took a deep swig before speaking. “What about Althara Shadowbane? Any plans for her?”

Another shrugged lazily, leaning back in their chair. “Haven’t even seen the woman. All we know is she might be tied to Merlin Shadowbane. Maybe we should ask Melanthius.”

The mention of the name earned a round of scoffs and one of them laughed bitterly. “Oh, sure, let’s consult the kid we threw into prison when he was still in diapers. Brilliant idea.” The speaker raked in the winnings from the card game, smirking as the others groaned in defeat and began dealing a fresh hand.

“What’s Michelangelo up to these days, anyway?” someone asked idly, reshuffling the deck.

The dealer shrugged, a sly grin on their face. “Rumor is, he’s setting up some secret operation. Calls it ‘Goldman’s Gate.’ He’s got his workers referring to him as ‘The Gatekeeper.’ Apparently, he’s recruiting strong folks and aiming to topple the Seven Deadly Kingdoms.”

The table erupted into raucous laughter. “The poor bastard doesn’t realize we built the Seven Deadly Kingdoms. All their dirty dealings? That’s our leash around their necks!”

Their laughter echoed across the room, but one of them paused, glancing nervously at the silent man seated at the edge of the table. “Are we sure we wanna be talking like this in front of his cousin?” they muttered, nodding toward the man.

The figure, dressed in a crisp black suit, had been lost in thought, his sharp, fanged teeth glinting as he tapped a single claw against the table. At his name—Titian—he slowly turned toward them. His gaze was feral, charged with an animalistic energy, yet his lips curled into an amused grin.

“Don’t you dare talk about me,” Titian said with a chuckle, his voice teetering on the edge between jest and menace, leaving the table unsure whether to laugh or tread carefully.

“We weren’t,” one of them replied quickly, raising their hands defensively. “But whatever happened to your little buddy?”

Titian stood slowly, his presence instantly commanding the room. “Oh, you mean the former King of Atlantis,” he said, casually pouring himself a drink using telekinesis, the pitcher hovering gracefully in the air. “He’s off sniffing around for clues about Michelangelo’s whereabouts.”

“Aren’t you upset he let Melanthius waltz in and take one of your territories?” another member asked, smirking.

Titian took a deliberate sip from his glass, his movements calm, controlled. He shrugged, a sly smile spreading across his face. “If I lost my temper every time that demigod botched something, he wouldn’t still be on my board.” His tone was laced with both condescension and confidence, making it clear that whatever losses he suffered were merely pieces of a larger game he controlled.

Back in the Auroria Dominion, Mel found himself standing alone in the shadowy corridor where the infamous overlords of the realm once plotted. His gaze lifted to the holographic painting of Merlin, its once-imposing visage now marred by crude vandalism.

Mel’s fists clenched involuntarily as a surge of anger flared within him. Confusion washed over him—he despised his father, resented the legacy of destruction Merlin had left behind. So why did the sight of his defaced image stir something so raw and furious within him?

He stared at the defiled portrait, his jaw tightening as questions he thought he’d buried began to rise to the surface.

“Damn,” Lance muttered under his breath, eyes flicking to Mel’s clenched fist. Clyde glanced up at Mel, then at the defaced painting.

“Don’t worry,” Clyde said softly, trying to reassure him. “They’ll figure out who did it.”

Mel rubbed Clyde’s head. “No,” he said firmly, his voice low but resolute. “We’ll figure it out.”

Straightening, Mel turned on his heel and gestured for them to follow. “Let’s go,” he commanded, a determined fire in his eyes.

Moments later in the cafeteria, Mel approached Aegis, who greeted him with his signature rockstar gesture—tongue out and fingers in the iconic “devil horns.”

“So, you wanna join the Night Watcher Club, huh?!” Aegis exclaimed enthusiastically, almost bouncing with energy.

Lance, unable to hold back his frustration, lunged toward Aegis, but Clyde quickly grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back. “You maniac! Don’t you know article twenty-nine of the Shadowbane Handbook?!” Lance shouted, his voice full of conviction.

“There’s no such thing, Lance!” Mel shot back, shaking his head as he signed his name on the sheet Aegis had handed him.

As he handed the form back, Mel scanned the page and noticed something peculiar—his was the only signature. He paused, looking back at Aegis with a raised eyebrow. “Wait a second… Am I the only one who’s signed up for this?”

Clyde and Lance reluctantly signed their names, but Aegis quickly stopped them, wagging a finger. “Sorry, no freshmen allowed,” he said with a grin.

The two freshmen frowned in disappointment. “It’s better that way,” Aegis added, attempting to reassure them, though it didn’t seem to help much.

Just then, Dontai strode over to the desk, his towering presence making Mel glance up.

“Yo, my son!” Aegis called out cheerfully, throwing up his signature rockstar fingers. Dontai, however, didn’t even spare him a glance.

“I’m doing this… because James and Alissa said it’d be cool to do something at night,” Dontai muttered, signing his name with a hint of reluctance. He was a sucker for making his friends proud.

Aegis grinned, his tone laced with amusement. “Two wizards, huh? How poetic—Melanthius, son of Merlin, and my own kid, stepping up together.” He chuckled, clearly entertained by the symmetry of it all. Mel, however, barely reacted, rubbing his tired, baggy eyes with a weary sigh.

“I don’t like him. He kicked me,” Dontai said flatly, his tone as casual as if he were commenting on the weather.

Mel flinched, guilt flickering across his face. “Sorry,” he mumbled groggily, still half out of it. In an effort to make amends, he held out his drink. “Here, you can have some.”

Dontai eyed the cup briefly before taking it. He took a swig and immediately choked, coughing as he clutched his chest. “That’s strong,” he rasped, his usual composure shaken.

By noon, the gym was packed with a mix of key figures: Mel, Dontai, the five wardens, the staff wardens, the headmaster, and King Aldara. The air buzzed with tension, but the two young wizards were anything but energized. Dontai slumped in his seat, dark circles under his eyes. “Can we just get this over with?” he muttered through a yawn. Mel, equally drained, nodded in agreement, stifling a yawn of his own.

King Aldara scanned the room, his gaze landing on the two. “You and Dontai will guard the west wing tonight,” he assigned curtly.

Dontai rubbed his face, trying to shake off the drowsiness. “Why am I so tired?” he grumbled, giving himself a sharp slap on the cheek in an attempt to wake up. Mel blinked groggily, the weight of fatigue pressing down on him as well. Something felt off, but neither could put their finger on it.