In Rue’s room, Mel lay sprawled on the floor, exhausted and gasping for breath. “I’m so tired,” he muttered weakly.

Rue glanced over her shoulder, pushing her goggles up onto her forehead with a sigh. “Just tell me what you were up to last night,” she said, her tone carrying a mix of curiosity and frustration.

Mel shook his head, his voice strained. “I can’t… not right now.”

Rue swiveled her chair around to face him fully, her expression tightening. “Well, now I’m kind of annoyed,” she said with a playful yet pointed edge.

Mel forced himself to sit up, wincing as he moved. “Why?” he asked, though he already suspected the answer.

Rue crossed her arms and legs, her posture stiff with unspoken emotion. “It feels like we’ve drifted apart or something. You’re always making time for everyone else—your other friends, your missions—but us? We barely even talk anymore.” Her voice softened, though there was still a sharpness to her words. “I don’t want to sound like some jealous green-eyed monster, but… damn, Mel.”

Her words hung in the air, and Mel stared down at his fingers, the silence stretching between them as he searched for the right response. Finally, he sighed and spoke, his voice heavy with guilt. “I’m sorry. I know I haven’t been there for you like I should, but… it’s just so much right now. So many questions, so many answers I’m not ready for. Merlin’s past is creeping up on me, and trying to deal with Dorian, trying to bring him back—it’s all just… too much.” His fingers fidgeted, rubbing against each other as if trying to ground himself.

Rue’s hardened expression softened, her usual playful irritation melting into quiet understanding. She got up from her chair and moved to him, kneeling down before pulling him into a hug. “Maybe it’s because you don’t have to protect me anymore,” she murmured, her voice tinged with vulnerability. “Maybe that’s why you don’t talk to me as much.”

Mel froze for a moment, her words hitting deeper than he expected. “Rue, it’s not like that,” he began, his voice trembling slightly. “You’ve always been more than someone I needed to protect. You’re… you’re my friend. My closest friend. It’s not about needing to protect you—it’s about me being so tangled in everything else that I forgot to lean on the people who matter.”

Rue pulled back just enough to look at him, her green cybernetic eye glowing faintly as her gaze locked with his. “Well, if that’s true, then start leaning on me. I’m still here, Mel. I always will be. But you’ve gotta let me in, or I’ll end up feeling like just another stranger in your life.”

Mel’s lips quirked into a faint smile, though the weight of her words pressed on his chest. “You’re right. I’ve been shutting you out, and I didn’t even realize it. I don’t want you to feel that way, Rue. You’re… you’re one of the few people I can trust.”

Rue smirked softly, her usual mischievous energy creeping back into her voice. “Damn right I am. So, let me help. Whatever this mess is with Merlin’s past, Dorian, or anything else—tell me. Let me carry some of that weight.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Mel felt a glimmer of relief. “Thanks, Rue,” he said quietly, his voice sincere.

“Don’t thank me yet,” she teased, ruffling his hair. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do. And next time, don’t make me guilt you into talking. Deal?”

Mel chuckled softly, the tension between them easing. “Deal.”

In Mel’s dorm, Rue’s eyes immediately narrowed at the sight of Bimoth lounging on the couch. Her growl was low but unmistakable. “What the hell is he doing here?” she snapped, her voice sharp with irritation as she turned to Mel.

Mel fidgeted nervously, rubbing his hands together as he tried to calm her down. “You told me to explain everything,” he stammered, his tone pleading.

Bimoth sat up from his casual slouch, giving a small, awkward wave. “Hey, Rue,” he said, his voice subdued. He glanced away, avoiding her piercing gaze.

Rue’s arms crossed tightly over her chest, her cybernetic eye glowing faintly as she stared him down. “You’ve got some nerve showing up here after what happened,” she said icily.

Mel stepped in, holding his hands up defensively. “Look, I know you two had a... disagreement before the Ironclad incident,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “But Bimoth’s different now. He’s pure Atlantis—completely loyal.”

Rue’s brow arched skeptically, but she didn’t respond right away. Instead, she studied Bimoth with an expression that was equal parts annoyance and curiosity. Finally, she exhaled through her nose and muttered, “Fine. Now what?”

Mel scratched the back of his head, glancing between the two of them. “Honestly, I thought we’d probably die fighting the kingdoms, had no hope that we’d get this far.”

Rue sighed and headed for the door. “I’m still not comfortable being with him, so, I’ll see you later, Mel.” She waved and left his dorm.

Mel lied on the bed and sighed. “That went bad,” He rubbed his face in defeat. “Aurora has lost many kings from a king killer going around.” He sighed and his black card buzzed and he checked it and groaned as he got a text. “What?” Bimoth asked and Mel shook his head. “I’ll be back, don’t leave.” Mel responded and Bimoth nodded.

In the outskirts of Auroria Dominion, under the soft glow of moonlight, Melanthius walked along a quiet path until he spotted Donatello standing still, his face illuminated in the silvery light.

"Melanthius," Donatello greeted, his voice calm yet inquisitive. "How have you been?"

Mel approached slowly, his hands slipping into his pockets. "I’ve been better," he admitted with a faint shrug.

Donatello wordlessly handed Mel a stack of newspapers, his expression unreadable. “So... you’re Fox Bearrington,” he said with a sharp edge to his tone. “I don’t know if you remember, but I specifically told you to defeat Gluttony, not Lust. Are you not interested in finding the answers you so desperately seek?”

Mel let out a tired sigh and sat down on the grassy floor, leaning back slightly to stare up at the sky. "That depends," he replied casually. "Why’d you steal the Lady of the Lake artifact?"

For the first time, Donatello’s stoic expression faltered, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. “How did you know about that?” he asked, his voice quieter but no less intense.

Mel smirked faintly, his eyes not leaving the stars. “During the intruder incident, they said I stepped on Draven’s head,” he began, turning his gaze toward Donatello. “But here’s the thing—I’m not that light. You, on the other hand? You’re just skinny enough to pull that off.”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Donatello’s gaze drifted upward, his composure returning as he looked to the stars, avoiding Mel’s eyes.

Mel chuckled suddenly, the sound cutting through the tension. “I was lying,” he said with a sly grin. “I just wanted to see if you’d admit it. Who else would be smart enough to steal from the school right after asking me to take down Gluttony?”

Donatello’s lips pressed into a thin line, but his silence was telling. The moonlight gleamed off his profile, and for a moment, neither of them said anything, the quiet night settling around them.

"Enough of your cryptic appearances," Mel snapped, his tone darker than usual. His piercing gaze locked on Donatello. "Tell me everything. Not just scraps—everything. I don’t want to keep chasing a ghost.”

Donatello exhaled softly, closing his eyes as though gathering his thoughts. He tilted his head upward, moonlight casting faint shadows on his face. “I can’t give you my whole backstory,” he said finally, his voice calm but distant. “I’m not the one who should tell that tale. But I’ll share something.”

He paused, as if weighing his words carefully. “After the humiliating defeat your father handed us, things fell apart. My sister, Leonardo, went into hiding. She vanished completely—no trace, no word. Our eldest brother, Raphael? He lost it. Went into a blind rage and conquered a kingdom, carving out his own twisted legacy. Then there’s Michelangelo.”

Donatello’s voice hardened, though his expression remained composed. “One day, he came to me and said he wanted to kill me. No explanation, no pretense. Just kill me. I didn’t understand, so I let him win—let him go through with it—just to figure out why. He killed me, and for his trouble, he ended up in prison. Now I know the reason, but of course, I’m not telling you, Melanthius.”

Mel’s jaw tightened, but he gave a small nod, silently urging Donatello to continue.

Donatello’s gaze shifted to the horizon. “Let me clue you in on something you probably already suspect,” he said, his tone quieter but sharper, like a blade drawn in the dark. “Nobody likes wizards. At least, nobody from the old generation. That’s why wizards vanish, Mel. That’s why they hide. It’s not fear of their power—it’s fear of what people think they represent.”

Mel nodded again, his usual sharp retort replaced by a somber understanding.

Donatello turned and walked toward the edge of the water. The moment his foot touched the surface, his form began to dissipate into shimmering air. He glanced back over his shoulder, his voice lingering in the space between them.

“Slow down, Melanthius,” he said simply before vanishing entirely, leaving Mel alone under the moonlit sky, lost in thought.

Suddenly, Logan emerged from the Blades’ ship, his boots crunching against the grass as he stopped about ten feet away from Mel. His glare was sharp, eyes narrowing at the sight of Mel standing there with his hands casually stuffed in his pockets.

"Why are you here?" Logan’s voice was laced with irritation. "Do you need something... Captain?" He spat the title with venomous sarcasm.

Mel barely glanced his way, the faint breeze rustling his hair. "I was just enjoying the breeze," he replied evenly, his tone calm but distant.

Logan wasn’t having it. He marched up to Mel, his posture stiff and confrontational. “Look,” he growled, jabbing a finger in Mel’s direction, “I don’t care what my parents say—you’re not my leader. My sister might have a thing for you, but let’s face it, she’s a masochist. She’d like anyone who kicks up enough drama.”

Mel didn’t react, his expression unreadable as Logan kept his tirade going.

“And you?” Logan jabbed a finger at Mel’s chest but stopped short, his voice dripping with disdain. “You’re just trying to ruin the Blades and the Blunts by forcing them together. Playing king. Trying to be like your daddy.” Logan sneered and leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a mocking whisper.

"You’ll never be a leader."

He tapped Mel’s forehead condescendingly before stepping back, his smirk daring Mel to respond. The breeze stilled for a moment, tension thick in the air as Mel finally lifted his gaze, meeting Logan’s with a calm intensity that carried more weight than any words.

Mel clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding softly as his fingers curled into fists. The subtle crack of his knuckles echoed in the still air, but instead of lashing out, he exhaled a sharp sigh and turned on his heel.

Without sparing Logan another glance, he started walking away. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder, his voice calm yet resolute. “I’ll ask Mark if he’ll feast with me.”

With that, Mel leapt effortlessly into the air, his movements fluid as he soared toward Solstice City, leaving Logan standing in his wake.

The next morning, Mel sat aboard one of the Blunts’ boats, flanked by Mark and Yasmine. Lucy was seated beside Yasmine, while Logan sat beside Mark. The long table stretched between them, with the Blades on one side and the Blunts on the other, sharing a tense but civil meal. At the head of the table, Mel surveyed the scene, his orange juice in hand.

“How was your tour?” he asked, directing the question to Yasmine, who took a sip of her drink.

“It was nice,” she replied. “Auroria Dominion has some truly fantastic cities.”

A Blunt member approached and offered Mel a drink, but he declined with a polite shake of his head. “No, I’m fine with my juice. Alcohol isn’t good for me…and I’m underage.” His tone was respectful yet firm.

Logan snorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Too young to rule a kingdom and hold a gate.” He sipped his drink as Mark gave him a nudge, and Lucy rolled her eyes at his remark.

Lucy leaned forward, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “Captain, have you heard of this ‘Fox Bearrington’? Word is, he took down an entire kingdom.” Her tone was mockingly sweet, but her sharp gaze was fixed on Mel.

Mel nervously sipped his orange juice, avoiding her gaze. “I had no idea,” he chuckled weakly.

Lucy smirked. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

Mel choked on his drink, coughing violently. “How’d you know?!” he stammered, his eyes wide with alarm.

Lucy crossed her arms, clearly amused. “Because the same people you told me to block from entering Auroria mentioned wanting revenge on you. They were from the kingdom that got taken down, and, oh so coincidentally, you just happened to be there at the time.”

Mel let out a long sigh, slumping slightly in his seat. “Alright, fine. You got me.” His tone was defeated, but a faint, wry smile tugged at his lips.

“Do we have to start knocking heads in?” Mark asked, his voice low but charged with intent.

Mel shook his head, his tone calm but firm. “No. As long as they don’t know it’s me, it’s fine. The last thing we need is more chaos.”

Mark nodded reluctantly, leaning back in his seat, but his gaze swept the room, keeping a careful eye on the Blades and their captain, Logan.

Across the gathering, Logan stood with his arms crossed, glaring at Mel from the shadows of the boat’s deck. Mel, oblivious to the scrutiny, was chatting easily with others, his hands in his pockets, a relaxed but unshakably confident posture.

Logan’s jaw tightened as he watched him. His entire life had been a straight path toward leadership—born into the Blades, raised on their principles, and molded by Mark himself. Logan had been told for as long as he could remember that one day he and his sister Lucy would lead the Blades and the Blunts together, uniting the factions as one. It was his destiny.

Then came the phone call.

Mark had stepped aside one evening to take a call from Anita, and when he returned, everything changed. Merlin’s son—the infamous Melanthius—was out of Caldara Bastille. Mark had tried to keep a steady face when he broke the news to Logan, but Logan could feel the subtle shift. It wasn’t long before the whispers began: Merlin’s son was out, and Mark wasn’t training Logan anymore. He was preparing Mel.

Logan’s nonchalant facade never cracked. He smiled in all the right places, barked orders when necessary, and kept his edge in combat. But beneath the surface, unspoken rage seethed. He took it out on Lance. Yet the anger was eating Logan alive. Seeing Mel standing there, casually talking as though he belonged—like he was one of them—made Logan’s blood boil. Who does he think he is?

His fists clenched tightly, his knuckles turning white. The sight of Mel laughing with others was unbearable. To Logan, it wasn’t just an insult; it was a challenge.

Logan took a deep breath and walked toward the gathering. His eyes burned with quiet fury, but his voice was steady when he finally spoke.

“Enjoying yourself, Mel?” he asked, his tone laced with mockery.

“Yeah,” Mel said with a calm smile, his tone light and unbothered. Logan, however, took a slow sip of his drink, his piercing gaze fixed on Mel, unwavering and unreadable.