Mel peeked over her shoulder, his wide eyes darting between the two opposing parties. “Well, this is cozy,” he muttered under his breath.

King Aldara’s sharp voice cut through the tension like a blade. “You two?! Get back inside this instant!” he barked, his glare fierce enough to command obedience—or so he thought.

King Liam of Camelot chuckled, the sound grating and condescending. He rubbed his chin as he turned to Elowen. “Well, well, little Ellie. I meant to give you something for your birthday, but I guess I forgot,” he said mockingly, his smirk widening.

Elowen’s breaths came sharp and heavy as she bit her lip, struggling to contain her fury. Mel, still perched awkwardly on her back, peeked out just enough to see Liam’s sneering face.

“Uhh, King Liam, sir,” Mel stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe it’s best if you don’t, uh…provoke her?”

Liam’s piercing gaze shifted to Mel, his smirk never wavering. “Ah, you must be King Melanthius Shadowbane!” he declared, emphasizing the title with dripping sarcasm. “I saw your little display at Bloodthorn’s summit. Not bad, not bad at all. Though, let’s be honest, you’re nowhere near your father’s level. Are you here to join this… kingly meeting of ours?” His tone was condescending, every word laced with mockery.

Mel held up his hands, trying to defuse the situation. “Actually, I’m here to stop your sister from popping a blood vessel,” he said, his voice steady but cautious.

Liam’s smirk deepened as he turned his attention back to Elowen. “Damn, Ellie, you’re friends with our father’s sworn enemy’s son? The same overlord our father struck down? Gotta say, you’re handling him well—seeing as he’s clinging to you like a lost puppy.” His laugh was cold and cruel, echoing in the tense silence.

Mel’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as Liam’s words hit their mark. Sensing the shift, Liam doubled down. “It won’t be long before you two follow the same path, will it? King Mel, destined to become an evil overlord just like his daddy, and my sister, forced to take him down. It’s practically written in the stars,” he sneered.

Mel slid off Elowen’s back, his movements slow and deliberate. His jaw tightened, fury simmering just beneath the surface.

Liam rolled his shoulders, feigning a casual demeanor as his grin turned savage. “Now that I think about it, you’ve already conquered Atlantis. What’s next, little demonspawn? Auroria Dominion? Let’s face it, they should’ve let you rot in Caldara.” He laughed, his troops joining in, their jeers a chorus of mockery.

Mel’s growl was low, primal, and full of barely restrained anger as he took a step forward, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. The air seemed to crackle with the weight of what was about to unfold.

The tension in the air thickened as King Percival cleared his throat, his commanding presence trying to steady the uneasy atmosphere. “King Liam, about your… unexpected visit,” he began, his tone measured but edged with irritation. “A heads-up—perhaps a call—would’ve been appreciated.”

King Liam casually adjusted his tie, the motion deliberate, as if he relished dragging out the moment. “The direct approach, Percival, is the best approach,” he replied, his voice carrying an air of smug confidence. Leaning lazily against his horse, he shot a piercing gaze at Percival. “All I want to know is… why did you let the Lady of the Lake artifact get stolen?” His words were calm but laced with venom, the subtle accusation cutting deep.

Percival sighed, the weight of leadership visible in his posture as he clasped his hands behind his back. “I assure you, King Liam, that was an unfortunate mistake. Someone managed to bypass our security. It was never our intention—”

“I’m not here for your bullshit excuses, Percival,” Liam interrupted sharply, his voice darkening as his smirk faded into a cold glare.

Percival’s jaw tightened, but he kept his composure. “Then what is it that you want?” he asked evenly, though the strain in his voice was apparent.

Liam’s smirk returned, sharper this time, a predatory gleam in his eyes. “Collateral damage,” he said, his voice smooth and icy. “I entrusted you with something precious, something irreplaceable—and you failed me. It was stolen right from under your nose.” He let the words hang in the air, his meaning crystal clear and undeniably threatening.

Percival’s expression hardened as he asked, “What kind of collateral damage are you talking about?”

Liam let out a low chuckle, the kind that sent a chill down the spine. “My sister,” he said coldly, the words slicing through the tense air like a blade.

Before anyone could react, one of Camelot’s knights lunged forward, throwing a devastating punch aimed directly at Elowen. The strike never landed. In the blink of an eye, Mel was there, his arm raised to block the attack. The force of the blow sent dust swirling around them, and when it cleared, all eyes were on Mel. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, a stark reminder of the strength even Camelot’s weakest knights possessed.

Mel spat to the side and wiped the blood from his lip, his sharp gaze locking onto Liam. “W-what do you mean?” he said, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and disbelief. “You see your own sister—your sweet little sister—as nothing more than collateral damage?”

He took a step forward, his tone turning sharper, more pointed. “How sick can a human being be? You look at her as a tool, a pawn to be sacrificed? And you have the audacity to call me demonspawn?”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth despite the blood, his defiance unwavering.

Elowen, who had been standing firm moments before, now lowered her gaze, avoiding Liam’s eyes. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, her silence speaking volumes as her brother’s cruelty settled over the scene like a storm cloud.

Liam arched an eyebrow, a sly smirk curling his lips. “Damn, talking to me like that? Bold, King Melanthius. But let’s be clear—I wasn’t addressing you. I was talking to King Percival.” His gaze flicked briefly to Percival, who lowered his head, unwilling to meet anyone’s eyes.

Liam’s expression hardened as he turned back to Mel. “Elowen belongs to me now. Step aside, King Melanthius. This doesn’t concern you.” His voice dripped with cold authority, as if the matter had already been decided.

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Mel’s stance didn’t waver. His eyes burned with resolve as he stood his ground. “I’ll die standing before I let you lay a hand on Elowen Pendragon,” he declared, his voice ringing with defiance. “She isn’t Camelot’s possession. She’s my shield.”

Without breaking eye contact, Mel bent down and picked up a sturdy stick from the ground, holding it firmly in his hands. He raised it like a sword, his grip steady, his posture unwavering. “And with this stick, I’ll take all of you out. Every last one of you.”

The audacity of his words hung in the air like a challenge etched in stone, daring anyone to step forward.

“I believe this meeting has concluded,” King Aldara said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “I’d kindly ask you to leave this kingdom.”

Liam let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head as if disappointed. “Ah, so you’ve chosen the hard way. Typical.” His gaze lingered on Mel, a chilling smirk playing at his lips. “No matter. I’ll be seeing you very soon… Melanthius.”

With a dramatic turn, Liam signaled to his knights, and the golden-armored troop marched away from the scene, their presence as ominous as their departure was deliberate. The tension in the air lingered long after they disappeared from sight.

After a moment of silence, Elowen's composure shattered as tears spilled freely down her cheeks. Without hesitation, she threw her arms around Mel’s neck, burying her face in his shoulder as sobs wracked her body. Mel wrapped her in a firm embrace, gently stroking her back. He let out a quiet sigh of relief, his tension melting away as he held her close, offering the comfort she so desperately needed.

King Percival growled, storming toward Mel and grabbing his collar with enough force to make the air tense. "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING, TALKING TO KING LIAM LIKE THAT?! WHERE ARE YOUR MANNERS, BOY?!" he bellowed, his voice reverberating through the courtyard.

Mel shoved Percival’s hand off, his fury igniting like a wildfire. "Manners? Was I supposed to just give him Elowen?! Is that what you wanted?!" he shouted, his voice steady but filled with outrage.

Percival’s face twisted, torn between anger and desperation. "You don’t understand what you’re dealing with! When King Liam wants something, he takes it—that’s how the world works! You’re just a teenage king, Mel! You don’t understand the stakes!"

Mel shook his head in disbelief, his tone biting. "Even Headmaster Thaddeus would’ve told Liam to leave the kingdom. I hated him, but he’d still make a better king than you."

Those words struck like a dagger. Percival’s composure cracked, and in a flash of rage and fear, his fist slammed into Mel’s face. Gasps erupted from the gathered crowd—wardens, Shenelle, and onlookers alike—as the scene unfolded in stunned silence.

Mel stumbled slightly, clutching his face. Slowly, his head lifted, and his eye locked onto Percival with a glare filled with betrayal and fury. Percival clenched his fists, trembling, before shutting his eyes tightly, as if willing himself to undo what he had done.

"I’m sorry, Melanthius," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "This is just... things you don’t—"

When he opened his eyes, his blood ran cold. Mel’s fist, now cloaked in a swirling, ominous cloud of energy, was aimed directly at Percival’s face. But before he could strike, the wardens sprang into action.

Benjamin’s blade was at Mel’s neck in an instant, shimmering with deadly intent. Chandler gripped Mel’s wrist in a vise-like hold, forcing it downward. Allynna pulled his hair back, her jaw tight with determination. Victoria stepped in, her spear leveled against Mel’s chest, unyielding. And Aegis stood face-to-face with Mel, his wand aimed directly at his temple, poised to cast.

Even Elowen intervened, wrapping her arms around Mel from behind. "Mel, please... don’t," she pleaded, her voice trembling with urgency.

Mel’s eyes, however, remained locked on Percival, burning with unspoken rage. They told a story louder than words: You’ve betrayed me.

A few days later, the news blared through the airwaves, displayed on an ultra-modern, holographic television that dominated the throne room. The screen floated mid-air, its edges shimmering faintly with energy. Images and text danced in three dimensions, so vivid and lifelike they seemed to extend beyond the confines of the room.

The holographic newscaster appeared, their face rendered with such precision it felt as though they stood among them. "This just in," their voice resonated crisply, "King Liam of Camelot has officially joined the fray as one of King Melanthius Shadowbane's growing list of enemies. Shadowbane has been in Atlantis for several days now, and speculation is rife—could King Percival Aldara also be counted among his adversaries?"

The images shifted fluidly, as though plucked from the air itself. A holographic replay materialized, showing the exact moment Percival struck Mel—crystal clear, every detail illuminated. Then came the next scene: Mel, held back by all five wardens, their forms glowing faintly with the magical energy of the capture.

The news anchor’s voice brimmed with incredulity as the image hovered and spun slowly. "They needed five wardens to restrain one teenager? And now the question arises: is King Percival the weakest ruler among the dominions? A sheep flanked by lions? Stay tuned for a special segment dissecting the dynamics of Atlantis under King Percival’s reign!"

Before the anchor could continue, a loud crack echoed through the throne room. Benjamin had hurled a controller at the holographic display, causing the image to warp and flicker momentarily before stabilizing. "Are you kidding me?!" he roared, pacing furiously. "Comparing us to the old wardens for doing our job? What the hell is that about?!"

The room was tense, the flickering holographic image still lingering mid-air like a ghostly reminder of the kingdom’s increasingly precarious reputation.

“Shadowbane. We should’ve kept him locked up, just as the late Headmaster Thaddeus once suggested,” Draven declared bluntly, his tone as cold as stone.

Headmaster Jasper turned to him sharply, his brows furrowed in disbelief. “You’ve never liked that kid, Draven. Always following whatever Thaddeus said about him. You were practically his number one lackey back then,” Jasper shot back, his words slicing through the tension like a blade.

Draven’s expression darkened as he stepped closer, his presence looming. “What did you just say?” he growled, his voice low and threatening.

Before the situation could escalate further, Kai stepped between them, his arms raised in a gesture of peace. “Enough! This pissing match over Melanthius isn’t solving anything. The media already saw everything,” he said with a sigh, his exasperation evident.

Across the room, Victoria tied back her fiery red hair with quick, precise movements, her eyes alight with thought. “The media’s saying it took five of us to restrain a teenager. But what they don’t understand is that it took five of us to hold back the son of the strongest overlord—a boy about to strike a king.” Her words were calculated, and her lips curled into a slight smirk. “We could spin this to our adva—”

Her voice faltered as her eyes widened in terror. Clutching her throat, she stumbled back. “I-I could’ve sworn… something cut me…” she whispered, her hand trembling, though there was no wound to be seen.

From the side of the room, Shenelle sat casually, one leg crossed over the other, her gaze cold as ice. “Say that again,” she said, her voice dripping with venom. “Were you actually planning to fabricate evidence against Mel?”

Victoria’s thoughts raced as she stared at Shenelle, panic flashing in her eyes. That bitch… was that her magical power just now?!

Shenelle rose from her seat with deliberate grace, her presence commanding. “Let me make one thing crystal clear,” she said, her tone razor-sharp. “I won’t allow anyone to treat Mel unfairly. I don’t care if you’re a king, a headmaster, or whatever title you hide behind. You all were humiliated fair and square. Especially you, Percival.”

Her eyes locked onto King Percival, who sat slumped in his chair, his face shadowed with guilt. He didn’t look up. Instead, his voice came out as a broken murmur. “I… I put my hands on him. I told him once that I wished I could’ve adopted him.” His voice cracked as he clenched his fists. “And yet… I put my hands on him.”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words and actions settling over them like a suffocating cloud.