In Atlantis, Mel strolled through the streets, his presence commanding attention as Atlanteans bowed in respect. He raised a hand, offering a reassuring smile. “There’s no need for that,” he said, and the crowd straightened with a mix of admiration and relief.

  A young boy, his curiosity getting the better of him, stepped forward. “King Mel, is it true you were killed by the man who trained you?” His father immediately grabbed his arm, his face paling. “Son, mind your tongue!” he scolded before bowing deeply. “Forgive him, my king.”

  Mel shook his head, crouching down to meet the boy’s wide-eyed gaze. “It’s alright,” he said warmly. “Yes, it’s true. He killed me, and I won’t hide from that truth. But it’s only made me more determined—to grow stronger for my people and my kingdom.” He reached out, gently ruffling the boy’s scaly hair.

  The nearby Atlanteans erupted into cheers, their voices echoing through the underwater city. Mel stood, his resolve mirrored in the pride of his people.

  He turned to speak, letting out a sigh. “Ready to go, Althara—?” His words trailed off as he glanced around, realizing she was nowhere to be seen. A cold dread settled over him, his face paling. “Damn it!” he muttered under his breath, panic beginning to seep in.

  Without hesitation, Mel darted through the area, scanning every corner and shadow. When the search yielded nothing, he launched himself into the air, flying at breakneck speed. Buildings blurred past him, and startled Atlanteans moved aside as he soared through the bustling streets, his eyes sharp and heart racing.

  Draven smirked as he looked up from his clipboard. “Renita, Arid, and Lincoln… since you three seem so eager to bond, let’s see how well you actually work together.”

  He snapped his fingers, and a section of the gym floor rumbled before opening up, revealing a massive obstacle course filled with moving platforms, swinging blades, and arcane traps glowing with magical energy.

  “Your task is simple: get through this course as a team. No solo runs. If one of you falls behind, you all start over. If one of you fails, you all fail. And just to make things interesting…” He flicked his wrist, and shadowy constructs shaped like monstrous beasts emerged from the walls.

  “Shenelle created some really nice stuff. You have ten minutes. Try not to die.” Draven smirked, stepping back as the challenge began.

  Renita flinched, instinctively raising her arms as a blast of fire roared toward them. “Is this real fire?!” she shouted.

  Arid conjured a leaf and tossed it into the flames. It instantly ignited, curling into ash in seconds. He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Yeah… that’s real alright.”

  Lincoln cracked his neck and slid his hands into his jacket pockets. “Should I go werewolf?”

  Renita glanced at him, then at the monstrous beasts looming ahead. “Didn’t you say you got stronger in your human form?”

  Lincoln grinned and effortlessly ripped off his shirt, muscles flexing. “Yeah, but old habits die hard.”

  Arid twirled his staff once before tossing it into his backpack. “They don’t look that tough,” he said, narrowing his eyes at the creatures.

  “Go!” Draven’s voice boomed.

  Before they could react, a beast lunged forward and sent Arid flying. Another struck Renita with a brutal knee, forcing her to cross her arms in defense—the impact cracked her arm slightly. The third monster threw a devastating punch at Lincoln, who blocked with his forehead, only to be launched backward from the sheer force.

  The students in the bleachers erupted in cheers and groans at the hits.

  Arid kipped up, landing in a low crouch. Renita rolled to her feet, wincing, and Lincoln slid to their side, rubbing his head.

  “Okay,” Lincoln muttered, shaking off the blow, “they’re stronger than I thought.” His body began to shift—red eyes gleamed, his breathing grew heavier, and thick fur sprouted along his arms and torso.

  Arid extended his hand, and his staff shot back into his grip.

  Renita’s eyes darted past the battle, locking onto the finish line beyond the shifting obstacles. “I’ll make a run for the end—cover me!”

  Without waiting for a response, she sprinted forward. Black and white tiles stretched out before her. The moment her foot landed on a black tile, reality twisted—her vision blurred, and in a blink, she was back at the starting point.

  Renita gasped, clutching her chest. “Was I just—warped?! That was horrifying!”

  Arid and Lincoln pulled her up.

  “There’s a pattern,” Arid said, studying the tiles. “We have to be careful where we step.”

  From the sidelines, Draven watched with a smirk. But as his gaze lingered on the trio, his expression shifted. A memory flickered in his mind—Dorian, Melanthius, Elowen.

  In Lincoln, he saw Dorian’s reckless strength.

  In Renita, Elowen’s sharp instincts.

  In Arid, the calculated determination of Melanthius.

  Draven’s fingers tightened around his clipboard. “I won’t mess up this time…” he murmured.

  For a moment, he caught his reflection in the mirror—except, staring back at him was the image of the late Headmaster Thaddeus.

  Shaking off the thought, Draven grabbed the mic. His usual smirk returned as he announced, “Whoa! Arid, Lincoln, and Renita look like they’re in trouble!” His voice rang with amusement, but his eyes remained unreadable.

  Back in Atlantis, Mel soared through the vast kingdom, his breaths coming in short pants. “This place is way bigger than I remembered!” he muttered, scanning the streets below. His eyes darted frantically. “Where is Althara?!”

  Then, he spotted it—a thin trail of cloud-like smoke drifting toward a public bathroom. His heart leapt.

  “Althara!” he called, landing swiftly in front of the building. Without hesitation, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

  There, in front of a stall, stood Althara.

  “Althara?” Mel approached cautiously. “What’s wrong?”

  She didn’t turn to face him. Instead, she answered bluntly, “Crying.”

  Mel’s eyes widened. “Y-you’re crying?! Why?!”

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  Althara shook her head and nudged the stall door open, revealing a girl with tear-streaked cheeks. She looked like a delinquent, with a sharp glare and defiant posture. Wiping her face roughly, she clicked her tongue.

  “What are you looking at, you little bitch?” she snapped.

  Mel flinched. “Little bitch?” he echoed in disbelief.

  Before he could react, Althara sat down on the toilet, effortlessly pulling the girl over her lap. With a swift motion, she delivered a firm smack.

  “What did I say about your mouth?” Althara asked coolly.

  The girl whined. “I’m sorry!”

  A short while later, Mel crossed his arms, studying the girl. “So, you heard her crying and came to check on her?”

  Althara nodded. “Did you really think I ran away?”

  Mel hesitated, then let out an awkward chuckle. “Of course not.”

  Turning to the girl, he cleared his throat. “Alright, little one, you should probably head back to your parents.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m in school, you idiot.”

  Mel scratched his head. “Oh, right… a group of fish is called a ‘school.’”

  Althara nodded in agreement.

  The girl stared at them both as if they were the dumbest people she’d ever met. “No. Atlas High School in The Shark Fringe Reef, you bubble-knot.” She yanked out her ID and shoved it toward them.

  Name: Norel Sting

  Grade: 9th

  Occupation: Student

  Mel’s jaw dropped. “We have a school?!”

  Norel gave him a deadpan look. “The king of Atlantis doesn’t even know his own schools?”

  Mel rubbed his neck sheepishly. “I didn’t even have a key to the castle at first.”

  His eyes flickered to Norel’s tear-stained face. His voice softened. “Why were you crying?” Norel clenched her fists, then suddenly punched the stall wall, her voice trembling with frustration. “Because ninth-grade girls are mean!” she growled.

  “What’s going on?” Althara asked.

  Norel sniffled, rubbing her nose. “Bullies. Just the usual, you know?”

  Mel nodded, then turned to Althara. “Want to check out the school?”

  Althara hesitated before shaking her head. “I actually wanted to spend time with Anita.”

  Mel’s eyes widened slightly. “Catching up on some sister time, huh?” A warm smile crossed his face. “Don’t let me keep you.” He gently tapped her chin with his knuckle. “I’ll take you there, okay?”

  Meanwhile, in the kingdom, King Percival sat with Headmasters Draven, Kai, and Jasper, discussing an official document.

  “All the schools of Auroria are supposed to meet?” Percival asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Draven scanned the paper in his hands. “Not all of them—just a select few. Let’s see… Arcanum Royal Institute, Northride School of Fine Arts… Wait, Atlantis has a school? Atlas High?” He frowned. “I had no idea.”

  Percival let out a small chuckle. “Doesn’t matter. Melanthius probably didn’t know either.” He leaned back in his chair, a competitive glint in his eyes. “Either way, we’ll show the board why Arcanum is the best school in Auroria.”

  In Anita’s room, she gently guided Althara into a chair in front of a mirror, her fingers weaving through Althara’s hair as she braided it.

  “Does your adoptive mom know about you?” Althara asked, watching Anita’s reflection.

  Anita shook her head. “No. I don’t want her caught up in my problems.” Her voice softened slightly. “My adoptive dad left… He’s the reason I got so good at lying.”

  Althara glanced at her through the mirror. “And you’re smiling about that?”

  Anita met her gaze and shook her head with a small, wistful smile. “No… I was just thinking.” She paused, taking in the moment. “It just doesn’t feel real.”

  “We both met Melanthius, and through him, we found each other,” Anita said, her voice carrying a quiet sense of gratitude.

  Althara nodded, her gaze fixed on the reflection of the Shadowbane medallion etched into her skin.

  “By the way,” Anita continued, hesitating slightly, “earlier, you said, ‘So all of Andraka Liu’s daughters ran away from that sick man, huh?’ Does that mean we have more sisters?”

  She tied off the last braid, and Althara reached up, running her fingers over her neatly woven hair.

  “Three,” Althara confirmed. “Me, you, and our eldest sister. She ran away with our mother, but… I don’t remember what she looked like. Father did something to her.” Her voice darkened, and she swallowed hard before continuing. “He cut the sides of her mouth—he was trying to get to his wife at the time, and she jumped in the way.”

  Anita stiffened, processing the weight of those words. “That’s all you remember?”

  Althara nodded. “You said the Blades and the Blunts helped you escape? I remember them… vaguely. Father used to say their names a lot for some reason.”

  Anita’s brows furrowed as she nodded, the pieces of their shattered past slowly coming together.

  In Bloodthorn

  Ashley stood behind Dorian, her hands working over his tense shoulders. His upper body was wrapped in fresh bandages, a stark reminder of the battles he had endured. Before him, his own knights lay beaten and bruised, their loyalty fractured.

  “My own knights abandoned me,” Dorian muttered, his crimson eyes dark with frustration. “Half of Bloodthorn has fled the kingdom because of my rule… yet you’re still here, Ashley.”

  Ashley adjusted her jaw mask, her hands never leaving his shoulders. “Of course, I am. I was by your side when we were younger—even though I’m technically older,” she mused. “You being a vampire and all, aging slowly… but that doesn’t matter. I’m still here, my liege.”

  Dorian exhaled sharply and rose to his feet, rolling his shoulders. “Enough hiding. I should call another summit.”

  Ashley’s hands stilled. “Another summit? Are you sure? With Melanthius back from the dead… why not meet with him directly instead?”

  Dorian’s eyes widened at the suggestion. “A meeting with Melanthius?” he echoed, rubbing his chin as the thought settled.

  Back in Atlantis

  Mel stepped into Atlas High, and immediately, chaos greeted him.

  A body flew toward him at full speed. He barely ducked in time as the student crashed into the wall, only to rebound and launch a punch at another kid. Mel’s eyes widened at the sheer anarchy before him.

  Norel crossed her arms, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Yep. Welcome to the absolute disaster that is Atlas High.”

  Mel’s gaze swept over the scene—graffiti covered every surface, crude gang tags scrawled across the lockers. Broken chairs and desks were piled haphazardly. Some students were huddled in shady dealings, others were making out like the world didn’t exist, and the rest? The rest were busy trying to knock each other’s teeth out.

  “…What kind of school is this?” Mel muttered under his breath.

  They walked through the chaotic halls of Atlas High, barely able to see the classroom doors through the clusters of students. The hallways were packed, but the classrooms? Completely deserted.

  Mel rubbed his temple, exhaling as he ruffled his hand through his hair. “Uh… guys, how about we settle down a bit?” he suggested, his tone light but uncertain.

  No one listened. Fists flew, lockers rattled, and shouts echoed without pause.

  Mel cleared his throat. “I see. You only listen when someone’s yelling.” He nodded to himself, then inhaled sharply.

  “CUT IT OUT!”

  His voice boomed through the hallway like a thunderclap. Every student flinched, the brawls halting mid-swing as dozens of wide eyes locked onto him.

  Mel smiled, satisfied. “Great. Now, where’s your headmaster or dean?”

  There was no hesitation. Every single student pointed to a room at the end of the hall.

  “Thank you,” he said coolly and made his way to the door.

  Inside the dean’s office, the scene was straight out of a sleazy lounge. Dean Goser, a rotund Atlantean with blue scaly skin, lounged on a couch, flanked by two women massaging his shoulders. A poker game blared on his computer screen.

  “Haha! Ready for the big bucks!” he cheered, placing another bet.

  His relaxation was short-lived. The hands on his neck suddenly gripped tighter, and he winced. “Ow, ow—gentler, ladies.” He turned his head—and froze.

  His gaze met Melanthius’s.

  Panic shot through him. He whipped back to his computer, did a double take, and then—

  “AHH! KING MELANTHIUS?!”

  The dean fumbled to slam his laptop shut, nearly sending it flying. In a frenzy, he pushed the women away—gently, but quickly—before scrambling to his feet. Crumbs tumbled from his shirt as he wiped himself down in a pathetic attempt to look presentable.

  Mel raised an eyebrow, scanning the room before glancing at the two women. “Ladies, would you mind stepping outside for a moment?”

  Without argument, they nodded and slipped out the door.

  As soon as it clicked shut, Goser straightened his posture and bowed. “Dean Goser, sir! Welcome to Atlas High!”

  Mel didn’t respond right away. Instead, he took his time, settling onto the couch, making himself comfortable, all while keeping his expression unreadable.

  Finally, he spoke.

  “Goser, please explain why, the moment I walked into this school, a student was kicked in my direction?”

  Though his voice was calm, there was no mistaking the edge beneath it.