Chapter 17

Mel stepped forward, positioning himself between Elowen and Dorian, who stared in disbelief. "I know you've got questions," he said, his voice hard and determined. "But they'll have to wait. Right now, we're going to take down this bastard—because no one gets to break my moral code and walk away."

His eyes burned with fierce determination, and the weight of his words set the air around them ablaze with intensity.

In a flash, Estron lunged at Melanthius, his fist connecting with a thunderous impact that echoed across the battlefield. As the dust settled, Mel stood, barely blocking the punch with Merlin's wand. His face was bloodied, yet he grinned. "I'm too young for this," he chuckled, attempting to mimic Baba Yaga's signature line, but it came out awkwardly, like a forced imitation. Estron's face remained cold and expressionless.

Mel tapped Estron's ankle with the wand. "Nice foot," he quipped, echoing Yaga again. "Let's take you for a ride!" With surprising agility, Mel spun Estron upside down, but before he could finish the move, Estron retaliated, shooting a sharp card into Mel's arm and landing a brutal kick to his face.

"Argh!" Mel grunted, collapsing to the ground.

"Damn it! He doesn't have his spell book! Is he just winging it?! Estron's too strong!" Dorian shouted, rushing in to throw a punch, but Estron effortlessly intercepted his wrist, twisted it, and slammed Dorian into the ground. He pounced on Dorian's back, pinning him effortlessly.

Elowen, standing firm, glared at Estron, her eyes filled with determination. "We Camelot folk were raised to be strong. If you're weak, you don't survive," she declared, her voice steady and fierce. "As the daughter of the late King Arthur, I've been trained in Dintingaa."

She rolled up her sleeves, revealing muscular forearms.

Dintingaa, a martial art focused on overpowering opponents, relied on exploiting the strongest parts of one's body against the weakest of an adversary. It was both offensive and defensive, relying on joint locks, stamina, and surprise.

Estron's eyes narrowed. In a blur of motion, Elowen launched forward, delivering a devastating punch directly to Estron's philtrum. The force of the blow sent him reeling back, his expression for the first time showing shock.

"You're not the only one who can hit hard," she said, her voice cold.

With a growl, Estron recovered in an instant, his eyes now filled with fury. "You think you can overpower me?" he spat, wiping the trickle of blood from his nose. "You Camelot types always think you're invincible."

Before Elowen could react, Estron moved with blinding speed. He grabbed her by the wrist, twisting it painfully before slamming her to the ground with a sickening thud. Elowen gasped in pain, her body writhing under the pressure as Estron towered over her.

"You talk about strength," he snarled, "but strength without cunning is nothing."

Elowen gritted her teeth and managed to twist her body just enough to deliver a powerful knee strike to Estron's ribs. He grunted but barely moved, tightening his grip on her arm and forcing her into a joint lock. She tried to counter with a swift kick, but Estron caught her leg effortlessly and slammed her back into the ground again.

"You're tough, I'll give you that," he said, his voice now mocking. "But not tough enough."

Elowen's breathing was ragged, but she refused to give in. "Dintingaa teaches us to never surrender." She struggled, twisting her body, trying to break free, but Estron's grip was too strong. He slammed his knee into her abdomen, knocking the wind out of her.

"Dintingaa or not, you're just another fighter to crush," he sneered. Estron yanked her up by the collar and hurled her into a nearby wall. The force of the impact left cracks in the stone, and Elowen crumpled to the ground, coughing and clutching her side.

Dorian, still struggling to get up, shouted, "Elowen!" but his voice was weak, and his body was barely able to move.

Estron approached Elowen, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. "That's one down. Who's next?"

But even as Elowen lay defeated, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, she smirked through the pain. "You haven't won yet," she rasped, her eyes flickering with defiance.

"You've already lost," Estron said coldly. "And now, I'm going to finish this."

He raised his hand, summoning a sharp card from his sleeve, preparing for the final strike. Elowen's body trembled, and her vision blurred, but her gaze never left Estron. Even in defeat, her spirit refused to break.

King Aldara collapsed to his knees, frustration and helplessness written across his face. "My knights are useless. They don't even have magic to protect this kingdom. I'm pathetic… relying on freshmen to defend Auroria!" His voice cracked as he bit his lip, tears welling in his eyes. "Is there truly no hope? My brother is dead, and now my kingdom will follow!"

The murmurs of disbelief rippled through the knights as they stared at something beyond the king. Gasps filled the air.

Melanthius, still bloodied but defiant, lifted his head and managed a pained grin. "I knew you'd come," he muttered.

Through the dust and chaos, Maren, the former king of Atlantis, strode forward with a calm, powerful presence. In his grip was his trident, the Raven Talon tonfas, and a pair of black armored gloves gleaming ominously in the dim light. "Apologies for breaking into your museum," he said with a cold smile, walking up to Melanthius. "Now, are you going to keep lying there, or are you ready to fight like a man?"

Mel winced as he got to his feet, his body aching but his resolve hardening. "A real man doesn't curse, but… this time I'll make an exception." His gaze swept over the battlefield, over the fallen knights, Elowen, Dorian, and Lance—each of them having risked everything. "Let's kill this son of a bitch." Mel grabbed the tonfas, his grip tightening around the ancient weapons as he slid on the gloves Maren had brought.

Estron, watching with amusement, smirked darkly. He reached into his coat and pulled out a deck of cards, methodically swallowing the numbered ones one by one. His body twitched violently as a sickening transformation overtook him. His muscles bulged, his skin pulsed, and his eyes turned blood red. He grinned, voice dripping with venom. "Maren, you finally realized, didn't you? Melanthius Shadowbane isn't the one who murdered your father. I fed you that lie. I planted it so deep in your mind that you became a puppet. You tore your kingdom apart hunting him down, and in the end, you lost. Now you think helping him will erase what you did?"

Maren's face darkened for a moment, but he didn't flinch. He lowered his eyes briefly, acknowledging the truth. "You're right. I destroyed my kingdom in my search for revenge. I wronged my people, and for that, I apologize." He paused, spinning his trident in one hand. "But I don't care about redemption right now. I care about finishing this. After we take you down, I'll deal with the man who really killed my father."

Maren glanced at Melanthius, eyes sharp. "You don't have to worry about losing control this time, Mel. That's why I brought the gloves."

Mel, feeling the weight of the gloves and the tonfas in his hands, nodded. His eyes burned with renewed determination. Together, the two of them stepped forward, standing united, ready to face the monstrous form of Estron.

Estron cracked his knuckles, his red eyes gleaming. "I hope you're ready for your worst nightmare."

Estron shot forward like a bolt of lightning, his sights locked on both Melanthius and Maren. In a swift move, Maren hurled his trident straight for Estron's face. Estron halted, dodging the weapon by mere inches, but the distraction gave Mel the opening he needed. Mel spun his tonfas, unleashing a wave of dark energy that cut through the air toward Estron.

Estron's eyes widened in surprise. He quickly drew a card, slicing the wave in two, causing the dark energy to explode behind him, shattering the kingdom's outer walls. Before he could react, Mel's knee slammed into his chest with a sickening thud.

"That's it?" Estron snarled. Mel smirked and followed up with a vicious kick to his face, spinning into a pivot kick that sent Estron flying across the battlefield.

Estron growled as he regained his footing, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. "You think this changes anything?!" he spat, his voice laced with venom. "Melanthius, Maren, you're nothing but tools to save this crumbling kingdom! What do you think will happen once the semester ends? They'll throw you back into Caldara Bastille like the prisoner you are! And you, Maren, do you really believe—"

Before he could finish, a blur of motion appeared behind him. Draven, silent as a shadow, had crept up unnoticed. In one swift strike, Draven sliced through Estron's torso, cleaving him in half. Estron's eyes bulged in shock as his upper body fell to the ground, blood pouring from his mouth.

He coughed weakly, gasping for air as life drained from him. "T-this… isn't over…" he sputtered before collapsing, lifeless.

The battlefield grew eerily quiet, Estron's death leaving an unsettling calm in its wake.

Suddenly, a squad of knights charged at Maren and Melanthius. Thinking quickly, Maren conjured a water portal and leapt through it, disappearing before the knights could reach him. The knights approached Mel with handcuffs in hand, attempting to restrain him. Mel sidestepped with ease, and the knights stumbled, falling to the ground. "I'm not being in chains again!" He growled.

"What are you doing?!" Percival shouted, his voice filled with anger and confusion. The knights hesitated, then rushed Mel again, intent on subduing him. "We have orders from Headmaster Thadde—"

"I am your king!" Percival's voice thundered, cutting through the chaos. The knights froze in their tracks, looking between each other in uncertainty. Melanthius stood still, eyes narrowed in confusion.

Percival strode forward, his expression grim but resolute. "This boy is not your enemy—he's a hero. And not just him. Draven, Lance Landthug, Elowen Pendragon, Dorian Dracula—they all stood and fought while I, your king, did nothing. I let fear control me. These people gave everything when I couldn't even raise a hand!" He paused, the weight of his words settling over the crowd.

"The headmaster, Thaddeus, has met a brutal end, and while we mourn that loss, we will not treat these heroes as criminals." Percival's gaze swept over the knights and the gathering crowd. "We will celebrate their courage with a feast and an award ceremony in their honor."

A wave of cheers erupted, the tension easing as the knights stood down, and Melanthius, though still wary, relaxed slightly, grateful but unsure of what lay ahead.

And so, the second Jester incident came to an end. The injured were swiftly transported to an infirmary in Auroria, where advanced nanobots mended their wounds with remarkable precision. Klaus, thankfully unscathed, returned to Baba Yaga—a relief for Melanthius, given the alternative.

In the aftermath, King Percival made a decisive call: the school would remain closed for the rest of the first semester. With the campus in ruins and the students needing time to recover from the harrowing battle, it was the only logical choice. As for the three knights of Slesan, they barely escaped with their lives, their injuries inflicted by Baba Yaga far beyond any ordinary healing.

With the Jester dead and the knights defeated, Melanthius could finally begin to hope for a brief glimpse of normalcy as a freshman—at least for now.

Meanwhile, Maren approached a foreboding dungeon deep within the heart of a dark forest, gripping his trident tightly. The dungeon's entrance was sealed with golden bars, which he effortlessly sliced through with a swift strike of his weapon. As he ventured deeper into the shadowy depths, the walls gleamed with piles of golden treasure, but Maren's focus remained ahead.

At the end of the dungeon, he found a massive, muscular figure seated before an imposing golden statue. The man's hands were encased in golden armored gloves, and he slowly lifted his gaze to meet Maren's. "Well, if it isn't the demigod himself," he sneered, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Welcome to my humble abode. You might want to take your shoes off."

Maren's eyes narrowed, his voice low and deadly. "Michelangelo of the Renaissance Kingdom, your time has come. Prepare to be executed." He leveled his trident at the man, ready to strike.

Michelangelo chuckled darkly, cracking his neck as he stood. "Your father must be rolling in his grave, Maren. I heard you lost your throne. Such a pity."

Maren's grip on the trident tightened. "I hunted a boy, believing he was responsible for my father's death. But now I know it was you who killed Triton! And not just him—you murdered your own younger brother, Donatello, driving yourself into hiding like the coward you are! You fear the day your siblings will find you!"

Michelangelo sighed, as if Maren's words had dredged up unwanted memories. Slowly, he picked up a handful of golden coins, bringing them to his mouth and eating them. As he consumed the gold, his eyes turned a molten shade of gold, and his skin took on a flawless sheen. "You really want to fight me?" he asked, his voice dangerously calm. "Do you have any idea what I've endured?"

With a sinister grin, Michelangelo made a fist, his golden gloves shimmering as they generated sharp shards. In an instant, he launched a powerful punch at Maren, his voice echoing through the dungeon. "You threatened me first. Remember, a real man doesn't cause unnecessary violence." He coldly quoted one of the same moral codes that Melanthius lived by.

Maren's arms flew up instinctively as Michelangelo's punch sent him crashing into a heap of golden treasure. As he scrambled to his feet, he noticed with horror that the scales on his arms had been torn away, revealing blue blood trickling down. Gritting his teeth, he lunged at Michelangelo with his trident, but Michelangelo raised a hand with a casual air, effortlessly controlling the weapon.

"I can manipulate anything made of gold," Michelangelo taunted, a cruel smirk on his face. "I've slain a god before—do you really think I can't handle his sons?" With a flick of his wrist, he forced Maren to drop the trident, then slashed across his chest with it. "You remind me of a boy I encountered in prison."

Maren cried out in agony as the wound filled with water, forming a painful scar. Fueled by desperation, he charged at Michelangelo, his fist engulfed in a swirling vortex of water. He struck Michelangelo with a powerful punch, causing the man to let out a dramatic "OW!"—but it was all a ruse. Michelangelo had shielded his face with a layer of liquid gold, laughing at Maren's futile attack.

"Just kidding!" Michelangelo mocked, delivering a punishing blow that sent Maren sprawling to the ground. "You're weak!" he spat derisively on Maren's face.

Panting heavily, Maren forced himself to his feet. He conjured a water sword and slashed fiercely at Michelangelo. "Give it up. Get him, David!" Michelangelo commanded, and the colossal golden statue behind him began to stir, its massive form coming to life. With a thunderous roar, it pummeled Maren relentlessly, hurling him high into the air and sending him crashing down with devastating force.

Michelangelo approached the spot where Maren had fallen, only to find that Maren had vanished through a water portal. "Dammit, I lost him," Michelangelo muttered, frustration evident in his voice. "Looks like I'll need to relocate."

He glanced at David, his statue, which now began to dissolve into liquid gold. A chill crept down Michelangelo's spine as Maren's words echoed in his mind. "I can't let those two find me!" he thought urgently.

With a swift motion, Michelangelo raised his hand, and the gold in the dungeon, including the remnants of the shattered gold bars, began to liquefy. Streams of molten gold flowed towards him, merging with his body. As the last of the precious metal disappeared into him, his body began to dissolve into a shimmering golden liquid, which then flowed seamlessly into the ground, leaving no trace of his presence behind.

Back in Auroria Dominion

Melanthius sat at a table, casually sipping his drink, while his friends poked and prodded him like curious children. "Why are you all doing this again?" he asked, taking another sip.

"You were dead!" Elowen exclaimed, poking his tongue in disbelief.

Dorian tugged at Mel's small beard. "When are you going to shave this thing off?" he asked, grinning mischievously. Mel smacked his hand away, straightening up. "A real man always has a marvelous beard," he declared with exaggerated seriousness.

Without warning, Dorian whipped out his dagger and swiftly sliced off the beard. "There! Now you don't look like a homeless perv," he teased, chuckling.

Mel rubbed his chin and stared at his reflection in a nearby mirror. "It's not… bad… WAIT, YOU FOUND YOUR DAGGER?!" he blurted out.

Elowen and Dorian exchanged guilty glances. "Estron hid them under your bed. We found them in the rubble after the school was destroyed," Elowen admitted sheepishly.

Mel nodded, understanding. "It's fine. You did what you had to, even telling Thaddeus I'm the only one who can wield Excalibur. I guess the tonfas got flung into the debris, which is how Maren found them." He shrugged, then took another sip of his drink.

Just then, Lance hobbled into the restaurant, his limbs heavily bandaged, and patches of bandages visible under his clothes. "Master!" he called out with a grin.

Mel stood, a look of pride on his face. "My loyal student, you really stepped up today fighting the Jester," he said, bowing slightly in respect. Lance bowed back, grinning mischievously at Elowen. "Yeah, well, a real man always has to show off in front of the ladies," he said with a wink.

Elowen shuddered in mock disgust. "Please, not today, Lance."

Mel turned, noticing his fish people sitting at another table in the restaurant. Their familiar faces brought a wave of emotions over him. He stood on the table, raising his glass with a hand still encased in the black armor gloves. The clink of the glass caught everyone's attention.

"Everyone," he began, voice heavy with guilt, "I'm sorry. I didn't keep my promise. I couldn't save all of you. The truth is, I wanted to run. Everywhere I went, you all got hurt because of my lineage. That's the hardest part about wanting to be a hero—you can't save everyone. Maybe if I wasn't here, maybe if he had just killed me instead, everything would've been better—"

His words were abruptly cut off by a stinging slap across his face. Elowen stood in front of him, her hand still raised, eyes blazing. "Are you out of your mind?" she snapped, her voice trembling with emotion. "Do you think we'd all be sitting here, laughing, eating, if we thought you'd be better off dead?"

Her words hung in the air, and Dorian, standing beside her, crossed his arms, staring at the ground. "We fought the Jester because we knew that's what you would've done if you were there. We believed in you, even when you didn't believe in yourself."

Mel stood in stunned silence, the sting of Elowen's words hitting deeper than her slap. Slowly, he looked around the room at the faces of those who had stood by him. "You're right," he said, voice steadying. "I'm not a hero because I save everyone. I'm a hero because I don't give up on anyone."

"YEAH, FOR OUR KING!" Goda shouted, and the entire group of fish people erupted into cheers, raising their glasses in unison. The clinking of glass filled the air as they toasted Mel, their laughter and voices swelling with pride.

Mel sighed, a weight lifting from his shoulders as he slouched back in his chair. "Feels good to finally get that off my chest," he muttered, a small smile tugging at his lips as he looked around at his people. The warmth of their support settled over him like a blanket, easing the lingering tension.

A few moments later, Mel walked through the bustling streets of Solstice City, Lance trailing beside him. "Master, where are we going?" Lance asked, glancing up. Mel rubbed his freshly shaven jaw, still getting used to the smoothness.

"There's a feast and award ceremony at Spritz Point later," Mel replied matter-of-factly. "Figured I'd buy some new clothes."

"What do you know about picking out clothes?" Lance asked, skeptically eyeing Mel's lack of fashion sense.

Mel shrugged, surveying the outfits in the window of a shop called 'The New River Outfitter.' "I don't," he said with enthusiasm, "but I'll just wing it!"

Minutes later, Mel burst out of the fitting room with a beaming smile—completely oblivious to the disaster he was wearing. A garish outfit composed of shorts, a long-sleeve sweater with a red t-shirt layered awkwardly over it, and socks with sandals.

"How's this, Lance?!" he asked, spinning around—only to realize Lance had disappeared.

An older woman, passing by, snickered. "Your friend ran for the hills once he saw how awful that outfit is," she muttered under her breath.

Mel looked down at his mismatched attire, frowning slightly. "I think it's cool…" he mumbled, disappointment creeping into his voice.

Suddenly, the store manager approached, eyeing Mel suspiciously. "Uh, you sure you can afford that, son?" he asked, placing a firm hand on Mel's shoulder.

Mel, a little uncomfortable, nodded. "Yes, sir." As he headed to the counter, the manager tightened his grip.

"You thief! Do you think I'll just let you waltz out of here with my clothes?!"

Mel's body stiffened, but before he could act, the entire store bowed low. "Welcome, Princess!" they chorused.

Mel turned to see Princess Rue striding in, dressed in a shimmering silver and purple gown, her makeup matching the royal hues. "There you are!" she called, her eyes locking on Mel.

"Madam! I was just about to remove this street rat from your father's store!" The manager bowed deeply, utterly confused.

Rue raised an eyebrow. "The hell are you talking about?" She grabbed Mel by the arm, pulling him close. "This is King Melanthius, you old fool!" she snapped.

The manager's face turned pale. "K-King Melanthius?! King of Atlantis and one of the saviors of Auroria Dominion?! I-I had no idea!" he stammered, bowing repeatedly.

Rue waved him off dismissively, then turned to Mel, poking his face with wide eyes. "You're alive?! You're really alive!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck in an unexpectedly warm hug.

Mel, caught off guard, awkwardly wrapped his arms around Rue, giving a gentle squeeze—until he heard a faint cracking sound. "Sorry, sorry!" he quickly apologized, releasing her.

Rue stayed in the hug, tears glistening in her eyes as she chuckled. "It's fine—most of my bones are cybernetic anyway," she said with a smirk. But as she pulled back, her expression shifted when she finally took in his outfit.

"The hell are you wearing?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips in disbelief.

"My outfit for tonight," Mel replied confidently, flashing a wide grin.

Rue rubbed her temples, visibly pained by the fashion disaster in front of her. "You are definitely not wearing that," she sighed. "Especially not if you and your friends are getting awards."

"What am I supposed to wear then?" Mel frowned, looking at himself in the mirror with clear disappointment.

Rue raised an eyebrow. "Didn't Draven help you pick out some decent clothes when he took you shopping?"

Mel's eyes widened slightly. "Oh… yeah, but I wouldn't know what to pick out on my own," he admitted, scratching the back of his neck.

Rue let out a sigh, glancing away for a moment. "I could… come to your room and help," she muttered, almost embarrassed by the offer.

"My room? Oh, right," Mel nodded, remembering. "Only the high school was destroyed, not the dorms. Okay." Without hesitation, he grabbed her arm and gently pulled her along.

A few moments later, they stood outside the door to Mel and Dorian's room. "Just give me a minute," he said before stepping inside to prepare.

As soon as Mel stepped inside the room, he gagged at the overpowering stench. "Jeez, Dorian!" he muttered, covering his nose. The room was an absolute disaster, mostly thanks to Dorian's pile of discarded clothes scattered all over the floor.

Mel rushed to open the window, letting in some fresh air as he surveyed the chaos. Grabbing a pile of Dorian's clothes, he grimaced and shoved them under the bed, hoping to hide the mess quickly. "I can't believe he lives like this," Mel groaned, wiping his hands as if the mess had contaminated him.

After shoving the clothes under the bed, Mel raised his hand and threw a small cloud into the air. It floated above, releasing a refreshing cool breeze that swept through the room, instantly making it feel lighter and more breathable. He sighed in relief as the breeze chased away the lingering stench, the room finally starting to feel somewhat livable. "Much better," he muttered, enjoying the cool air as it swirled around him.

He then went to the door and swung it open with a flourish. "You may enter," he said dramatically, with a playful bow. Rue, raising her dress slightly, stepped inside with a curious glance around.

She smiled. "Wow, it's actually tidy here. I didn't expect that."

Mel forced a chuckle, trying to mask the fact that he had just scrambled to clean up. "Yeah, we keep it pretty clean around here." Then, suddenly, a thought struck him. "Hey, where's my robe?"

Rue's eyes widened in surprise. "Oh... about that. I thought you were dead, so... it's on my bed. The Atlanteans were planning to make a blood pact with it, but I hid it from them." She chuckled softly, and Mel smiled, relieved that it had been in safe hands.

"I'm glad you're the one who kept it," he said with a nod of gratitude.

She quickly looked away, slightly embarrassed. "Just pick out some clothes already." She waved him off.

Mel grabbed his massive bag, crouching down to sift through it. Meanwhile, his fox appeared out of nowhere, teleporting onto Rue's lap, and she absentmindedly patted it. "You should wear a tux," she said, eyeing him.

"A tux? What's that?" He tilted his head in confusion.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "A tuxedo. A suit. It's probably in a plastic bag or something. I've heard black card bags are bottomless."

Mel half buried himself into his bag, rummaging around. "Can't find it," he mumbled before pulling out a purple and silver tuxedo—perfectly matching the school's colors. It was still in a plastic bag, untouched and pristine. "Is this it?" he asked, holding it up.

Rue's eyes lit up in awe. "Yeah, that's it. How is it in such perfect condition?"

Mel sat the tux down, shrugging. "I have no idea."

Without a second thought, he began removing his shirt. "What are you doing?!" Rue shouted, eyes wide in shock.

Mel froze mid-motion. "Uh, changing?" he replied, puzzled, raising an eyebrow.

She pointed sharply at the bathroom. "Do it there!" she scolded.

He shrugged again and walked to the bathroom with the suit. As he caught sight of himself in the mirror, shirtless, his gaze lingered on the scars that criss crossed his body—one across his cheek, others marking his chest and arms, many courtesy of Dorian, one from being stabbed by Maren, and countless others from his battles.

Mel stood in front of the mirror, staring at the scars that told stories only he knew. The one slicing across his cheek, a reminder of a near-fatal duel. The jagged line on his chest from when Maren had stabbed him. Countless others from battles fought, both won and lost. As his fingers traced the marks, he thought of the words Goldman had hammered into him during his harsh upbringing.

"A real man hides his scars," Goldman had said, "not out of shame, but because no one needs to see the weight of his battles. A real man never cries—tears are a luxury for those who have the time to wallow. He never begs, no matter how dire the situation. If he's a true man, he will find a way to stand tall on his own, even when the world crumbles around him."

Mel's gaze hardened as he recalled the rest of Goldman's teachings, the code that had been drilled into him day after day.

"A real man never steals," Goldman had said, his voice cold and unyielding. "He earns everything with his own hands, even if those hands are bloodied and broken. A real man doesn't take from others to fill his own pockets. He gives. He protects. But never at the cost of his integrity."

Mel's reflection stared back at him, a silent witness to the years of hardship that had shaped him. "A real man doesn't harm without cause," the voice echoed in his mind. "He only fights when there's no other choice, and even then, he seeks to end the battle quickly, without unnecessary bloodshed. And above all, a real man holds his honor close—because once it's lost, it's harder to reclaim than any treasure."

He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of those words in his chest. They'd shaped him, for better or worse, and even now, after all the chaos he'd endured, they were part of him.

After putting on the suit, he walked out of the bathroom, he had a purple earring and a silver watch which came with the suit. He saw Rue who was waiting, her eyes widened in surprise. "You look-"

Before she could finish, Elowen and Dorian entered the room. Elowen wore a golden dress, matching the golden armor which she wore on the first day. Dorian on the other hand, wore a red and black tux, matching his vampiric demeanor. Elowen whistled. "You look amazing, Mel, plus with the shaven beard, you look good." She complimented and Dorian turned to Rue. "What are you doing here?" He raised his eyebrow. 

Rue's attitude changed to one of annoyance. "Ugh, I was just helping this neanderthal with his clothes, now if you excuse me, I should get going." She stood up and walked past the two out the door.

"What's her problem? That girl is so infuriating," Elowen groaned, crossing her arms in frustration.

Mel sighed, glancing at her and Dorian. "How come you two aren't wearing the school's tuxedos?" he asked, noticing their distinct outfits.

Dorian shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh, well, actually… my father's coming tonight. And Elowen's aunt is, too. It's sort of a parent-student event."

His voice trailed off awkwardly, realizing the weight of his words—Mel had no parents to invite. Growing up in a prison like Caldara Bastille meant family gatherings were something he'd never experienced.

Mel forced a smile, masking his discomfort. "Oh… I didn't know. Well, I'm looking forward to meeting them," he said, even though deep down, he felt a pang of loneliness. The idea of families gathering made his chest feel tight.

Without missing a beat, he turned towards the door, changing the subject. "Let's get going—the feast starts soon."

He hurried out, his smile faltering as he stepped into the hallway. Dorian and Elowen exchanged a brief glance, sensing his unease, but followed him in silence.

As they arrived at Spritz Point, the grandeur of the location took over. Nestled on the city's highest peak, Spritz Point was a marvel of modern architecture, blending sleek technology with natural beauty. The entire district sparkled with a futuristic sheen, polished silver and violet lights reflecting off smooth, metallic surfaces. Hovercars zipped through the air, guided by streams of neon pathways, while holo-screens advertised events and news above the streets. The skyline glowed, alive with both technological innovation and Auroria's signature colors of amethyst and silver.

The Grand Hall, where the feast was being held, was a breathtaking display of cutting-edge design and luxury. The massive structure was constructed almost entirely of glass, with illuminated beams that spiraled upwards into the sky. Inside, the ceiling stretched so high it was nearly invisible, showcasing a dome-shaped holo-screen that displayed a stunning view of the stars above, as though the entire roof had disappeared into the night sky. Elegant chandeliers floated gracefully without wires, each one pulsing softly with light that adjusted to the mood of the room.

Tables made of translucent crystal lined the hall, each one reflecting the soft ambient light, giving the room an ethereal glow. Touch-sensitive controls were embedded into every seat and table, allowing guests to adjust the temperature, order food, or request music. The chairs floated slightly above the ground, offering a feeling of weightlessness as guests sat in them.

At the far end of the room, a long, holographic banquet table was projected, where platters of food materialized out of thin air in a dazzling display of culinary art. Exotic dishes from across the dominion shimmered with vibrant colors, many suspended mid-air, slowly spinning for all to see.

Mel stood at the entrance, taking it all in. His smile returned, if only for a moment. "Wow... this place is incredible," he muttered.

Elowen stepped up beside him, her golden dress catching the light. "Auroria's finest," she said proudly.

Dorian crossed his arms, his crimson eyes scanning the room. "A bit flashy, don't you think?"

Mel chuckled, shaking off his earlier unease. "Well, if you're gonna throw a party, might as well go all out."

As they made their way inside, Mel couldn't help but wonder what it would've been like to share this moment with a real family. But for now, he had his friends—and tonight, that would be enough.