Present

  Mel’s Tempest Warden flickered and then shattered into dissipating arcs of black lightning, leaving him weightless for a brief moment before he collapsed onto the cold ground. His breath was ragged, his body heavy from the overwhelming experience.

  “What… was that?” Mel murmured, his mind still reeling. “Who—who was that?”

  Across from him, Varziel wiped a stray tear from his cheek, his expression momentarily softening. “That was my past,” he said, his voice unusually calm. “If you release me, I can tell you everything—about it, about us.”

  Mel exhaled sharply, struggling to steady his thoughts. “Too much information…” he muttered under his breath.

  Varziel extended a hand, his tone gentle yet insistent. “Just pull me out.”

  Hesitation gripped Mel, his instincts screaming at him to stop—but the weight of everything he had learned, the possibility of answers, was too much to ignore. Slowly, he reached out, clasping Varziel’s hand and pulling him free from the throne’s prison.

  The moment Varziel stepped forward, a ripple of energy surged through him. His form shifted—his stature shrinking just a few inches, his facial hair vanishing, his features smoothing into something almost ethereal. He radiated divinity, his presence more refined, more commanding.

  Then, he lifted his palm toward Mel, his eyes glinting with conviction.

  “Brother, come with me.” Varziel’s voice was filled with quiet power. “We can return to the Elderborn Realm—take it back. Me, you, and our older siblings. You are the eldest, and I’ve been watching you ever since you arrived at the camp. I saw your leadership firsthand.” His expression darkened slightly. “I just need to kill Titian… then you can rule over the Elderborns as you were always meant to.”

  Mel stared at Varziel, his vision blurring—not from exhaustion, but from something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

  “…I have real siblings?” Mel’s voice cracked. He reached up, ruffling Varziel’s hair, almost as if to confirm he was real. His hands trembled.

  For so long, the only people in his life had been his friends, enemies, his rivals, and the hardened criminals of Caldara Bastille.

  Now, standing before him was real blood.

  His lips parted as if to speak, but all he could do was sniffle, struggling to hold back the emotion welling inside him.

  Varziel brushed Mel’s hand aside, his expression hardening. “So? Just let me have my revenge on Titian.” His voice was sharp, edged with years of pent-up rage.

  Mel, however, placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Trust me,” he said, his voice steady. “Revenge isn’t as satisfying as you think. Besides, I have my own questions for Titian and the Magisterium.”

  Varziel’s eyes narrowed. Without warning, he lashed out with a lightning-fast backfist, but Mel caught it just in time, blocking with his elbow. The impact echoed through the chamber.

  “You’re faster in this form,” Mel muttered, noting the difference in his movements.

  Varziel didn’t respond. Instead, his back ripped open, sprouting massive, dark-feathered wings. Before Mel could react, he shot upward, moving with blinding speed. “If I can’t have my revenge now, I’ll take it when the time is right.” His voice echoed as he vanished into the darkness above.

  Mel exhaled, watching Varziel disappear—then his vision blurred. His body finally gave in to exhaustion, and he collapsed.

  The cloud barrier around the chamber dissipated, followed by the chains that bound Rue and the Magisterium members.

  Rue gasped and immediately ran to Mel, falling to her knees and cradling his head in her lap. Her fingers brushed over his face, her heart pounding. “Mel… wake up.” Her voice cracked as she shook him gently, her eyes shimmering with worry.

  The Magisterium stepped forward, their gazes unreadable—until Franky smirked.

  “Now we can kill Melanthius.” His voice carried a twisted satisfaction.

  A loud smack echoed through the cavern.

  Titian had slapped Franky across the face, his expression unreadable.

  “Not now. Let’s go.” His tone left no room for argument.

  Franky scoffed, rubbing his stinging cheek. “Sure, why not?” He muttered, his arrogance faltering for a moment.

  Titian looked down at Mel, then at Rue, who was still holding onto him. His voice softened, just slightly.

  “The kid saved us.”

  With that, the Magisterium turned and leaped out of the hole, leaving Rue alone with an unconscious Mel, her grip on him tightening.

  A few days later…

  Mel sat in the dimly lit Arcanum Royal Institute library, the towering bookshelves surrounding him like silent sentinels. Dust floated lazily through the air as he flipped through the brittle pages of an ancient tome titled "Mythical Races Amongst the World."

  The book’s leather-bound cover was cracked with age, and its pages carried the scent of history. His fingers traced over the faded ink until he reached the chapter he had been searching for:

  "Elderborns."

  His eyes narrowed as he tapped the page, muttering under his breath while he read:

  "An ancient race, once believed to be mere legend—until Triton reigned over Atlantis, proving their existence beyond myth. The Elderborns were the apex beings of the world, standing above all others in both might and divinity. Blessed with godlike strength, boundless lifespans, and elemental dominion, they were revered and feared in equal measure."

  Mel’s gaze flickered as he continued:

  "Unlike mortals, Elderborns do not merely wield magic; they embody it. Their power is tied to the fabric of the world itself, manifesting in unique divine aspects known as Elder Graces. These Graces, inherited through their celestial bloodlines, grant them abilities beyond comprehension. Some command the tides, others forge storms, and a rare few—like Nyxion, the Keeper of the Void—can even manipulate the abyss between realms."

  "The Elderborns once ruled vast dominions, their influence stretching across land, sea, and sky. Their cities—etched into mountains, hidden beneath oceans, or floating above the clouds—were architectural marvels, crafted with celestial materials that no mortal blacksmith could replicate. Weapons forged in their era, such as the Trident of Tides and the Blades of Aether, were said to be indestructible, imbued with the very forces of nature."

  Mel furrowed his brows as he read further:

  "Yet, despite their supremacy, the Elderborns were not invincible. Civil wars erupted, fueled by betrayal, ambition, and conflicting ideologies about their place in the world. The once-unbreakable pantheon fractured, and many of their greatest warriors fell—not to mortals, but to each other."

  His heartbeat quickened as his eyes locked onto a particular passage:

  "Even in their decline, whispers persist that some Elderborns remain. Scattered, hidden, or imprisoned by the very forces they once controlled. Some seek vengeance. Others, redemption. And a rare few… wait for the day their kind will rise again."

  Mel exhaled slowly, gripping the edge of the book.

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  "Varziel called me brother… Does that mean—?"

  His thoughts swirled like a storm, but one thing was clear: the Elderborns were far from gone.

  Mel shut the book with a heavy sigh, resting his forehead against the worn wooden table. His mind was racing.

  “Varziel just left without a word… Titian is my father’s student? And Donatello—” he muttered, staring blankly at the candle’s flickering glow. “I only mentioned him being alive to throw Varziel off, but instead... he looked terrified.”

  He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. What did Varziel know that I don’t?

  A movement at the library entrance caught his attention. He looked up just as Rue stepped inside. Their eyes met for a brief second, but her expression hardened. With an irritated roll of her eyes, she turned sharply and stormed off without a word.

  Mel sighed. He couldn’t blame her.

  His mind drifted back to what had happened before they left the cave.

  Past

  Mel coughed, his head resting in Rue’s lap, his vision hazy from exhaustion.

  “Rue…” His voice was raw, barely above a whisper. “I don’t think our relationship should go beyond friendship.”

  Rue stiffened. “What?”

  He forced himself to continue, even as the words twisted like a knife in his chest.

  “My life is too dangerous right now. I can’t drag you into it. If anything happened to you… I wouldn’t forgive myself.”

  Rue let out a choked sob, her fingers trembling as she brushed a hand across his forehead. “We were doing so good… we just kissed and all.” Her voice broke at the last word, filled with raw emotion.

  Mel clenched his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain—not just the physical, but the ache in his chest.

  “Please,” he whispered, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “I can’t have you involved.”

  Even as he said it, he knew it was already too late.

  Present

  Mel let out a deep sigh, resting his head on the table.

  "That’s not the only thing on my mind…" he thought, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the worn wooden surface. "Every time my life starts to settle down, something insane happens. Either I end up fighting someone, or worse—on the brink of death."

  He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to shake off the paranoia. "But maybe I’m just being superstitious."

  Just then, movement caught his eye. Lance walked into the library, carrying a book, and sat across from him.

  Mel managed a small smile. “How’s my student been?” He reached over to tap Lance’s shoulder, but Lance simply shrugged him off.

  Mel leaned back, sighing. “Still mad about Althara, huh?”

  Lance didn’t even glance up from his notebook as he scribbled notes. “Yeah, I’m mad. A girl sends her gang to try and kill us, beats half of us within an inch of our lives, and the guy I call my sensei—who I trust—is defending her and hanging out with her.”

  Mel drummed his fingers against the desk, nodding. “Lance, that was a month ago. And Althara did it to see Anita.”

  Lance’s hand slammed against the table, the sharp sound echoing through the quiet library. “Look! If she had killed me and Clyde that day, would you still defend her? Would you still walk with her and talk to her?” Mel froze. His heart clenched. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

  “Lance…” he finally managed, but the words felt empty. Lance shut his notebook with a quiet snap and stood up. “Do you care about me, Mel?” Mel’s head shot up. “Of course I do.” Lance’s fists clenched. “I mean the way you care about Elowen and Dorian.”

  Mel didn’t hesitate. “I do.” Lance looked at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. His lips parted, as if he was about to say something else—something heavier—but he just exhaled sharply. “Do you lo—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

  Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked out of the library.

  Clyde strolled into the library, catching sight of Lance on his way in. He waved, and though Lance was clearly still upset, he returned the gesture halfheartedly.

  Without hesitation, Clyde made his way over to Mel and plopped down beside him.

  “Morning, big brother.” He grinned before wrapping his arms around Mel in a tight hug.

  Mel blinked in surprise but returned the embrace. “Clyde… why are you hugging me?”

  Clyde pulled back, his smile even bigger. “Can’t I just show my big brother some love? We might only be ‘brothers’ because of the school’s program, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re my big bro.”

  Mel raised an eyebrow, still processing the sudden affection. “You literally have a real older brother, Clyde.”

  “So? You’re still my big bro.”

  Mel gave a slow nod, still looking slightly confused. “Uh… thanks, I guess?”

  Clyde beamed and suddenly pulled out a small carton of ice cream, placing it on the table in front of Mel.

  “Here you go!”

  Mel eyed the ice cream, then glanced back at Clyde with suspicion. “Clyde… I know you’re doing this because I mentioned having multiple younger siblings.” He let out a small sigh before prying the carton open. “Look, I don’t even know them, and Varziel? That guy’s insane. You don’t have to act like you’re filling some role in my life.”

  Despite his words, he took a spoonful of ice cream and popped it into his mouth.

  Clyde just grinned. “Nah, I want to.”

  Mel nodded and leaned back, still scooping up ice cream. “Okay.” He flashed a small smile as he ate.

  Suddenly, a faint rumble shook the library, making the shelves tremble and sending a few books tumbling to the floor. Both Mel and Clyde instinctively steadied themselves.

  “Whoa. Didn’t know we got quakes around here.” Mel commented casually, unfazed as he continued eating.

  Clyde, however, wasn’t as relaxed. He swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on something outside the window behind Mel.

  “Uhh… how did you describe your other brother again?” He asked, his voice uncertain.

  Mel, still focused on his ice cream, shrugged. “About three inches shorter than me, lean build, dressed in all white… oh, and a ridiculously majestic-looking face.” He listed off from memory before finally glancing at Clyde.

  Clyde’s expression only grew more tense. “Yeah… you might wanna turn around.”

  Mel turned around and saw a massive crowd gathering in the city square, all eyes fixed on a figure hovering in the sky. Before he could react, the figure plummeted toward the ground with devastating force. A thunderous boom shook the city as the impact carved a deep crater into the earth.

  Mel shot up from his seat, his grip tightening around the spoon still in his hand. His ice cream nearly slipped from his grasp, but he didn’t care. “Clyde, stay here!” he ordered before sprinting out of the library.

  Bursting from the school, Mel took to the sky, flying toward the scene at full speed. As he landed with a sharp skid, he looked up just in time to see Varziel launch himself into the ground once more. The impact sent another tremor through the city, deepening the already gaping hole.

  A voice called out behind him. “Melanthius. Why do I have a feeling you’re involved in this?”

  Mel exhaled sharply, already exasperated. “Because you’re judgmental. I mean, come on, does every flying lunatic slamming into the ground have to be my problem?” He folded his arms.

  The person hesitated, looking slightly guilty. “…I’m sorry.”

  Before Mel could respond, Varziel suddenly pointed a rigid finger at him. “Big brother. This has nothing to do with you. Leave now before I destroy you.”

  Mel’s skin went cold. “…Destroy me?”

  The murmurs of the crowd grew louder, whispers turning into outright protests.

  “Hey! This has everything to do with you!” someone shouted, voices rising in agreement.

  “He just said it didn’t!” Mel shouted in frustration, but his words were drowned out as Draven spread his dragon wings and soared toward Varziel.

  Varziel barely spared him a glance before turning away. “What do you want?” he asked, his voice laced with disinterest.

  Draven unsheathed his sword, smirking. “I need you to stop… whatever it is you’re trying to do. If you’re looking for a way to die, there are easier methods, you know.”

  Before Draven could provoke him further, Mel shot up into the air, closing the distance. “Varziel, what the hell are you doing here?”

  Varziel scoffed in response, then suddenly launched himself toward the ground again.

  Mel growled, grabbing his brother by the legs mid-dive and hurling him high into the clouds, away from the city. He rocketed after him, catching Varziel by the wrist. “What are you doing?!”

  Varziel’s eyes glinted as he drove a brutal kick into Mel’s chest, forcing him backward.

  “I felt the presence of an Arcanus Titan here,” he said, his voice calm yet unwavering. “They were the sworn enemies of us Elderborns, rulers of the underworld. If one of them is lurking beneath this city, then I need to destroy them—by reaching the center of the earth.”

  Mel clenched his jaw as he blocked another incoming kick, his arms throbbing from the force. His mind raced. An Arcanus Titan…? His thoughts flickered back to something Mark had once told him. Someone he knew—someone close—was connected to him.

  His fingers absentmindedly found his mouth as he bit down in frustration, lost in thought. “Who was it?”

  Mel's eyes widened as he glanced down, spotting Bimoth towering over the crowd, his gaze fixed upward.

  "Him!" The realization hit Mel like a bolt of lightning. Bimoth’s uncle had been one of the last Arcanus Titans, locked in a legendary stalemate against Merlin Shadowbane. But Bimoth himself had no knowledge of his lineage—no idea what an Arcanus Titan even was.

  Mel turned sharply to Varziel, whose expression twisted into fury as he locked eyes with Bimoth.

  "That’s one of them! Except… he’s a human hybrid?!" Varziel spat in disbelief before rocketing toward Bimoth with murderous intent.

  With lightning speed, he swung a devastating axe kick down toward Bimoth’s skull. Gasps rippled through the crowd as an explosion of dust consumed the field.

  For a moment, silence. Then, as the dust settled, the crowd saw Bimoth standing firm, his massive forearm raised in effortless defense. Not a single scratch on him.

  Varziel’s eyes narrowed. "Who are you? Your strength is nearly on par with Melanthius…" His voice trailed off as he studied Bimoth, his confusion evident. "I doubt you’re smart enough to know my weakness, though."

  Bimoth’s arm suddenly pulsed with a vibrant green glow. Without hesitation, he drove a crushing backfist into Varziel’s chest, sending him hurtling toward the ground with a thunderous impact.