Althara’s stomach growled audibly, and she placed a hand over it, sighing. “I’m hungry,” she murmured.

  Mel glanced around the street. “There’s a decent restaurant nearby. We can grab something to eat,” he suggested.

  As they walked, whispers and muttered insults trailed behind them. People pointed, their words cutting like daggers. “Criminal.” “Traitor.” The hostility in their stares was palpable, and Althara kept her head down, her steps heavy with unease.

  When they reached the restaurant, the owner stepped out before they could enter. His sharp eyes locked on Mel, entirely ignoring Althara. “Melanthius, you headed somewhere?” he asked, his tone neutral but cold.

  “Just here to grab some food,” Mel replied casually, though the tension in his shoulders was visible.

  The owner crossed his arms, his posture firm. “She can’t come in,” he said bluntly, his voice laced with disdain.

  “What?!” Mel’s frustration spilled out. “I helped you stock those crates just last week!”

  The owner shrugged nonchalantly. “We have the right to refuse service to anyone.”

  Mel’s jaw clenched. “Fine. What if I get takeout?”

  The owner gestured toward the door, his expression unmoving. “That’s fine, but she stays outside.”

  Mel sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck as he turned to Althara. “Okay, I’ll be back in about 15 minutes,” he said, his tone apologetic.

  “Mel…” Althara hesitated, her uncertainty evident.

  Noticing her unease, Mel gently wiped a bit of snow from her shoulder. “It’s going to be okay. If anyone says anything—do not engage. Got it?” His voice was firm, but his concern shone through. He pointed to a bench nearby. “Sit right there and don’t move.”

  After a moment of hesitation, Althara nodded and walked to the bench, her steps slow and reluctant.

  As Mel watched her settle down, he muttered under his breath, “I’ve gotta be out of my mind.” Shaking his head, he pushed open the restaurant door and stepped inside.

  Inside the restaurant, the air grew heavy as Mel walked in. Conversations faltered, and uneasy eyes tracked his every move.

  “They should’ve thrown him and that bitch back in Caldara,” someone muttered harshly from a nearby table.

  “They should’ve cut her damn head off,” another voice added, venom dripping from their tone.

  “Evil yesterday, good today? What kind of twisted logic is that?” a third person whispered loudly enough for Mel to hear.

  The murmurs spread like wildfire, an undercurrent of hostility that wrapped itself around the room. Mel’s jaw tightened, and he bit his lip, forcing himself to keep his head up and his composure intact as he approached the counter.

  “The difference between the wardens breaking Rue’s spine and Althara beating everyone up?” Mel thought, clenching his fists under the counter. “The wardens did it for a reward—for selfish gain. Althara? She was trying to save her friends from Titian’s grip. She fought because she had no other choice. But am I just making excuses? For her… or for myself?” His jaw tightened as the questions gnawed at him.

  He glanced over his shoulder at the window where Althara sat outside on the bench, huddled against the cold. The murmurs of judgment from the other patrons buzzed around him like an unwelcome swarm of flies. Their words were sharp, hateful, condemning both of them without knowing the full story.

  Mel exhaled slowly, forcing himself to refocus as the cashier handed him the bag of food. “Thanks,” he muttered, turning to leave. But the weight of his thoughts didn’t lighten.

  Why did he care so much about Althara?

  Sure, he admired her resolve to stand up to Titian despite the odds, but was that enough? Was it her desperation that struck a chord? Or was it because he saw fragments of himself in her—the outcast, the misunderstood, the one fighting battles that no one else could understand?

  Moments later, Mel sat beside Althara on a bench outside the restaurant, their plates of burgers and fries resting between them. Snow flurried softly in the cold air, and the quiet hum of the city buzzed in the background. Mel’s gaze drifted to the intricate medallion tattoo etched on Althara’s chest.

  “Do you know anything more about it?” he asked, pointing subtly.

  Althara paused mid-bite, covering her mouth as she finished chewing. “It gives me all of Merlin’s magic—his speed, his strength, his skills. All of it. But that’s not the weird part,” she said, her voice dropping slightly. “If I try to carve it out, it just regenerates. Like it’s bound to me. Forever.” Her eyes drifted toward the sprawling city in front of them.

  “Are you going back to school?” she asked, nodding toward the large silhouette of the Arcanum Royal Institute visible in the distance.

  Mel shook his head, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “Nah. I think I’ve got enough on my plate as it is. Besides, kings don’t need to go to school anyway,” he said with a small chuckle, though his tone lacked conviction.

  Althara sighed and set her burger down, her gaze fixed on the ground. “You should’ve just put me in prison. Keeping me here is making things harder for you. I don’t deserve this after everything I’ve done. You saved me from Titian… after I hurt so many people. It doesn’t make sense.”

  Mel leaned back, resting his hands on the edge of the bench as he let out a slow sigh. “I know,” he admitted, the weight of her words hanging between them. “But maybe you remind me of… me. Back when I was locked up in Caldara. I hurt people too, you know. Not because I wanted to, but because I had to—because it was the only way to survive.”

  Althara frowned, picking at her fries. “The difference is, I didn’t hurt people to survive. I did it because I thought Titian would kill me. Because of fear. I got people here hurt—some of them by my own hand. You can’t change that.”

  Mel’s jaw tightened, but his expression remained calm. “You’re right. I can’t change what you did, and neither can you,” he said firmly, his gaze steady. “But that doesn’t mean you’re beyond saving. You think I don’t hear what people say about me? A traitor, a criminal, a failure. You think I don’t wonder if they’re right?”

  He paused, his eyes softening. “But I didn’t let those voices decide who I am, and neither should you. What matters now isn’t what you did—what matters is what you do next. If you want to wallow in guilt, fine. But if you want to change, to make up for even a fraction of it, I’ll give you that chance.”

  Althara looked at him, her eyes shimmering with a mix of gratitude and confusion. “Why would you do that for someone like me?”

  Mel shrugged and took a bite of his burger, chewing thoughtfully. “Because someone once gave me a chance when I thought I didn’t deserve one either. And because I know what it feels like to carry a weight you think you’ll never put down.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  For a moment, they sat in silence, the cold air nipping at their faces. Althara sipped her drink and glanced at the city again, the tension in her shoulders easing ever so slightly.

  The next day, Lance, Arid, Clyde, Lincoln, and Renita sat around a table.

  “I’m just saying, don’t you all think you’re doubting Mel a little too much?” Renita asked, her tone calm but firm.

  Lance slammed his hand on the table, frustration flashing in his eyes. “One of her goons threw me through a window, Renita. Almost killed us. You think that’s something we should just forget?” he growled through gritted teeth.

  “I get it,” she replied evenly. “I’m just saying—has Mel ever defended someone bad without seeing some good in them first?”

  Arid rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “That’s the damn problem. Who does he think he is, deciding who stays in prison and who doesn’t? King Percival’s too scared of Mel to do anything about it.”

  “You could’ve done something about it in the hospital room, but you knew you couldn’t take him down,” Renita said pointedly, her gaze sharp.

  Arid clicked his tongue in irritation. “The wardens would’ve stopped us anyway,” he retorted defensively, crossing his arms.

  Clyde let out a heavy sigh, staring down at his plate. “Can’t you just trust him, Lance? He’s your sensei... and my brother—well, not really, but you know,” he said, his voice quiet and earnest.

  Lance shook his head firmly. “Until he’s done playing friends with that criminal, I’m done being his student,” he declared. Without another word, he stood, grabbed his plate, and tossed it into the trash before storming out of the cafeteria.

  In Atlantis, Mel was warmly greeted by his loyal Atlanteans as he entered the grand city with Althara following closely behind. Despite her past actions, the Atlanteans paid her no mind—unwavering in their loyalty to their king, they trusted his judgment without question.

  “King Mel!” Goda’s voice boomed above the crowd, sparking a ripple of cheers and applause that echoed throughout the gleaming city. The Atlanteans gathered around, their enthusiasm undeniable as they celebrated their king’s return.

  Althara lingered a step behind Mel, her eyes wide as she took in the breathtaking underwater kingdom. The shimmering architecture and vibrant marine life left her in awe. “You’re really the king here? What’s it like?” she asked, her voice quiet but curious.

  Mel reached for a tray of freshly picked strawberries from a nearby vendor, handing a few to Althara. “It’s… fine. Before I died, I wasn’t around much, so now I’m trying to be better at ruling.” He chuckled lightly and popped a strawberry into his mouth.

  Althara examined the fruit, hesitant at first, but after taking a bite, her expression lit up. “It’s chewy, juicy, and amazing!” she said, her voice soft with delight, before eagerly eating more.

  “I know, right?” Mel grinned. “Anyway, until things settle up there, we’re staying down here. I’ll handle my duties and show you the ropes while we’re at it.”

  As they walked, Althara’s attention shifted to a cluster of glowing bioluminescent algae. Mesmerized by the radiant light, she reached out to touch it. “So pretty…”

  Mel quickly grabbed her hand before she could make contact. “Don’t! Shadowbane blood is cursed—it can’t interact with the ocean. We can handle the pressure down here, but we can’t swim, and we definitely can’t get wet. That algae? It’ll burn through our skin like paper.”

  Althara stepped back, startled but understanding. “Got it,” she murmured with a nod, giving the algae a wary glance.

  Mel let out a soft sigh and gestured for her to follow. “Come on, there’s more to see.” Together, they continued deeper into the glowing city, Althara sticking close to his side.

  After a short walk, Mel spotted Bimoth effortlessly hauling ten massive crates into a warehouse. “Yo, Bimoth! You know you don’t have to stick around to protect Atlantis anymore, right? Not that I’m complaining,” Mel said with a grin.

  Bimoth turned, his towering frame casting a shadow over Mel and Althara. His blank, pupil-less eyes met Mel’s. “I told you, you saved me. Now I’m an Atlantean knight,” he replied with a deep, steady voice.

  Mel chuckled. “Well, thanks for the help. How’s this shipment looking?” he asked, stepping into the warehouse and pulling out a bag of powder from one of the crates.

  Althara’s eyes widened as she caught sight of it. “I-Is that...?” She leaned closer, her voice full of suspicion.

  Mel glanced at her and laughed. “No, it’s not what you think. We actually pranked your sister with this stuff when she first arrived. She freaked out, thinking it was some kind of drug deal.” He laughed again and slapped a sticker on the bag. “It’s cake batter—grown and harvested right here in Atlantis. People love it, and selling it helps keep the kingdom afloat. Gotta fund this place somehow.”

  Althara blinked in surprise, then nodded, her curiosity turning to mild embarrassment.

  Mel turned to face her, his expression softening. “Listen, I don’t want you thinking I’m only protecting you to get information on the Seven Deadly Kingdoms. Sure, I need that intel, but this is about more than that. You’re Anita’s sister, and as far as I’m concerned, that makes us connected. I want to help you find redemption.”

  He gently rested his hands on her shoulders, locking eyes with her.

  Althara hesitated, then asked quietly, “Are you telling that to me… or to yourself?”

  Mel let out a soft sigh, the corner of his mouth lifting in a faint smile. “Both,” he admitted, adjusting her sweater with a careful hand. Then, with a reassuring nod, he turned and motioned for her to follow. “Come on, there’s still a lot to see.”

  Meanwhile, in the gym, the three-tier black cards pushed themselves relentlessly through their workout. Headmaster Draven paced around them, his sharp eyes scanning the room like a hawk. “Come on! Is that all you’ve got?!” he barked, catching one student attempting to grab water. “Thirsty already?! You haven’t even earned it!” The student froze and hurried back to their exercises, drenched in sweat.

  Renita gasped for breath as she jumped rope at a grueling pace. “I think Headmaster Draven’s really pissed at us today,” she panted.

  “Why wouldn’t he be?” Arid retorted, hammering out sit-ups with a scowl. “Melanthius gets to waltz into school whenever he feels like it, and nobody says a word because he’s a king at sixteen. Hell, he was crowned at fifteen and talks to King Percival however he damn well pleases.”

  Renita smirked mid-jump. “Melanthius? Back to calling him by his full name, huh? You must really be mad. Or is this just you still salty about getting your ass handed to you by Althara?”

  Arid clicked his tongue, glaring at her. “You’re damn right I’m mad. Back in the Horace Groves, if you lost a fight, you didn’t eat. That’s how it was.” His pace quickened as he ground out sit-ups with renewed determination.

  Renita rolled her eyes. “Oh great, here we go. Horace Groves Arid is back, and he’s as insufferable as ever.”

  Nearby, Lincoln balanced effortlessly on one arm, powering through push-ups. “But is he wrong, though?” he interjected. “Back in freshman year, it was me, you, Arid, Mel, Elowen, and Dorian. We weren’t royalty, so nobody took us seriously.”

  “Exactly,” Arid cut in, nodding. “And now look—Elowen’s off in Camelot, Dorian’s a king, and Mel? He was dead and now he’s running around with Althara. Meanwhile, the rest of us are just… here. You know what? Maybe we should start our own thing. What did they call Mel, Elowen, and Dorian back then?” He paused, tapping his temple. “Oh yeah—the Ancient Blood Trio.”

  Lincoln snapped his fingers. “That’s such a badass name.”

  Renita rolled her eyes again. “Yeah, well, we never really hung out like that. Not like them.”

  “So what?” Arid shrugged. “That’s why we’re here now. Let’s change that.”

  Lincoln rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “If we’re starting something, we need a name. Let’s see…” He pointed at his chest. “Werewolf.” He gestured to Arid. “Mother Nature’s son.” Finally, he pointed at Renita. “Vampire.” He tapped his head, a grin forming. “We’re onto something here.”

  “I’ve got it!” Lincoln exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “The Trinity of Chaos!”

  Arid and Renita exchanged skeptical looks.

  “That’s so corny,” Arid said, but after a moment, he shrugged. “...But it could work.”

  “Ugh, this is stupid,” Renita muttered, rolling her eyes as the three of them put their hands in the middle.

  Arid spoke with newfound conviction. “We stick together. No royalty, no special treatment—just us, bonded.”

  Lincoln, caught up in the moment, grabbed a pencil and pressed it against his palm, cutting himself. “Now! Blood!” he announced, grimacing as he held his hand out.

  Arid and Renita recoiled immediately.

  “What the hell, Lincoln?!” Arid demanded, staring at the dripping blood.

  “Blood brothers!” Lincoln insisted through gritted teeth, holding out his bleeding hand.

  Renita clutched her stomach, looking green. “Ack! I hate blood!” she blurted, doubling over.

  Arid turned to her, baffled. “You’re a vampire, and you hate blood?! What do you even eat?”

  Renita winced and straightened up, holding her stomach. “The moon gives me nutrients like a flower. I’ll eat a rabbit here and there, but the taste makes me sick.”

  Arid groaned and snatched Lincoln’s injured hand, hastily wrapping it with a strip of cloth. “Renita doesn’t even have blood, genius. And we’re not doing ‘blood brothers.’ That’s gross.”

  Lincoln winced and nodded. “Alright, no blood.”

  Renita rolled her eyes again. “Thank the moon.”