“But…” Mel hesitated, gripping his glass tightly as he searched for the right words. “I found out from someone that he… changed, out of nowhere. Maybe I’ve been too hard on him, judging him without knowing the whole story. I mean, the entire world turned against him. His own son doing the same thing? That can’t be right… can it?”

Mark swallowed his steak—finally—and leaned forward slightly, his wild demeanor replaced with a rare seriousness. Yasmine nodded thoughtfully, her fingers tracing idle circles on the edge of her glass, as if even they hadn’t fully reconciled their memories of the man Mel was trying to understand.

“Well, everything’s a little foggy,” Mark admitted, staring down at his plate as he stuffed a handful of fries into his mouth. “After he left, things just... faded. It’s like parts of it got erased or buried. It was a long time ago.”

Yasmine nodded, absentmindedly nibbling on her chopsticks as she added, “But trust me, we’ll do everything we can to help you find the answers you’re looking for.”

Mel set his cup down with a clink, pulling his knees up slightly as if bracing himself. His eyes darted between the two of them before he exhaled and spoke with forced enthusiasm, throwing his hands into the air in a display of mock confidence. “That’s great! Because all my answers lie... in the Seven Deadly Kingdoms!” He finished with exaggerated jazz hands, black lightning crackling faintly around him, adding an unintentional dramatic flair to his nervous reveal.

For a moment, there was silence. The atmosphere in the restaurant shifted palpably, like a cold wind had swept through. Mel glanced outside, only to find the members of the Blades and Blunts staring at him with thinly veiled sneers, their eyes sharp and untrusting.

Mel gulped, his throat dry, and reflexively sipped from his cup—only to realize it was empty, the ice clinking mockingly against the glass. He lowered it slowly, trying to mask his nerves, but the weight of their stares pressed heavily on his shoulders.

Mel wanted nothing more than to curl up and disappear into thin air. “I should’ve brought my friends… I’m terrible at this alone!” he thought, his anxiety clawing at him.

Yasmine leaned in, her voice dropping to a hushed, serious tone that sent a chill down his spine. “We don’t talk about the Seven Deadly Kingdoms,” she said, her piercing gaze locking onto his. “It was one of the rules Merlin gave us—a rule we never dared to break. We even went to war with the Envy Kingdom once, but that was years ago, and it was against just one of their factions. Even then, it nearly destroyed us. They’re far too powerful, Mel. I hope you can understand that.”

Her words hung heavy in the air, and the weight of them pressed on Mel’s chest. For the first time, he realized the enormity of the path he’d set for himself—and just how much danger lay ahead.

Mel rhythmically tapped his thumb on the table, breaking the heavy silence. “I understand,” he finally said, though his mind was already racing with the next set of practical concerns.

“So...when are we going to talk about living arrangements? Are we still splitting up? Where exactly are we staying? And what’s the food situation? Because, uh, I burn a lot of calories.” Mark flagged down the server to order another steak. He then, licking his fingers clean, gave him a wary glance. “...You’ve got money, right?”

Mel froze mid-motion and chuckled nervously. “Well, I was thinking you could all stay in a big hotel in Atlantis...but then I remembered most of you probably can’t swim, let alone handle the pressure down there. So...?” He trailed off, looking at Yasmine for backup.

She smirked, brushing her long hair aside. “It’s fine. Our ships can handle the capacity just fine. As for the food? Don’t worry about Mark. We usually eat whatever we capture.”

Mel exhaled in relief, adjusting his posture. “Alright, good. But about the name... ‘Blades and Blunts’ is kind of a mouthful, don’t you think?” He tapped his chin in thought.

Before he could brainstorm, Mark slapped the table, startling Mel. “Before the split, we called ourselves the Steel Pact. Let’s go with that!”

Mel leaned back in his seat, relieved. “Thank the gods. I didn’t want to come up with some corny name.”

Just as he relaxed, the restaurant doors burst open with a loud clang. Everyone except Mel, Mark, and Yasmine instinctively bowed their heads. The air grew tense as Princess Rue strode in.

Her draconic features were more pronounced than ever—brilliant green eyes that shimmered like emeralds, beautiful scaly markings tracing her arms and legs, and fangs that glinted when she spoke. She made her way directly to Mel, grabbing his arm without hesitation.

“There you are!” Rue said, her voice urgent and sharp.

Mel flinched. “P-Princess Rue! What brings you here?”

Mark and Yasmine shot to their feet, alarmed. “Young Master, is something wrong?” Yasmine asked, ready for action.

“It’s fine! Everything’s fine!” Mel said quickly, holding up his hands to stop them. “Just—stay here, eat as much as you like!” His voice wavered with nerves as Rue dragged him out of the restaurant.

Moments later, they were weaving through the bustling streets of the Auroria Dominion, Rue’s grip on his arm iron-tight.

“W-what’s going on?!” Mel stammered, trying to keep up with her hurried pace.

Rue didn’t answer immediately. Her fanged teeth clenched as her grip tightened further. “Something bad is happening. Really bad,” she said, her voice trembling with uncharacteristic fear.

Mel’s breath caught in his throat. For a moment, he stopped trying to question her and instead focused on the subtle tremors in her hand. Whatever it was, it was serious.

Rue stormed into the throne room, dragging Mel along without a word. She threw him unceremoniously onto the polished marble floor beside Dontai, Elowen, Arid, Renita, Lincoln, Cassius, Amara, Laurel, Emrys, Kali, Draven, Jasper, Kai, and the wardens, all seated in a tense semicircle before King Aldara.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

The King sat on his ornate throne, his expression grave as he took a slow, deliberate breath. “I’m afraid our kingdom may be in grave danger,” he announced, his deep voice echoing in the vast chamber. With a wave of his hand, a shimmering holograph appeared above them, displaying a small, intricate statue. It depicted a woman surrounded by flowing waves, almost as though she were one with the sea.

“This,” King Aldara began, “is an ancient artifact. It was stolen the night of the incident between Melanthius and Dontai’s... sleep fighting.” He cast a sharp glance at the two, his tone heavy with implication. “I’m afraid to say, someone else was present that night—someone we didn’t account for.”

“I knew it,” Mel muttered under his breath, clenching his fists.

The King cleared his throat, his gaze sweeping across the room. “This artifact is not merely a relic. It is believed to have belonged to the gods themselves.” His words were met with stunned silence, though Mel’s eyes darted to Arid, the son of Mother Nature, whose expression darkened at the revelation.

“What does this mean?” Emrys finally broke the silence, his voice steady but laced with curiosity. “We’ve always known the druids and gods were real—there’s proof enough of that. But why would someone go to the trouble of stealing this artifact? What could they gain?”

The room grew heavy with tension as everyone waited for King Aldara’s answer, the holographic statue casting faint, wavering light over their faces.

“That statue…” King Aldara began, his voice grave, “is the essence of the Lady of the Lake. Whoever controls the Lady gains access to her power.”

A collective silence fell over the room as all eyes shifted to Elowen. Her shoulders tensed, and she lowered her head, unable to meet anyone’s gaze. Being the daughter of Arthur Pendragon—the one who had been granted Excalibur by the Lady of the Lake—she was undeniably connected to the artifact in question.

“Do you think it’s Dorian?” Elowen asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

King Aldara shook his head thoughtfully. “I doubt it. Dorian may be power-hungry, but his focus is clear—he seeks protection and vengeance for his father. Yes, he’s a dictator in the making, but let’s not forget—he’s still just a boy. One who knows he can’t take on the Seven Kingdoms alone. That’s why he’s consolidating power from Aurora.”

Elowen exhaled sharply, her hands tightening into fists as unease settled in the room. The revelation of Dorian’s intentions didn’t erase the danger they were facing, but it did leave an unsettling question lingering in the air: If not Dorian, then who would risk stealing such a powerful artifact?

Suddenly, the throne room doors creaked open, and Mark strolled in casually, balancing four steaks in his hands as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Your Majesty?” he called out nonchalantly, chewing on a piece of meat. The room froze, all eyes shifting from Mark to Mel, whose face turned an unsettling shade of pale.

“Melanthius,” King Aldara began, his voice heavy with patience rapidly wearing thin, “I understand your father was a man of many mysteries, but this interruption is—”

Mark, oblivious to the tension, rudely cut him off mid-sentence. “Sorry, sir. We were just wondering about the best tourist spots. My kids wanted to know—bless their innocent hearts.” He took another bite, completely unbothered by the growing stares.

“Innocent? One of them owns brass knuckles,” Elowen muttered under her breath to Arid, who stifled a laugh. “What the hell did I miss?” Arid whispered back, covering his mouth as his shoulders shook.

“This is Gate business. You have no place here,” Draven growled, his tone bristling with irritation as he stormed toward Mark, clearly intent on escorting him out.

Mark didn’t even flinch, instead pointing a greasy steak-laden finger at Draven. “Ah, you’re from Drachenwald, aren’t you?” he said with his mouth full, as if recognizing an old friend rather than someone moments away from physically removing him.

Mark wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and glanced around the room. “Anyway,” he drawled, clearly unimpressed, “if this is Gate business, where are the gates? The knights? You know, the real deal?” Without waiting for an answer, he pulled a bottle of barbecue sauce from his coat pocket and took a long, unapologetic swig.

Mel shot up from his seat, flying over to stand in front of Mark with panic written all over his face. “You need to leave!” he hissed, grabbing Mark’s arm and attempting to drag him away. But Mark didn’t so much as budge, rooted to the spot like an immovable boulder.

King Aldara rose from his throne, his gaze steady as he addressed the room. With a commanding gesture toward the students, he declared, “This is the Gate.”

Mark’s eyes swept over the group of students—some standing awkwardly, others squaring their shoulders defensively. Then, with a sneer curling on his lips, he turned back to King Aldara, his tone dripping with disdain. “No knights? No battalions? Nothing? You’re using kids?”

King Aldara stiffened, his expression faltering for a split second. “Our knights were traitors,” he said firmly, though there was a tinge of regret in his voice. “They’ve been... dealt with.”

Mark scoffed and let out a low whistle. “Pathetic,” he muttered before stepping back and clapping his hands twice. Suddenly, the throne room doors swung open with a thundering crash, and ten members of the Steel Pact strode in, their presence immediately filling the room with an air of authority.

Mark gestured toward them with a dramatic flourish. “This,” he announced, “is your new Gate. The attack faction of the Steel Pact. You can thank me later.”

The Steel Pact members stood tall and battle-ready, their stoic expressions a stark contrast to the bewildered faces of the students. Mel groaned inwardly, rubbing his temples. “Oh, Gods, not this again…” he muttered under his breath.

“W-what?! This is completely unnecessary! We already have wardens to protect us,” King Aldara protested, his voice wavering slightly as he struggled to maintain authority.

Mark responded with a dramatic yawn, covering his mouth lazily. “Wardens?” he scoffed, his tone dripping with disdain. “Wardens are just a unit—a fancy title for buffed-up knights. My attack faction? They’re in a whole other league.” He gestured smugly toward the Steel Pact members, who stood like statues, exuding raw power and discipline.

Mark leaned in slightly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “No offense, Your Majesty,” he added, though his tone made it clear he didn’t mean it at all, “but relying on wardens when you’ve got this available? That’s just sad.”

Mel rubbed his face and, with a flick of his hand, conjured eleven silken enforcers, their shimmering forms radiating an air of quiet authority. “Wait for me outside!” he ordered, his tone sharp yet calm. The enforcers moved in perfect unison, smoothly guiding Mark and the attack faction out of the room despite their protests.

As the doors closed behind them, Mel let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging. He rubbed his face again, clearly trying to compose himself. “I’m so sorry, King Aldara,” he said, bowing slightly, his voice filled with genuine remorse.

“Now—” King Aldara began, but before he could finish, Elowen abruptly stood, her chair scraping loudly against the floor as she stormed out of the throne room. The tension in the air was palpable, and Mel could see the anger radiating from her, her clenched fists trembling. It was a bad sign—a really bad sign.

All eyes shifted to the door as it slammed shut behind her. Mel hesitated for a moment, then raised his hand awkwardly. “Uh… can I…?” he asked, gesturing toward the door.

Aldara let out a weary sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine, go,” he muttered, waving him off.

Mel didn’t wait for further permission. He bolted toward the nearest window, threw it open, and leapt out, flying with the wind like a rolling cloud.

“Wait! Take your gate—ah, shoot, he already left,” King Aldara groaned, slumping back into his chair, his regal composure slipping into pure exasperation. “Why does no one in this kingdom follow protocol?”

“So… what are we going to do, sir?” Amara asked softly, clutching the fabric of her skirt as if grounding herself in the tense silence.

King Aldara leaned back in his chair, tapping his finger thoughtfully against his chin. Mark’s words echoed in his mind, sharp and biting. And then Shenelle’s voice followed—her concerns had been eerily similar. Why are you using kids to protect the kingdom?

His gaze drifted over the students, their eager yet uncertain faces watching him for guidance. After a long pause, he exhaled heavily.

“You know what?” he said, his voice firm but weary. “Just… stay in school. That’s an order.”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words sinking in. It wasn’t the answer they expected, but it was the one he gave.