Dontai sprinted down the hallways, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. His vision blurred from exhaustion, and the distant sound of chaos echoed in his ears. Turning a corner, he nearly collided with Aegis, who skidded to a halt in front of him.
“Son?!” Aegis called out, relief washing over his face.
Dontai immediately raised his wand, his hands shaking. “Stay back!” he barked, panting heavily.
Aegis froze, his eyes wide with confusion. “Son, are you out of your mind?!” he said, lifting his hands slowly in surrender.
“I split up for two seconds, and now everyone’s turning into a monster!” Dontai snapped, his voice strained and raw. His grip on his wand tightened as he narrowed his eyes. “So, show me you’re not one of them!”
Aegis nodded slowly, his face somber. Without hesitation, he pulled out his wand and cast a spell on himself. The magic caused his body to wobble and his movements to grow sluggish, the telltale dizziness proof that his spell hadn’t been corrupted.
Dontai exhaled sharply, lowering his wand. He muttered the incantation for a counter-spell, steadying Aegis’s swaying form. “Alright, fine. You’re clear,” he said, his voice softening, though the exhaustion in his tone remained.
“We have to get out of here. We don’t need to save them,” Aegis said firmly, gripping Dontai’s shoulder as they ran. “If Baba Yaga defeats Medusa, they’ll all change back. She knows what she’s doing.”
Dontai glanced at him, his breathing labored. “Do you really trust Baba Yaga to win?”
Aegis clenched his jaw, determination masking his worry. “I trust her. She trained Merlin Shadowbane, after all.”
Back in the desolate streets of Mossrock, Shenelle—Baba Yaga—was hurled into the side of a building, the impact shattering the wall behind her. She coughed, brushing debris off her bloodied clothes, and staggered to her feet.
Medusa approached, her towering form casting a menacing shadow. With a sneer, she extended her arms. “Gorgon Snare,” she commanded, as serpents slithered from her arms, coiling tightly around Baba Yaga, binding her limbs.
Shenelle didn’t resist. She stood motionless, her expression unreadable.
“Fight back!” Medusa screamed, fury etched across her face. One of her snakes lashed out, striking Shenelle across the face with venomous force, sending her crashing into another wall.
Still, Baba Yaga remained silent, blood trickling from her lip.
Medusa’s frustration boiled over. “Why won’t you fight back?!” She lunged forward, pummeling Shenelle with unrelenting blows. “Do you have any idea what I went through when he wasn’t there?!” Her voice cracked as tears mingled with her rage. “Just tell me why he left! Why wasn’t he there?!”
Shenelle endured the assault, her body bruised and battered, her face dark with pain—but she didn’t speak.
Medusa growled, summoning blades forged from venomous energy. The weapons glinted dangerously as she slashed at Baba Yaga, carving fresh wounds into her. The silence was maddening.
In desperation, Medusa’s hair writhed, a serpent darting forward to sink its fangs into Shenelle’s neck. It attempted to fling her, but its teeth shattered on impact. Medusa froze, her confidence faltering.
“What… what are you doing?” she asked, stepping back as unease crept into her voice.
Shenelle exhaled deeply, her breath steady despite the pain. “I’m satisfied,” she said softly, wiping blood from her lip. “I’ve had enough.”
Medusa narrowed her eyes, putting more distance between them. “Enough of what?”
“Enough of taking punishment for Merlin’s actions.” Shenelle raised her head, a smirk breaking across her battered face.
Forty feet separated them, but in an instant, Baba Yaga was in front of Medusa. The air cracked like a whip as Yaga drove a fist into her side. The blow sliced through Medusa’s body from the inside, forcing blood to gush from her lips as her hands trembled uncontrollably.
Medusa stumbled, her knees threatening to give way.
“I trained Merlin,” Yaga said, her voice steady but brimming with power. “He was strong before me, but his weaponry, his martial arts, his magic—they were nothing until I honed them. But even he couldn’t handle my phantom severance punches.”
Medusa’s eyes widened as Baba Yaga’s bloodshot gaze burned into her.
“These techniques are crafted for my body, just as my body is crafted for these techniques,” Yaga continued. “If Merlin ever tried to use his Eclipse Grasp against me, it would destroy him.”
With a flick of her wrist, she gripped Medusa’s face, her fingers digging into the scales. “And now, I’m done carrying the burden of his past.”
She slammed Medusa into the ground with a force that split the earth beneath them. Cuts tore across Medusa’s face as Shenelle’s power surged. Medusa coughed violently, blood pooling beneath her, her body trembling under Baba Yaga’s unrelenting dominance.
Medusa growled, planting her foot into Baba Yaga’s chest to kick her back. Yaga flipped through the air, landing gracefully on her feet. She exhaled, her eyes calm and steady. “I wish I could tell you why he left,” she said quietly. She pulled off her outer shirt, revealing a fitted undershirt beneath. On her collarbone, an old, jagged wound gleamed faintly in the dim light.
Medusa’s snakes hissed furiously, their tongues flicking with venomous intent. Her lips twisted into a sneer. “So what?! He made you promise? And I’m just supposed to accept that?!” she bellowed, her voice trembling with fury.
Yaga shook her head slowly. “No, Medusa. He didn’t make me promise.” Her voice softened, a hint of sorrow creeping in. “I made that promise to myself. A promise not to tell anyone why he left.” She glanced down, her fists clenching. “Because I didn’t want anyone to know the stupid mistake he made.” Her voice cracked just slightly before she looked back up. “Because…I loved him.”
Medusa froze at the confession, her snakes stilling as though stunned by the words. But just as quickly, her shock gave way to a blazing fury. Her body trembled, and her snakes turned a vibrant, blood-red hue.
“AHHHH!” she screamed, the sound raw and filled with anguish. The snakes hissed in unison, their cries echoing through the streets. “OPHIDIAN SURGE!” she roared. A surge of energy erupted around her, cracking the ground beneath her feet.
In a flash, Medusa was in front of Yaga, her leg snapping upward in a deadly arc. But before the strike could land, Yaga extended her hand and placed it gently on Medusa’s chest.
The air stilled.
Medusa’s body trembled violently as Yaga’s touch reached the petrified stone encasing her heart. Fissures spread across the surface, glowing faintly before the stone shattered, falling away to reveal something soft, pure, and fragile.
Medusa’s eyes widened as the surge of energy faded from her body. Her snakes dimmed, turning back to their natural hues, and her strength gave out. She collapsed to the ground, her breath shallow.
“Why…why am I even angry?” she thought, the clarity piercing through her haze of emotions before the darkness of unconsciousness swept over her.
Flashback
Years earlier, a young Merlin—just nineteen, long before he became an overlord—stood balanced on the branch of a towering tree. Below him sat Medusa, her youthful face lit with a faint smile, her hands nervously rubbing together. She hadn’t yet encountered the jealous witch who would one day twist her heart and fate.
“Where’s Arthur?” she asked, tilting her head up to watch Merlin’s playful balancing act.
Merlin leaped gracefully from the tree, landing beside her with ease. He flopped onto the ground, reclining against her lap and gazing up at the cloudy sky. His closeness made Medusa blush, and she quickly averted her eyes.
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“He’s in Camelot,” Merlin said casually, a soft sigh escaping his lips. “Said he had some important stuff to handle there. Probably something kingly. Left me stuck here in Wrath.”
Medusa glanced down at him, brushing a stray leaf from his hair. “Camelot? What’s he doing there?”
“Something about family,” Merlin replied with a shrug. “If you ask me, he’ll probably end up as their king or whatever. Meanwhile, I’m just here in Wrath, doing nothing.” He turned his head, offering her a faint, weary smile.
“That’s not true,” Medusa said softly, crossing her legs as her hands rested on her lap. “I’m still here.”
Merlin chuckled, though there was a melancholy edge to his voice. “Yeah…but for how long? You’re a healer, Medusa. A damn good one. You’re going places. I don’t wanna be the one holding you back.”
Medusa frowned, the weight of his words hanging heavy.
“Don’t worry about me,” Merlin added, his grin widening. “I met these two cool kids—Mark and Yasmine. They’re hilarious. I won’t be alone.”
Medusa smiled faintly, though deep down, she could already feel the distance between them growing. Years passed, and Merlin’s path led him away, leaving Wrath and returning an overlord.
Meanwhile, Medusa’s life was forever altered when she encountered the jealous witch who cursed her heart, turning it to stone and warping her into the creature she had become.
Present
Medusa stirred, her eyes fluttering open to see Baba Yaga standing over her. For a moment, she blinked in confusion, her breaths shallow and uneven. Then she noticed—the hissing of her snakes was gone. Her hair had returned to its natural, flowing beauty. She raised a trembling hand to her face, feeling the softness of her skin restored. Her heart no longer felt heavy; it pulsed steadily, whole again.
Slowly, she rose to her feet and turned, taking in the scene of destruction around her. Buildings were reduced to rubble, streets cracked and scorched, and the remnants of chaos lingered like a haunting memory. A single tear slipped down her cheek, its warmth surprising her. As it hit the ground, a radiant glow spread from where it landed, healing her bruised and battered body in an instant.
“I’m sorry… thank you,” she whispered, her voice tender and filled with remorse. A soft smile graced her lips, the curse that had tormented her for so long now lifted.
She knelt and placed her hands on the earth, a ripple of healing energy flowing outward. The shattered buildings of Mossrock began to rebuild themselves brick by brick, windows shimmering back into place. Restaurants, shops, and homes were restored to their former glory. Even the Basalites—the twisted creatures born of her curse—were either destroyed or reverted back into the humans they once were.
Medusa turned her gaze to Baba Yaga, noticing the faint scars on Yaga’s body, remnants of the brutal battle they had just endured. Without hesitation, Medusa reached out, her hands glowing softly as she healed Yaga’s wounds.
Yaga winced slightly at the warmth of the magic but said nothing. Once her body was fully restored, she crossed her arms and smirked. “He loved you, you know?” she said matter-of-factly, her voice calm but knowing.
Medusa paused, her heart aching with bittersweet emotion. “I know,” she replied softly, a genuine smile forming.
As she spoke, two ethereal wings unfurled from her back, glowing faintly with divine light. She looked down at Yaga one last time, gratitude and understanding in her eyes. Then, with a single powerful beat of her wings, she ascended into the sky, flying off at tremendous speed, a figure of grace and freedom finally unbound by the curse that had defined her for so long.
The once-chaotic streets of Mossrock now thrummed with life and vitality. Where rubble and despair had once taken hold, a renewed city stood proud. Buildings gleamed as though freshly built, their walls strong and unmarred. The air smelled of spring, the faint scent of blooming flowers and freshly turned earth filling every corner.
The townspeople, freed from the curse of the Basalites, wandered cautiously at first, then with growing confidence. Families embraced, tears of relief falling as they reunited. Shopkeepers swept their newly restored storefronts, and children laughed as they played in the streets. Mossrock wasn’t just rebuilt—it felt reborn, as though the city itself had shed its own curse and found a new purpose.
In the center of the city, a fountain that had been destroyed in the battle now stood as a symbol of hope. Its water sparkled under the sunlight, and at its base was a freshly erected statue. It depicted a serene Medusa, her hair flowing naturally, her hands outstretched as if to heal. Beside her stood Baba Yaga, her gaze firm and protective, her presence a reminder of the sacrifices made to save the city.
“Who are you?” A man asked and Yaga chuckled, putting on her jacket. “I’m just a mom,” she said, hugging Caius, Sera, and Lumi as they ran to her.
“Yaga!” Dontai called out, jogging up to her.
She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to shout, kid. What is it?”
“Are you staying?” he asked, his tone hopeful.
Yaga chuckled dryly, adjusting her cloak. “Mossrock doesn’t need me anymore. It’s in good hands now. Besides, I have other places to be. Promises to keep.”
Dontai frowned but nodded in understanding. “Thanks—for everything.”
Yaga tilted her head, a rare warmth in her eyes. “Keep an eye on the city. And for the love of magic, stay out of trouble.”
With that, she turned and began walking toward the horizon, her silhouette fading into the distance as the sun set.
A few weeks later, the Auroria Dominion returned to a semblance of normalcy as the new semester began. Melanthius’s death lingered in hushed conversations, though any mention of Goldman was strictly forbidden—treasonous even, as decreed by King Percival Aldara. In the aftermath of the chaos, the king fortified the Dominion’s technological security, ensuring stability across both the kingdom and the Arcanum Royal Institute. However, beneath the surface of routine, cracks of unease remained.
Elowen’s kidnapping cast a shadow over the kingdom, a tragic event that no one dared openly address. As the sister of King Liam and the Princess of Camelot, her abduction was a matter of politics and power, leaving the people powerless to intervene. Whispers of her fate were met with silent resignation, but her absence weighed heavily on those who knew her.
Meanwhile, on the docks above Atlantis, Arid, Renita, Jake, and Clyde gathered, the ocean breeze carrying both solace and sorrow. Arid tilted a soda can, pouring some into the water. “Gotta pour one out for Mel and Elowen,” he muttered before taking a sip himself.
Jake rubbed the bracelet around his wrist, his brow furrowed. “It’s been a few weeks since everything went down. I keep thinking about Elowen. Whatever she’s going through…it can’t be good.”
Arid leaned back, his gaze drifting to the horizon. “I know he’s gone,” he said quietly, “but I can’t help feeling like Mel will come back. Like he’s not done yet.”
The group fell into silence, the thought hanging heavy in the air.
Renita finally broke it, her voice soft but certain. “I didn’t want to say anything, but…I feel the same. Even though he’s human and a wizard, he didn’t seem like someone who would just stay dead. There was something different about him.”
Jake shrugged, his expression conflicted. “Maybe. I don’t know. What I do know is that we can’t forget about Elowen. She needs to be saved. No one’s happy in Camelot, no matter how you try to spin it.”
The group fell quiet again, their thoughts drifting toward both the past and the uncertain future. The waves lapped gently at the dock, a rhythmic reminder of time’s passage and the weight of unresolved fates. In their hearts, a flicker of hope burned—fragile but persistent—that they hadn’t seen the last of Melanthius or Elowen.
Meanwhile, Donatello, one of the four Renaissance Kings, stood solemnly before a shimmering lake, the legendary Lady of the Lake artifact held delicately in his hands. The air around him hummed with ancient magic as he took a deep breath and shattered the artifact, releasing its ashes into the water. Ripples spread across the lake, growing into swirling currents of light and energy, before a magnificent figure emerged from the depths.
She rose with an ethereal grace, reclining on the surface of the water as though it were solid ground. Her form was otherworldly, her seaweed-adorned silhouette shifting with a natural elegance. Her luminous eyes, deep as the ocean, locked onto him, and her cascading hair glimmered like liquid silver in the moonlight. Resting her chin on her hand, she studied him with a coy smile.
“So,” she began, her voice rich and melodious, echoing as if it carried the secrets of the deep. “Someone has summoned me. But you…” Her gaze sharpened slightly. “You’re not one of King Arthur’s descendants. Oh…” Recognition flickered across her features as her smile deepened. “You’re Donatello, one of the Renaissance Kings. How intriguing.”
Her voice dripped with a mix of curiosity and amusement. “Well, sweetheart, you know the terms of our deal. I’ll remain by your side, bound to your cause, until your deeds are done… or until death claims you.”
Her words lingered in the air, heavy with promise and peril. Donatello straightened his posture, his expression unreadable, as he gazed into the depths of her radiant eyes. The pact was made.
“I wouldn’t have released you if I didn’t know the terms,” Donatello said, his voice steady and resolute. He fixed his gaze on the shimmering figure before him. “I have a plan—one that requires your power. I want to eradicate all wizards.”
The Lady of the Lake tilted her head, a wry smile gracing her lips. “Ambitious,” she mused, her tone laced with curiosity. “But why, pray tell, would you want to rid the world of wizards? Surely there’s more to this than sheer hatred.”
Donatello’s jaw tightened, and he looked down at his clenched fist. For a moment, his vision blurred as memories clawed their way to the surface—images of him and his siblings, battered and broken, standing no chance against Merlin’s overwhelming might. The humiliation, the helplessness, and the bitter taste of defeat still haunted him.
“I was planning to use his son, Melanthius, as an unknowing pawn to achieve my goal,” Donatello admitted, his tone cold yet tinged with frustration. “But he’s dead now.”
“What is your first command for me?” she asked, her immense form reclining on the shore, her shimmering eyes fixed on him. Her sheer size made Donatello appear minuscule in comparison, but he met her gaze without hesitation.
“Nothing yet,” he replied, his voice calm and deliberate. “For now, I just wanted to secure your loyalty.”
He approached her colossal face, each step deliberate as the weight of his decision pressed upon him. Standing before her, he reached up and placed his hand gently on her forehead. The energy of the pact rippled through the air as he whispered the binding words.
“There,” Donatello said, stepping back and exhaling deeply, his composure unwavering. “If I betray you, my lifespan will be forfeit. A small price to ensure trust between us.”
The Lady’s lips curved into a sly smile, her presence radiating an air of ancient wisdom. “Bold and calculated, as expected. I hope you understand the gravity of what you’ve done.”
“I do,” he said firmly, meeting her gaze without faltering.
