“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.

  Goser let out a nervous chuckle, hands raised in surrender. “Okay, okay! I know it looks bad. But you weren’t there! You don’t understand the… circumstances.”

  Mel tilted his head slightly, unfazed. “Right. Well, here’s what I do understand—this place is a disaster, and we’re going to clean it up.”

  Casually, he reached forward, plucking a few candies from the bowl on Goser’s desk and popping one into his mouth.

  Goser hesitated before nodding, forcing a shaky smile. “Glad you’re saying that, because, uh… there’s a mandatory meeting with the other Auroria schools later tonight.”

  Mel exhaled through his nose, giving the dean a long, unimpressed look. “Of course there is.”

  Leaning back, he glanced around the room—the overflowing trash bins, the torn-up posters with crude drawings, the stains on the walls. Without another word, he raised his palm, his magic humming to life. Wisps of clouds spiraled from his fingertips, sweeping across the office. In a single wave, the garbage evaporated, the walls cleared, and the filth vanished as if it had never existed.

  Mel clapped his hands together. “Alright. We’ve got five hours before that meeting. Time to turn this mess into something that actually resembles a school.”

  At Arcanum High, King Percival stood alongside Draven, Kai, and Jasper, observing as the wardens prepared for the upcoming school meetings. His eyes scanned the list of attending institutions, pausing on a particular entry.

  “Northride… their students went on to become kings of some of the Seven Deadly Kingdoms,” he muttered, underlining the note. “We’ll need to keep an eye on their headmasters.”

  As he continued reading, his brow furrowed. “Wait… Atlas High is attending?” His grip on the paper tightened slightly. “And Melanthius? I thought he didn’t even know about this.”

  Draven stepped forward, his expression firm. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, you and Melanthius have been at odds for a while now. You punched him last time, yet you refuse to expel him from the school. Your own daughter no longer wants to be queen and has sided with him. Bimoth abandoned our forces the moment Melanthius returned. Elowen is gone. Dorian is gone. What is happening?”

  King Percival’s gaze darkened, his jaw tightening as he slowly turned to face Draven. A heavy silence filled the room before he spoke, his voice cold and unyielding.

  “Go set up.” His words were deliberate, carrying a weight that made the air feel thick. Then, his tone dropped, uncharacteristically sharp. “And don’t ever speak to me like that again.”

  Draven hesitantly nodded and turned around to go help with the tables and chairs.

  King Percival looked through the window to the far away dock to the entrance to Atlantis. “Melanthius.” He muttered and went to set up.

  In the far corner of the gym, Arid, Renita, and Lincoln stretched, preparing for the upcoming meeting. Lincoln threw a series of sharp punches at a nearby training dummy, his brows furrowed in thought.

  “Why did Draven pick us to represent the school?” he asked between strikes.

  Arid rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck before shrugging. “No clue. But hey, maybe we’ll get scouted by potential gates.”

  Renita raised an eyebrow. “Scouted? What do you mean?”

  Arid sat down, leaning back on his hands. “Some kingdoms let you join their knightly gates instead of going to college. It’s like an alternative path—you train, serve, and get paid. A lot of knights make good money in different kingdoms.”

  “Damn, there are gonna be magic users from other kingdoms here. I wonder if they’re dangerous,” Lincoln muttered, glancing toward the door.

  “But wouldn’t it make more sense for Laurel, Emrys, and Kali to represent us?” he continued. “I mean, they were part of the original twelve Black Cards.”

  Arid let out a frustrated sigh, ruffling the back of his hair before pressing his forehead against Lincoln’s. “That’s exactly the point, Lincoln! We have to prove we can be like them!” His eyes lit up with determination. “Think about it—there are sixteen Black Cards in each grade, and Headmaster Draven chose us! That means we belong here. We fought in the battle against the wardens, didn’t we?”

  Renita and Lincoln exchanged glances before nodding, their enthusiasm igniting at Arid’s words.

  As Mel stepped out of Atlantis, he scanned his surroundings with a sigh. “Okay, so now I have to register Atlas High for this meeting? What the hell was Goser even doing?” he muttered to himself.

  Before he could dwell on it further, he spotted Rue approaching, dressed in flowing Atlantean garments that shimmered under the sun.

  “Hey, Mel!” she greeted with a bright smile.

  The moment he saw her, his expression softened. “Hey. What brings you here?”

  Rue clasped her hands behind her back, rocking slightly on her heels as she gazed up at him. “I was actually looking for you,” she admitted before glancing toward Arcanum High in the distance. “My dad was talking about the upcoming school meeting. Did you know Arid, Renita, and Lincoln are representing Arcanum?”

  Mel’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “No, I did not know that,” he said, his voice even but thoughtful.

  Rue nodded. “And Atlas High is participating too, right? You mean the Atlas High? The worst school in all the kingdoms?”

  Mel let out a chuckle. “Yeah, but I just came back from cleaning it up,” he said as they started walking together through the city streets.

  Rue glanced at him, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “So why are you even doing this whole school thing?”

  Mel’s gaze dropped to the ground, his tone shifting. “It’s a distraction,” he murmured.

  Rue slowed her steps, her smile fading. “A distraction?”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Mel exhaled, running a hand over his face. “From storming Camelot,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

  Rue flinched at the name. “Elowen…” she muttered, her expression growing solemn.

  “Yasmine just left—ran off to Camelot after taking down her husband, her daughter, and the entire Steel Pact. And King Liam—why am I even calling him King?” Mel’s voice was sharp with frustration, his hands curling into fists. “Liam stole Elowen from us. He’s responsible for so much, and yet I barely even know the psychopath!” His growl deepened as black lightning crackled around his arms.

  Rue flinched at the sudden surge of energy but quickly reached out, placing a hand over the black gauntlets on his arm. Mel sucked in a breath, then slowly exhaled, forcing himself to calm.

  “But I can’t do anything,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, tinged with exhaustion. “Not alone.” He glanced away. “Arid hates me because of Althara. Bimoth is loyal, but he won’t fight by my side because of her either. Lance doesn’t want to be my student anymore. And I—I don’t want Clyde involved. I don’t want you involved.”

  The last words came softer, as if they pained him to say. Then, without warning, he pulled Rue into a tight embrace.

  “I can’t lose any more of you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Losing Dorian and Elowen was already too much.”

  Rue stilled for a moment, then leaned into his touch, resting her forehead against his chest, feeling the weight of his grief settle between them.

  As they continued walking, Mel suddenly felt a familiar sensation crawling up his leg. He glanced down, his eyes widening in surprise as his fae fox scurried up his arm with effortless grace.

  “Oh!” he exclaimed, caught off guard. The little creature nestled against his chest, her fur warm and soft. “Haven’t seen you in forever. Where’ve you been?” He gently rubbed the fox’s head, feeling a sense of comfort wash over him.

  Rue watched with a curious smile, reaching out to pat the fox. “She really just disappears and comes back whenever she wants, huh?” she mused. “I wonder what kind of trouble she’s been getting into.”

  Mel stroked the fox’s soft fur, and in response, she let out a contented purr, her color shifting to a deep shade of purple. He chuckled, watching as her tiny body relaxed completely in his arms.

  “Maybe I should stop letting her wander off so much,” he murmured, though there was no real conviction in his voice. The fox let out a tiny snore, already fast asleep, and Mel sighed with a faint smile.

  Moments later, the gymnasium buzzed with a tense energy as the stage was set. Seated at the forefront were Headmasters Draven, Kai, and Jasper, with King Percival positioned at the center. Behind them, Arid, Renita, and Lincoln stood, representing their school. Around the gym, headmasters from various prestigious institutions took their places, each accompanied by three selected students. One by one, ten headmasters entered, each flanked by their chosen representatives.

  Then, the doors swung open again. Headmaster Goser of Atlas High strode in, followed closely by Mel, who was flanked on either side by Bimoth and Rue.

  "You guys didn’t have to come," Mel muttered, glancing at them.

  Bimoth wordlessly pulled out Mel’s chair before taking his own seat. “I did,” he replied firmly.

  Mel turned to Rue, who had remained quiet, her expression unreadable. Bimoth sighed and leaned toward her. “Still not talking to me, huh?” he asked, his tone laced with frustration. Rue rolled her eyes but said nothing.

  “She’ll come around,” Mel assured him, settling into his chair. “You two were friends long before she and I ever were.”

  Bimoth nodded, though his expression remained troubled as the meeting was about to begin.

  Arielle Porter, the representative of the Aurora Continent’s school board, stepped up to the microphone, her heels clicking sharply against the polished gym floor. She cleared her throat, scanning the room filled with headmasters, students, and royalty before offering a practiced smile.

  “I appreciate you all gathering on such short notice,” she began, her voice smooth yet authoritative. “I understand this meeting was unexpected, but given recent developments, it was necessary.”

  Arielle pulled out a few papers. “First off, I wanted to announce that Arcanum Royal institute still holds the top spot as the best school in Auroria.” She announced and claps and cheers filled the gym. King Percival had a face of pride.

  Arielle cleared her throat as the cheers died down. “Secondly, I wanted to announce that this will be a chance for the students that you have chosen to be scouted out by gates or to transfer schools. See this as a committee of some sort.” She said and murmurs from students filled the gym.

  A student raised their hand, and Arielle Porter gestured toward them with a polite smile. “Yes?” she asked.

  The student, a lanky boy with tousled hair, scratched the back of his head nonchalantly. “Uh… yeah. Name’s Jordan Barker, Northride School of Fine Arts. This is all great and all, but what’s the point of discussing school policies when there’s a murderer on the loose?”

  Murmurs rippled through the room. Mel’s gaze flickered to Jordan, interest piqued.

  Arielle let out a practiced, almost saccharine laugh. “A murderer? Oh no, dear. There are no murderers here in Auroria,” she said smoothly.

  Mel’s fingers instinctively curled against his stomach, where the scars of Goldman’s swords still ached in memory.

  Jordan leaned back in his chair, tilting his head in disbelief. “Really? Because last I checked, there’s a man slaughtering kings across this continent. Surely you’ve heard of Goldman.”

  The moment the name left his mouth, Arielle’s pleasant demeanor cracked. She stomped her heel against the stage with a sharp clack.

  “We do not say that name,” she snapped, her forced smile faltering. “That was… an inconvenience. Auroria’s security is far stronger now.”

  Mel let out a dry, humorless scoff. “‘Inconvenience.’ Right.” His voice dripped with sarcasm as he shook his head. “I only spent half my life in a cell with him, and oh yeah—he killed me.”

  Silence fell over the room. Every head turned. Every eye locked onto him.

  Mel blinked. I said that out loud.

  Arielle’s gaze sharpened, but her expression remained unreadable. “Ah. King Melanthius,” she said, drawing out his title with intrigue. “What happened to you was truly a tragedy. And yet—” she leaned in slightly, curiosity flickering in her eyes, “—you’re standing here. Somehow. Do you have anything to say about that?”

  Mel exhaled slowly, staring at his fingers. His voice was quiet, but it carried weight.

  “I’m just saying… My best friend was kidnapped by Goldman, and my other best friend turned into a dictator because of him. ‘Inconvenience’ doesn’t quite cover it.”

  The tension in the room was suffocating. But Mel didn’t flinch. He simply kept staring at his fingers, feeling the weight of too many ghosts pressing down on him.

  Arielle cleared her throat, regaining her composure. “Anyway,” she said, smoothly shifting the tone, “while we’re all gathered here, let’s take this opportunity to connect. For the students, this could be a chance to acknowledge each other.”

  A short while later, Arid stood by a table, absentmindedly picking at a bowl of chips. Mel approached, standing beside him without making eye contact.

  “How’s being a school representative treating you?” Mel asked.

  Arid sighed, not bothering to look his way. “Pretty dull. I thought we’d get scouted, but I guess we have to make a name for ourselves first.”

  Mel nodded, then hesitated for a moment. “Still angry at me?”

  Arid shrugged. “Althara still around?”

  Mel nodded.

  Arid exhaled through his nose, then grabbed another chip. “Not that angry,” he admitted before brushing past Mel and walking away.

  Mel sighed and saw Jordan, the boy from earlier. “He goes to the same school King Ethan Knight, King Charles and King Carter went to. I shouldn’t bring it up.” He thought and listened to the conversation.

  Jordan approached King Percival on the stage, his posture casual but respectful. “Hello, Your Majesty. I’m Jordan Barker, as you probably heard. I wanted to ask if I could transfer to Arcanum High.”

  King Percival arched an eyebrow. “Why?”

  Jordan swallowed, forcing himself to stand taller. “It’s always been a dream of mine. Arcanum High is known for its magic and incredible students. I want to be a part of that.”

  Percival leaned back in his chair, unimpressed. “And why would I let you in? Do you know me? Do I owe you a favor? Do you have magic? Can you fight?”

  Jordan hesitated before nodding. “I—I do have a magical technique.”

  Percival shrugged. “Royal bloodline?”

  Jordan shook his head. “No, sir.”

  The king eyed him critically. “You don’t look particularly bright, kid. Stay in Northride.”

  Jordan stiffened but nodded hesitantly, stepping back as Percival turned his attention elsewhere.