Moments later, Carter sat on the infirmary bed, his face patched up with bandages. He pressed an ice pack gingerly against his swollen lip, wincing every few seconds. A faint streak of dried blood clung to his cheek, and his shirt was wrinkled and stained from the fight.
Charles leaned against the wall across from him, arms crossed and an unreadable expression on his face. He studied Carter with a mix of amusement and irritation.
“The hell are you looking at?” Carter grumbled, his voice muffled by the ice pack. He pulled it away briefly to spit a bloody loogie into a napkin, the crimson smear standing out starkly against the white tissue.
“You could’ve died back there, you know?” Charles said, his tone calm but laced with a hint of disbelief.
Carter shrugged nonchalantly, though his body stiffened at the movement. “Pride is to die for,” he replied matter-of-factly, pressing the ice back to his lip and flinching as the cold bit into the bruised flesh.
Charles snorted and shook his head, stepping away from the wall. “You’ll die thinking like that,” he muttered as he approached the bed. Before Carter could react, Charles plucked a band-aid from the medical kit on the side table and leaned over.
“What the hell are you doing?” Carter asked, frowning.
“Hold still,” Charles ordered, ignoring him. He peeled off the adhesive backing and carefully placed the band-aid over the cut on Carter’s lip.
“I—” Carter started to protest, pulling his head back slightly.
“Got it, yeah, I know you do,” Charles interrupted, rolling his eyes. “But I feel guilty for just standing there, so humor me, alright?” Without waiting for a response, he grabbed another band-aid and pressed it onto the scrape on Carter’s forehead.
Carter glared at him but didn’t move. “I don’t need your pity,” he muttered under his breath, his pride as unyielding as ever.
“Good,” Charles shot back, stepping back and brushing his hands together. “Because this isn’t pity. It’s me making sure you don’t bleed all over the place like an idiot.”
The room fell quiet for a moment, save for the faint hum of the infirmary’s fluorescent lights. Carter sighed and leaned back slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing.
“You always this nosy?” Carter asked, his tone less hostile now.
“Only when people decide to act like human punching bags for fun,” Charles replied with a smirk. “What the hell was that back there anyway? You trying to win a medal for Most Stubborn Dumbass of the Year?”
Carter shrugged again, his gaze dropping to the ice pack in his hand. “Someone had to stop them.”
“Yeah, but there’s a difference between stopping them and letting them beat you into next week,” Charles said, his voice softer now. “You didn’t even fight back.”
“That’s the point,” Carter said, his voice firm despite his battered appearance. “Fighting back makes it worse. If I take the punches and don’t flinch, they lose interest. Eventually, they walk away. No more crowd. No more victims.”
Charles blinked, caught off guard by the weight behind Carter’s words. “That’s… kind of stupid. But also kind of badass.”
“Yeah, well,” Carter muttered, shifting uncomfortably under the unexpected compliment. “Not everyone can just sit back and watch like you did.”
Charles flinched slightly, guilt flashing across his face. “Fair enough,” he admitted. “But I’m here now, aren’t I? That’s gotta count for something.”
Carter didn’t respond right away, but a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his swollen lip. After a beat, he finally spoke. “So, who are you?”
Charles raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback. “You don’t know me?”
Carter rolled his eyes. “I know who you are. I just don’t know you.”
Charles let out a small laugh and rubbed the back of his head. “Fair enough. Name’s Charles Pierce. I’m fourteen, And I live here in Drison with my aunt and cousins. That good enough for you?”
Carter gave a small nod of approval. “Carter Angelo. Fourteen, also from Drison. I live with my older sister.” He extended a hand, and Charles took it without hesitation.
“Friends?” Charles asked, cocking his head slightly.
Carter hesitated for half a second, then nodded. “Yeah, sure. Friends.”
They shook hands firmly, a rare, genuine smile spreading across both their faces as they dropped the handshake.
Moments later, Charles and Carter strolled through the streets of Drison, the dim glow of streetlights casting shadows on the cracked pavement. “The crime here is ridiculous,” Carter muttered, clutching his whistle like it was a lifeline.
“Yeah,” Charles agreed with a shrug, stealing a glance at Carter. “So… you got a magical technique? I know they’re banned in school, but I was just curious.”
Carter glanced up, his brow furrowing slightly. “Of course I do. You think I’d even be in that school if I didn’t? That’s literally the only way to get accepted into Northride. Duh.”
Charles scratched the back of his neck, trying to hide his curiosity. “Okay, fine. So, what is it?”
Carter sighed, rolling his eyes, but a faint smirk crossed his face. “I wasn’t really supposed to use it in school, but I had to when those jerks were jumping me. It’s called Pride’s Reflection. Basically, when someone hits me, the damage bounces back on the attacker. That’s why they stopped—they were hurting themselves without realizing it.”
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Charles nodded slowly, intrigued. Carter extended his hand, summoning a fiery golden sphere that shimmered with intensity. “I can also manipulate Pride’s Reflection using my aura and mana. I can shape it however I want, but it’s tricky sometimes.” The sphere twisted into an arrow, then flattened into a disc before dissolving into thin air.
“That’s the thing about magical energy,” Carter continued, his tone turning almost lecturing. “It flows differently through everyone. Some people can create fireballs or ice, stuff like that. Others do weirder, more specific things. It’s not like wizardry, though—it’s more innate.” He glanced at Charles expectantly. “What’s your magical power?”
Charles froze for a moment, his jaw tightening. “I get it, okay?! I don’t have magic, dammit!” he snapped, kicking at a loose rock on the ground.
Carter’s eyes widened in surprise. “O-oh, I didn’t know. I… didn’t mean to hit a nerve.” He hesitated, fidgeting awkwardly. “H-how’d you get into the school then?”
“Recommendation. The principal said if I keep a low profile, no one’ll notice,” Charles answered with a shrug.
Carter nodded thoughtfully. “You seem strong, though—like you can hold your own in a fight.”
Charles smirked and crossed his arms. “I can. Since I wasn’t born with magic, I had to train hard, but…” He groaned, rolling his neck until it cracked. “Then I got lazy as hell.”
“Yo, Charles!” a voice called, drawing Charles’s attention. He turned to see another boy strolling toward them, dressed in the same pink sweater and green khakis.
“Oh, Ethan. What’s up?” Charles asked as Ethan lit a cigarette, clearly unfazed by the fact he was a freshman.
“Nothing much. Just wondering why you’re hanging out with Boy Scout over here,” Ethan said with a smirk, nodding toward Carter.
Charles leaned against the wall and gestured casually. “This is Carter. He’s cool. Be chill,” he replied, his tone firm but easygoing.
Ethan shrugged nonchalantly. “Alright, whatever. Hey, you guys wanna see a dead body?” he asked, as if it were the most normal question in the world.
Carter’s eyes widened in shock. “A… a real dead body?!”
Ethan took a slow drag of his cigarette and exhaled, barely glancing at Carter. “Yeah, why not?”
Charles glanced at Carter, who was clearly uneasy. “It’ll be fine,” he said reassuringly, his tone calm but firm. After a brief hesitation, Carter looked at him, swallowed his nerves, and nodded.
Moments later, they approached the outskirts of the Auroria Dominion but didn’t step inside the kingdom. This was three years ago—back before Melanthius’s group had formed. At the time, only Lance and Rue had any connection to the region.
“Damn, it’s so nice here in Auroria,” Ethan said, taking in the scenic view as he lazily stretched his arms.
Carter, rubbing his sore legs, gave him an unimpressed glance. “Yeah, if you don’t mind the hike.”
Charles scanned their surroundings, squinting at the rocky terrain. “Alright, so where’s this dead body you were talking about?” he asked.
Ethan smirked and raised a finger, motioning for them to follow him. “It’s not exactly a dead body,” he said nonchalantly as they began descending a steep trail toward the cliffs below.
Charles furrowed his brow. “Not exactly?”
Ethan yawned as they reached a lower ledge, his tone dismissive. “Yeah, it’s ashes. Chill out.”
Carter and Charles exchanged a skeptical glance but shrugged, deciding to follow him down further.
After a few minutes, they came to a small rocky outcrop overlooking a calm river. On a solitary rock jutting out from the water sat a black crown, charred and slightly twisted, with a pile of darkened ashes beneath it.
Ethan stopped and gestured lazily at the scene. “Here lies…” he began, pausing dramatically before taking a drag from his cigarette.
The three of them sat down on the rocks, letting their feet dangle in the cool water below.
“Merlin Shadowbane,” Ethan finished, exhaling smoke into the crisp air.
The name hung in the air, heavy with an unspoken weight. Carter stared at the crown, his expression conflicted. Charles, meanwhile, tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at the ashes.
“That’s it?” Charles finally asked, breaking the silence.
“Yup.” Ethan flicked ash from his cigarette. “This is where they say the wizard overlord was killed by King Arthur. Crazy, huh?”
Carter’s voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “So… why’s his crown still here?”
Ethan shrugged. “Beats me. Magic, probably.” He leaned back, hands supporting him as he gazed up at the sky. “Maybe they can’t pick it up in fear it’ll kill them maybe.”
Ethan rubbed at his arm, the skin scorched and blistered in places. Despite the obvious pain, a crooked, delinquent grin spread across his face. “We should sell it!” he said, motioning toward the black crown with a flick of his lighter.
Carter raised an eyebrow, noticing the injury. “What happened to your arm?” he asked, dipping his feet lazily in the cool water.
Ethan glanced down at it as if just remembering. “Oh, this? Before I ran into you two, some idiots challenged me to a duel. Didn’t end well for them.” He chuckled darkly, sparking his lighter open and shut absentmindedly.
Carter tilted his head, curious. “You’ve got a magical power?”
Ethan gave him a flat look, scoffing. “What kind of dumbass question is that? Of course I do.”
Carter glanced at Charles, who was watching the river and clearly pretending not to care. “My bad,” Carter said, shrugging. “What is it?”
Ethan stood up, stretching his arm carefully as he spoke. “It’s a shifting type. I can turn my body into pure obsidian and manipulate it however I want.” He held his hand out, and before their eyes, his skin darkened, shimmering like polished black stone. With a casual motion, his fingers sharpened into jagged obsidian claws before shifting back to normal.
Charles finally turned his head, raising an eyebrow. “That explains the burns.”
"At least I have magic," Ethan sneered, his tone dripping with smugness.
Charles’s expression darkened as he stepped toward him, fists clenched. “Say that again,” he growled.
Carter quickly moved between them, raising his hands. “Hey! Calm down, both of you!” he said, glancing between their heated glares. “Aren’t you two supposed to be friends?”
“Barely,” Charles muttered, his voice sharp. “We just happen to live next to each other.”
Meanwhile, in a cramped, three-story apartment in Drison, the air was thick with smoke and the low hum of murmured conversations. A group of men either counted stacks of cash or lifted weights, the clink of metal punctuating the tense atmosphere.
“What?” a shadowy figure asked, his voice calm yet laced with disdain as he effortlessly pushed through a set of push-ups. “One guy took down the three of you? Are you telling me you’re weak, or was he just that strong?”
The boy who had faced Ethan shifted nervously, his head lowered as sweat trickled down his temple. “No, Roman... he wasn’t weak. He was too strong. We didn’t stand a chance!”
The shadowy figure paused, then slowly rose to his feet. The dim light revealed a towering, muscular man with long, unkempt hair and a dangerous glint in his eye. His imposing presence silenced the room.
“Strong? Ethan?” Roman repeated, his tone mocking as a smirk spread across his face. “Well then... let’s pay him a visit, shall we?”