Meanwhile, in the Kingdom of Wrath—one of the Seven Deadly Kingdoms—Nomak and the former Renaissance King, Leonardo, sat in their modest, dimly lit hut. The scent of sizzling food filled the small space as Nomak stood over a battered stove, cooking with quiet focus. Across the room, Leo sat perched on a creaky bed, her striking blue hair catching the faint light like shards of sapphire.

“Nomak, honey,” she began, her tone light but teasing. “I’m going out for a run.” She stretched lazily, her towering figure nearly brushing the low ceiling.

Nomak turned toward her with a spatula still in hand, his perpetually gloomy expression settling into one of mild exasperation. “No,” he said flatly, his voice as heavy as the rainclouds that always seemed to hang over Wrath. “You have to stay in hiding.”

Leo blinked at him, her jaw dropping in exaggerated shock. “What if I wear a hat?” she countered, half-serious, half-mocking, as she stood up and spread her arms like a showman.

Nomak didn’t budge. He shook his head firmly, his long dark hair framing his tired but resolute face. “No,” he repeated, his tone like iron. “You’ve got the same reckless fighting spirit as your damn brothers. If you step out there, it won’t take long for someone to notice you.”

Leo threw her hands up, genuinely flabbergasted. “Come on! I’ll be careful!”

Nomak stepped closer, pointing the spatula at her like it was a weapon of authority. “Whatever it is you need, I’ll get it for you later,” he said with finality, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Leo groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the bed with an exaggerated sigh. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, but the small grin on her lips betrayed her amusement.

“And you’re impossible to keep out of trouble,” Nomak replied, turning back to the stove. “So sit tight, Your Majesty.”

“Fine,” Leo muttered, grabbing a nearby newspaper and flipping it open. Her eyes scanned the headlines until they landed on one that made her pause. “Whoa. The Punarean Kingdom was disbanded,” she said, her tone shifting to curiosity. Her sapphire eyes narrowed as she read further. “It’s like a ghost town now. King Nathan has vanished without a trace, and so has his son. Apparently, the knights said some man in a fox costume was behind it. A new vigilante, maybe?” She chuckled and tossed the paper aside, reclining back onto the bed. “The bastard must be one reckless fool to go after one of Lust’s territories.” Her laugh echoed in the small hut, sharp and amused.

Meanwhile, in Arcanum, the school buzzed with restless energy. Anxiety hung heavy in the air as students crowded around a bulletin board plastered with midterm scores.

Arid leaned lazily against the wall, watching the scene unfold with a resigned sigh. “Midterms just passed, and everyone’s panicking like they’ve already failed. Classic,” he muttered.

Standing beside him, Mel scanned the scoreboard, his eyes suddenly bulging. “GOOD GODS! TERRENCE GOT THE LOWEST SCORE?! A PERFECT ZERO OUT OF ONE HUNDRED?!” he yelled, pointing at the very bottom of the list.

Arid raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You’ve gotta be a special kind of smart dumbass to get a perfect nothing,” he said bluntly. “Did he even bother to put his name?”

Mel groaned, shaking his head. “I swear, this school is a circus.”

Behind them, murmurs of disbelief and suppressed laughter rippled through the crowd of students. Even in the tension of exams, Arcanum’s unpredictable energy never failed to deliver.

“Nice, I got a perfect score,” Rue said with a smug grin, her emerald eyes glinting as she spotted her name at the top of the list. She tapped Mel’s shoulder, her expression quickly shifting to one of disbelief. “Wait a second—how’d you get an 80?! We studied all night!”

She scolded him and smacked his arm, her voice carrying a mix of irritation and disbelief.

“Ow!” Mel winced, rubbing his arm as he shot her a defensive look. “Lucy made me spar all week, okay? I was exhausted! Besides, an 80 is a B, so it’s fine!”

Rue crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “You can’t just brush it off like that. All that cramming for you to barely scrape a B?”

“Hey!” Mel huffed, still rubbing his sore spots. “It’s not barely. An 80 is solid! And in my defense, you weren’t the one dodging punches all week.”

Rue sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “Excuses, excuses.” But despite her words, the corner of her mouth tugged into a small, teasing smirk.

“He’s finally arguing back with me,” Rue thought, a mixture of surprise and amusement flashing across her face. “When did that happen?” A small, excited squeal escaped her as the realization hit her. “He actually feels like a real teenager now!” she mused, unable to stop the grin creeping onto her face.

Her thoughts spiraled, and she frowned slightly. Ugh, what is going on with me? Why am I so weirdly happy about this? She shook her head, trying to dismiss the strange warmth bubbling up inside her.

“But seriously,” she admitted to herself, “he’s definitely changed. Whatever happened while he was gone... It made him different. Better.”

Mel stared at the scoreboard, his eye twitching as a bitter smile stretched across his face. A vein pulsed visibly on his forehead. “I’m the only one who didn’t get a perfect score?!” he muttered through gritted teeth, his frustration barely contained.

"Maybe not better, but... more emotion," Rue thought, her gaze drifting over the others.

Elowen crossed her arms. "Now that midterms are over, I guess that means Laurel, Emrys, and Kali will start promoting their school dance."

"Too late!" Emrys called from across the room, a grin forming on her face.

Laurel's psychic magic flared, lifting a poster that hovered before her, as she focused. With a wave of her hand, the words The Celestial Masquerade etched themselves onto the poster. Emrys, with a flick of her fingers, ignited a spark of flame magic that danced across the lettering, leaving a shimmering trail behind it. Kali, ever the dramatic, summoned ten clones of herself, all of them speaking in synchronized harmony.

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"The Celestial Masquerade is a ball we’re hosting," they said in unison. "Every night on the fifteenth, the stars shoot out and intersect into X’s."

Mel rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Back in Caldara, I always thought the stars were fighting or something," he muttered to himself.

“The theme is celestial bodies—wear something shiny!” Laurel announced with a bright smile. The students immediately stampeded toward the three seniors, desperate for more details. Mel trailed behind his friends, joining the line to snag a flier.

“Whoa, celestial bodies? I’ll wear blue, like the raging lightning of Camelot!” Elowen declared with a chuckle, already envisioning her outfit. Rue rubbed the scales on her nose, glancing at Mel, who seemed entirely unaware of her subtle shift in mood.

“I’ll dress as the moon,” she said softly.

“Because Mel’s best friend as a kid was the moon?” Sera chimed in nonchalantly, picking at her ear.

“Shh!” Rue hissed, shooting her a glare, but Mel was too busy pondering aloud to notice.

“I wonder what I should wear! My first dance!” he said excitedly as they finally reached the front. Mel extended his hand eagerly for a flier, but his fingers met nothing but air. He tried again, only to realize Laurel wasn’t handing him one.

“You’re not invited,” she said bluntly, her smile fading into a firm expression.

“Why not?!” Mel snapped, his brows knitting together in frustration.

“Because every time you show up somewhere, someone gets beaten up—or worse, killed!” Laurel replied, her tone sharp.

“This is a leave-the-drama-at-home party, sorry,” Emrys added with a dismissive shrug.

“I just hate you with a passion,” Kali chimed in, her voice flat and unapologetic.

Mel threw his hands up in exasperation. “I understand Kali, but you two?! Seriously?” His glare shifted between Laurel and Emrys, frustration radiating off him.

Before he could say more, Caius, Lumi, and Sera stepped forward, each ripping their freshly acquired fliers in defiance. “If Mel isn’t invited, then we’re not going either,” Sera and Lumi declared in unison, their voices firm.

Mel’s stern expression softened as he turned to them. “No,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “You three have never experienced a dance before. You’re going.”

“But Mel—” Lumi began, only for him to interrupt.

“No buts.” His tone left no room for argument. He turned back to the three seniors, his jaw tightening. “This isn’t over!”

Laurel, Emrys, and Kali stood unbothered, arms crossed as they stared him down. “We have fliers to hand out,” Laurel said dismissively, turning away.

Mel’s lips curled into a dangerous smirk, the faint twitch of a vein appearing on his forehead. “So do I,” he muttered under his breath, his defiance simmering just below the surface.

Rue, watching from the sidelines, shivered slightly at the sight of Mel’s determined expression. “Y-Yeah… too much emotion,” she muttered, feeling a mix of admiration and unease.

Moments later, in the bustling school field where students were engaged in aerial sword fighting, chatting in clusters, or sneaking kisses with their significant others, Mel sprang into action. Using his web magic, he conjured an enormous, shimmering poster that stretched across the sky. The bold letters glistened as they read: "Come to the Atlantis Ball!"

But he wasn’t done. With a flick of his wrist, Mel created silken enforcers—web-crafted figures resembling himself. Each moved with uncanny precision, their glossy, webbed forms darting through the crowd. They handed out intricately webbed fliers, each sparkling in the sunlight like dew-kissed threads, urging everyone to attend.

The students paused to marvel at the display. Some laughed, others cheered, and even the couples broke apart, their curiosity piqued by the spectacle. If the seniors wanted to keep him out of their dance, Mel was determined to make his own unforgettable.

“They should seriously lock him up,” Arid muttered, shaking his head in disbelief as he stood next to Elowen, who casually munched on popcorn. “I’m telling you, a white padded room—preferably soundproof—so he doesn’t end up hurting himself.”

Rue approached them with a soft smile. “I think it’s sweet that he wants to throw a ball.” Her eyes glimmered with amusement as she spoke.

Arid reached over to grab some popcorn, smirking. “You think everything Mel does is sweet,” he teased, earning a snicker from Elowen.

Rue’s expression darkened as green flames flickered from her nose. “Careful, Arid,” she warned, her tone light but the threat unmistakable.

“Guys!” Mel swooped down and landed in front of them with an exaggerated grin. “I handed out a ton of fliers! So many people are excited about our ball! Way more than the party hosted by those unnamable individuals.” He threw a theatrical glare over his shoulder at Laurel, Kali, and Emrys, who were conveniently just six feet away. “Or should I say… Maurel, Mali, and Memrys,” he added with a sneer.

The three seniors turned to him briefly, exchanged a bored shrug, and went back to their conversation.

Mel huffed and took off again, muttering to himself as he disappeared into the air. Rue watched him go, shaking her head with an amused smile. “You know what? Maybe we should add a straitjacket,” she quipped, chuckling along with Elowen and Arid.

Anita and Mel strolled through the school corridors as Mel stuck his silk-thread fliers on the walls, each adorned with details about the ball. “Okay,” Anita began, glancing at her clipboard while jotting notes, “so where’s this party actually going to be hosted? I mean, Atlantis is a kingdom, sure, but it’s tiny. It’s even within Auroria’s territory, and let’s be real—nobody really visits it.”

Mel paused mid-motion, his brow furrowed as the thought settled in. “Shoot, you’re right. Plus, the Atlanteans hate tourists,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his head. His mind churned, clearly working on a solution.

"Yeah, that's Henry's ex," someone whispered.

"She ditched a prince and ran to the next king? Damn, maybe I should take my shot."

"She's ridiculously easy."

The hushed murmurs snaked through the corridor, dripping with mockery. A group of white-card seniors snickered amongst themselves, their pathetic confidence oozing from every word.

Anita tightened her grip on her clipboard, pressing it to her chest as a heavy sigh escaped her. "I can live with this," she thought bitterly. "This is my karma for running away."

Suddenly, Mel’s voice sliced through the whispers like a blade. “Shut your mouths, you idiots,” he said, his tone casual but cutting. He continued sticking fliers to the wall with his webs, as though their words weren’t worth his full attention.

He turned his gaze toward the group, his expression sharp. “Anita isn’t easy, and who says she’d ever lower her standards to date you of all people?” The white-card seniors immediately looked down, their confidence crumbling under his words.

Mel smirked, adding with a tone that carried both levity and an undercurrent of warning, “And if I hear that again, I’ll sic my kraken on you.”

The threat was ridiculous, almost childish, but the seriousness in his voice left no room for argument. The group scattered, muttering apologies as Mel went back to webbing his fliers like nothing had happened.