In the yard of Arcanum High, Mel spotted Elowen unleashing her fury on a boulder. She punched, kicked, and delivered precise combos, her strikes reverberating through the air. The boulder regenerated with each hit, unyielding to her relentless assault.

Mel approached casually, hands in his pockets. “You planning to keep punching that boulder, or are you waiting for a real sparring partner?” he teased, a chuckle escaping his lips. Without waiting for an answer, he caught her wrist mid-swing and gently guided her toward an open patch in the field.

“Mel, I’m really not in the mood for this,” she growled, yanking her arm back before turning to the boulder and landing another crushing blow. The stone shattered, only to reform seconds later.

Mel let out a soft sigh, his eyes steady on her. “Is this about the statue? Why does it matter so much?”

Elowen froze for a moment, her hands clenching at her sides. She pulled back slightly, her shoulders tense. “If that statue is taken,” she began, her voice uneven, “then all of Camelot’s history is taken with it. And my brother, King Liam... he’ll interfere. He’ll either come here or do something terrible to me.”

Her words spilled out in a frantic rush, and Mel loosened his hold on her, his expression softening. “Elowen...” he started, his voice low with concern, but she quickly turned away, punching the boulder again as if trying to bury her fears in its endless regeneration.

“I’m just so scared of him,” Elowen admitted, her fists trembling as she clenched them tightly. Her words carried a weight that made Mel pause.

He thought back to the summit, the moment etched in his memory like a scar. “I remember when I saved Amara,” he began, his voice steady but thoughtful. “His aura was... intimidating. When he walked into that room and sat down, it wasn’t just confidence—it was like the air itself shifted around him. He didn’t need to say a word, didn’t need to make a move. I know Bimoth did the same thing, but when the fight broke out, your brother just sat there. It was as if he was silently declaring, ‘Nobody could beat me.’”

Mel’s words hung in the air, heavy with the memory of that encounter. Elowen sighed deeply and leaned back against the regenerating boulder, her eyes distant. “It’s so bizarre,” Mel added softly, watching her closely. She looked lost in thought, her fear of her brother mingling with the weight of the situation.

“That’s the man who killed King Arthur—my father. And it was before I was even born,” Elowen said quietly, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and sorrow. She let out a long sigh, her eyes meeting Mel’s, where she saw a faint trace of sadness. She forced a weak smile, determined to steer the conversation away from her pain.

“But enough about my backstory…” Elowen trailed off, her mind racing for a distraction. Her face suddenly lit with panic. “So, uh, what’s something you experienced as a child? And PLEASE, for the love of everything holy, don’t bring up anything about Goldman!”

Mel sighed, leaning his head back as he thought for a moment. “Hmm…” He absentmindedly bit his fingernail before snapping his fingers. “Oh, right! I had a wife when I was six years old,” he said, his tone completely nonchalant.

Elowen’s eyebrows shot up so fast they almost disappeared into her hairline. “What?! Don’t just drop something like that out of nowhere! What the hell are you even talking about?” she exclaimed, her disbelief clear.

Mel shrugged as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. “Let me explain,” he said, his voice calm.

Flashback

A six-year-old Melanthius sat in the dim light of his cell, a small, battered figure cloaked in an oversized robe. His body was a roadmap of pain, covered in cuts, bruises, bites, and other marks of cruelty. Around his neck, a golden chain gleamed dully, binding him to his grim reality.

Huddled in the corner, Mel clutched a piece of bread in his trembling hands. His small fingers clawed futilely at the chain, but he gave up with a sigh, his energy depleted. Turning his eyes to the barred window high above, he tilted his head curiously.

“Are you lonely up there too, Mr. Moon?” he asked softly, his voice full of innocence. His big, tired eyes reflected the pale glow of the moonlight streaming into his cell.

With a gentle motion, he tore off a small piece of bread and tossed it toward the window, watching as it landed just below the bars. “Here,” he said, a hint of a smile on his dirt-smudged face. “We can share.”

He chewed the bread slowly, his mind painting a comforting picture of companionship. To young Mel, the moon wasn’t just a celestial body—it was a friend, silent and constant, sharing his solitary meal in the dark.

Young Mel pulled out a tiny, tattered book from under his oversized robe, its worn cover bearing faint, gold-embossed letters that he couldn't quite understand. He traced his fingers over the title and frowned. “Why did my evil father give me this book?” he muttered, his voice filled with both suspicion and curiosity.

Opening the book, he squinted at the unfamiliar letters and started to read aloud, his voice soft but determined. “Okay… I’ll try to sound this word out… m-a? No, wait, m-e-l-a-n-t-h-i-u-s,” he said slowly, his brow furrowing in concentration.

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The poor boy, who had taught himself to read and write in the loneliness of his cell, tilted his head in frustration. “Meladditty? That doesn’t make any sense, Mr. Moon,” he said, glancing up at the shining orb outside his barred window for silent reassurance.

Taking a deep breath, he tried again, carefully sounding out each letter. “Mel-an-thi-us,” he whispered, and then his eyes lit up with recognition. “Melanthius!”

He sat back, his small smile trembling with pride. “So… he did leave it for me,” he said softly, his tone a mix of surprise and bitterness.

Chewing on his bread, Mel turned the pages of the book, his young mind absorbing its secrets as he read under the quiet light of the moon, his one steadfast companion in the darkness.

The guard standing in front of Mel’s cell rapped on the iron bars. “Inmate 0, it’s time for lunch!” he called out in a gruff voice.

Mel stood up slowly, brushing crumbs off his oversized robe, and walked toward the cell door. The guard pressed a button, and with a faint hum, the golden chain around Mel’s neck vanished. Three guards immediately flanked him, their spears held unnervingly close to his small frame, their sharp tips pointed at his throat.

Despite the tension, Mel’s face remained calm, almost serene. “Is there phoenix soup today?” he asked, his tone light and childlike. “They always put onions in mine, but… the onions hurt my tummy.” He rubbed his stomach, his voice carrying an innocence that seemed heartbreakingly out of place in the cold, harsh prison halls.

The guards exchanged uneasy glances, their grip on their spears tightening. One of them turned his head away, struggling to hold back tears. He couldn’t bear the sight of such a young, fragile boy being treated like a dangerous criminal, locked away in a place no child should ever know.

But they said nothing. Silence followed Mel as his small footsteps echoed down the dimly lit corridor, a reminder of the injustice they were all powerless to change.

Mel sat at the cafeteria table, carefully picking the onions out of his soup. “Ow, it’s hot!” he yelped, sticking his thumb in his mouth to soothe the burn. He slurped the soup cautiously before his attention was drawn to the hallway. A large man strode purposefully toward the main office of Caldara Bastille, followed by a young girl.

Mel blinked in surprise—he had never seen a girl before, especially one his own age. The girl, skipping lightly, eventually made her way into the cafeteria, her smile lighting up the dim room.

“Hello!” she chirped, waving enthusiastically.

One of the guards smiled warmly. “Hello, little one. You shouldn’t be wandering around here.” He picked her up playfully, but the girl giggled and wriggled in his grasp.

“I’m way too big for that now!” she declared indignantly.

The guard chuckled and apologized, setting her back down. With a skip and a hop, the girl approached Mel, who was staring at her as if she were some strange, otherworldly being.

“Uh, hello?” she said, tilting her head.

Mel nodded slowly, his wide purple eyes fixed on her. “Are you… the moon?” he asked innocently.

The girl’s cheeks flushed for reasons she didn’t quite understand, and she puffed her chest. “I’m not the moon!” she yelled, making Mel flinch.

“I’m sorry,” Mel muttered, staring down at his soup. “You remind me of it. You’re so shiny.”

The girl gasped, clutching her chest as if her heart couldn’t handle the comment. “I-I’m Althara,” she stammered. “My father’s here looking for a job. We’re, um… lower class.”

Mel’s brow furrowed in thought. “I’m Melanthius. Call me Mel. My father was Merlin Shadowbane.”

Althara’s eyes widened in horror. “A-as in the overlord who conquered multiple kingdoms?!”

Mel nodded, unfazed, and slurped his soup.

“Melanthius Shadowbane…” Althara repeated as if tasting the weight of his name. Without warning, she climbed onto the table and sat down in front of him, utterly ignoring the stares of the guards. “From today on, me and you are together!”

Mel tilted his head, confused. “Together?”

“Yes!” she declared with absolute conviction. “My father always says the best relationships are long distance… well, I think that’s what he meant.”

Mel nodded, still unsure what she was talking about. “Okay.”

Grinning, Althara wrapped a rubber band she’d found on the floor around her fingers like a makeshift ring. “From now on, I’m Althara Shadowbane! You may now kiss the bride!”

Before anything else could happen, the large man from earlier stormed into the cafeteria, his face twisted in fury. He grabbed Melanthius by the back of his head and slammed his face into the table. “You criminal bastard!” the man snarled, kicking Mel in the stomach.

Mel coughed and gagged but said nothing. The guards stood motionless, their faces grim but detached.

“You dare talk to my daughter?!” the man spat, delivering another vicious kick to the small boy. “Your father destroyed half my kingdom, and now you think you can speak to her?!”

Mel’s small frame crumpled under the blows, his vision fading as his eyes rolled back. Outside, the sky darkened, and thunder rumbled ominously. A bolt of black lightning struck Caldara Bastille, briefly illuminating the grim scene inside.

“Stop, Daddy!” Althara cried, throwing herself between her father and Mel.

The man shoved her aside. “Move, Althara! Nobody’s going to save this damned kid—not the guards, not anyone! Nobody here likes him!” He raised his foot for another kick when a deafening crack of thunder echoed through the room.

Mel’s eyes shot open, glowing faintly purple. His small voice trembled as he begged, “Please… stop.”

The prison warden and a young Caldric suddenly appeared at the doorway. “That’s enough,” the warden said firmly, his voice sharp as steel. “We don’t have a job for you.”

The man glared but bowed stiffly. “Yes, sir.” He yanked Althara by the arm and dragged her toward the exit.

Althara bit her lip, glancing back at Mel’s battered form lying motionless on the floor. Tears welled in her eyes as she clutched the rubber band tightly. “Is he always like this? He’s just a kid!” she whispered before disappearing with her father.

Present Day

“And that’s the story,” Mel sighed, finishing his tale.

Around him, the yard was silent, every student hanging on his every word. Some were crying openly, while others munched on popcorn as if watching a dramatic play unfold.

Elowen, however, wasted no time. She wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace, tears streaming down her face. “Mel… that’s awful,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion.

Mel scratched the back of his head awkwardly, not used to the sympathy. “It was a long time ago,” he said softly, his tone trying—and failing—to brush it off.