Titian’s expression darkened as he launched a sphere of raw energy toward Althara. Without hesitation, Mel swung the katana in a downward arc, slicing the energy apart mid-air. Sparks scattered like fireflies, lighting up the battlefield.

  “It’s not a cakewalk,” Mel admitted, wincing under the weight of the katana’s immense power. His stance remained unwavering.

  Althara stared at him in stunned silence, her awe unmistakable as she watched the boy who once seemed so weak stand as her shield.

  “Think we can get our marriage reinstated?” Mel asked with a pained grin, trying to lighten the tension.

  Althara’s cheeks flushed crimson, and she looked away. Titian growled, his voice like grinding stone. “What? Do you two really think you can take me on?” He stepped back, cracking his neck, a cruel smirk curling his lips.

  Mel shifted into position beside Althara, gripping his sword with steady determination. “I think the last two Shadowbanes have more than a chance.” He reached into Shieka’s back pocket, pulling out another blade. “This is Mournblade, Mageblade of Holy Might. Be careful—it’s insanely sharp.” He handed it to Althara, who stared at the weapon with trembling hands.

  “Hey.” Mel leaned closer, his voice soft but firm. “Snap out of it. If you really want to escape his grip, you need to stay ready for anything—watch out!”

  Titian lunged, his strike like a thunderclap. Mel shoved Althara aside just in time and intercepted the blow with his sword. The force of the impact shattered the ground beneath them, leaving a massive crater.

  Althara fell back, her breath hitching as fear gripped her. Anita knelt beside her, gripping her shoulders. “I missed you so much. And listen, Mel won’t stop fighting for you until this is over. That’s just who he is.” She pointed toward Mel, who was now being pushed back under Titian’s relentless attacks. “But he can’t do it alone. It’s not too late to help him.”

  Althara’s gaze flicked to Mel, his strained movements showing he was barely holding on.

  Mel leapt, trying to drive his blade into Titian, but his opponent sidestepped. The sword lodged itself into the ground, leaving Mel vulnerable. Titian reared back, ready to strike—but his fist met Althara’s blade instead.

  “Stay away from my ex-spouse,” she spat, forcing him back with newfound strength.

  Mel grinned, stepping up beside her. He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”

  Their brief exchange was cut short by Titian’s manic laughter, echoing like rolling thunder. He stepped back, shaking his head. “Althara, you can have your little victory today. But I’m leaving, and I’m taking the Shadowbanes with me. Set foot in the Seven Deadly Kingdoms again, and it’ll mean your death.”

  With a sneer, Titian vanished, teleporting away with the remaining Shadowbane members in tow.

  Mel staggered, panting, while Althara dropped to her knees. Her hands trembled as she looked at the destruction she’d caused. “I-I’m sorry,” she choked out before breaking into loud, wrenching sobs.

  Voices began rising around them.

  “Melanthius Shadowbane?”

  “He’s alive?!”

  A crowd of onlookers surged forward, faces full of shock and awe.

  “So much for keeping a secret,” Mel muttered under his breath, wincing as the chaos of the crowd engulfed him.

  The following morning, Althara awoke in a soft bed, her leg wrapped in bandages and supported by a cast. She blinked, disoriented, before noticing Mel and Rue standing near the bed.

  “She’s not actually my wife! It was just a joke—a dumb, childish thing!” Mel exclaimed defensively, gesturing wildly. Rue stood beside him, arms crossed, her expression cool but her tone pointed.

  “It doesn’t help that her last name is Shadowbane,” Rue remarked, her words laced with unmistakable jealousy.

  Althara cleared her throat, her voice tentative. “O-oh… are you two…?” she asked, her gaze flicking between them.

  “No,” Rue replied bluntly, cutting her off before she could finish the question. With a sigh, Rue stepped closer to Althara. “Your injuries from the fight were severe. You’re lucky we got to you in time.” She uncapped a syringe and injected Althara’s thigh with precision.

  “You should be fine to walk now,” Rue added, her tone softening slightly as she put the syringe away.

  Althara slowly sat up, testing her leg gingerly. “Thank you,” she said, nodding to Rue with genuine gratitude.

  “Rue, thanks for helping her out for me,” Mel said, pulling Rue into a hug. She rolled her eyes, a faint blush creeping across her cheeks.

  “Next time, it’s not free,” she replied, brushing him off as she turned to leave.

  Mel nodded, smiling. “Fair enough. Hey, can you give us a minute? I’ve got some things I want to ask her.”

  Rue sighed but relented, nodding before walking out of the room.

  Althara grabbed a water bottle from the bedside table and took a cautious sip, wincing slightly.

  “You really gave all of us a run for our money,” Mel said with a soft chuckle, pulling a chair closer to the bed.

  Althara stared at the bottle in her hands. “How’s Anita?” she asked, her voice quiet.

  Mel leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “She’s been good. She’s been through some tough stuff, but she’s strong. She’s managing,” he said, rubbing his bruised side absently.

  A flicker of guilt passed over Althara’s face before Mel spoke again. “Who are the kings of the Seven Deadly Kingdoms? And what’s Titian’s deal?”

  Althara set the water bottle down, her shoulders tense. “King Charles Pierce, ruler of the Lust Kingdom…”

  “Oh! Wait, hold on.” Mel scrambled to pull out a notebook and pen, muttering as he jotted the name down, underlining it for emphasis. “King Charles Pierce. Got it.”

  Althara rolled her eyes but continued, “King Carter Angelo of the Pride Kingdom, and Ethan Knight, king of the Sloth Kingdom.”

  Mel paused, tapping his pen against the notebook. “Does Ethan have a brother named Jake? I asked Jake once, and he said he doesn’t know him.”

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  Althara took another sip of water before answering. “I don’t know. Ethan was accepted into a school called Yeonate Dynasty’s prestigious Northride School of Fine Arts—Northride for short. I got this sweater from him when we were thirteen.” She gestured to the faded fabric on her lap.

  Mel nodded, scribbling notes. “Got it. What else?”

  Althara sighed, her voice growing somber. “Four years ago, I saw Carter at the edge of a cliff where Merlin’s crown had fallen. He almost slipped to his death, but I saved him. Afterward, I visited his school to return his phone. They confronted me about why I was there, but honestly… I just wanted to see Carter again. Ethan gave me this sweater during that time.

  “Later, I saved them from some thugs near the crown, and Carter’s family took me in. His sister cleaned me up, and the three of us started spending time together. We became close. But then, Titian showed up, along with the former king Maren.

  “We fought them, but Maren was too strong—overwhelming. I managed to hold my own against him, but then Titian stepped in. He nearly killed me. That’s when he told us about his plan to control the Gluttony, Pride, Lust, and Sloth Kingdoms. I didn’t want to be a pawn in their schemes, so I ran.

  “I wanted to get the boys out, too. I started working underground in Gluttony, keeping the fat cats happy and fed, biding my time. I was so close. But then Queen Stella Alnwick, the current ruler of Gluttony, got careless. They were caught. I knew it was only a matter of time before Titian came for me, so I decided to see Anita one last time… before it all ended.”

  Althara gripped the bedsheets tightly, her voice trembling as she finished. She glanced at Mel, startled to hear quiet sniffling.

  She turned to see him wiping tears from his eyes.

  “Melanthius…” she started, unsure of what to say.

  “You’ve been through so much,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry you had to carry all of that alone.”

  Suddenly, the door creaked open, and King Percival entered the room, flanked by the five wardens. Mel glanced at him briefly before averting his gaze. Althara stiffened, flinching slightly, though she knew fighting in her condition was futile.

  Percival strode over to her and settled on the edge of the bed, his piercing gaze locked on her. “Althara, Althara, Althara… what am I supposed to do with you?” he said, his tone a blend of exasperation.

  Althara’s eyes dropped to her lap, her hands clutching the sheets tightly.

  Percival turned his attention to Mel. “Melanthius,” he greeted curtly.

  Mel didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on the floor.

  Percival sighed, his voice heavy with the weight of judgment. “The people who fought in that battle—your friends, Melanthius—are demanding justice. They want her imprisoned. She came here to overthrow a kingdom. That’s treason, punishable by execution.”

  He gestured toward the wardens, who stood silently but exuded authority. “The wardens were ready to carry out the sentence, beheading her without hesitation. But Melanthius…” Percival’s gaze sharpened, “…he stopped us.”

  Althara’s eyes darted to Mel, her expression conflicted. His head was bowed, his eyes closed, as if he were carrying the weight of the world.

  The tense silence was broken by the sound of hurried footsteps. Lance, Clyde, Anita, Jake, Lucy, Arid, and Bimoth burst into the room, Arid, Lance, and Clyde had faces with a mix of frustration and anger.

  “This is absolute bullshit!” Lance yelled, his voice echoing. “She thinks she can just waltz in here, send her thugs to beat half of us to a pulp, and walk away like nothing happened? Mel! What the hell are you thinking?!”

  Lance made a move toward Mel, but Clyde quickly stepped in, placing a firm hand on his chest to hold him back. “Calm down, Lance,” Clyde said, his voice steady but strained.

  The room crackled with tension, every gaze shifting between Althara, Mel, and Percival as emotions threatened to boil over.

  Arid, however, was less restrained. His voice rose above the chaos, sharp and unyielding. “Anita, I’m glad you got your sister back. Really, I am. But if she doesn’t get up right now and let me beat the living crap out of her, I’m going to drag her out of that bed myself!”

  Althara winced, keeping her gaze fixed on the floor, while Mel slowly stood from his chair, his hands sliding into his pockets. His voice was calm, but the edge was unmistakable. “Back off, Arid.”

  Arid cracked his knuckles, stepping forward with a heated glare. “Or what? I’m really starting to want you to make me.”

  The two stood face to face, their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills as the air in the room grew heavier with tension, threatening to boil over into chaos.

  Arid’s frustration boiled over as he stepped closer, his voice dripping with venom. “You know what, Mel? You’re really something. Everyone babies you because of your tragic childhood, but deep down, you’re just a selfish motherfucker.” He jabbed a finger against Mel’s temple. “You lost your mind when the old wardens broke Rue’s spine, but when some random girl takes us all down, you go and protect her?! Are you kidding me?”

  Mel’s expression darkened, his usual composure cracking under the weight of Arid’s words. His voice dropped, sharp and cutting. “You want to talk about selfish? Look in the damn mirror, Arid. You think you’re the moral compass around here, but you’re just a loudmouth playing savior to cover up your own insecurities.” He stepped forward, tapping Arid’s forehead in return.

  “You call me a project? You’re the real joke. Running around acting like you’re so enlightened, but you can’t even see past your own damn ego. Born from a tree—Mother Nature’s perfect little experiment. Guess that’s why you don’t understand compassion. You’ve never had to live like the rest of us.” Mel’s words hung in the air like a knife, and the silence that followed was deafening. Arid’s jaw tightened, his fists trembling as he glared back at Mel, the sting of his words cutting deeper than any physical blow could.

  Lance let out a heavy sigh, the weight of the moment evident in his expression. Slowly, he reached up and removed the black-gold mask—a somber symbol of Mel’s supposed death. Without hesitation, he clenched it in his hand, the fragile material shattering as if it held all his frustrations. Without a word, he turned and stormed out, the door slamming behind him with a resounding finality.

  Clyde lingered for a moment, his gaze shifting between the door and Mel. Then, with deliberate steps, he moved to stand behind Mel, a silent declaration of where his loyalty lay.

  Arid summoned his staff, its surface pulsing faintly with an emerald glow. “Mel, do you honestly think you can stop me—and everyone else her Shadowbanes hurt—from tearing her apart?” His voice was cold, unwavering.

  Mel responded by reaching into Shieka and pulling out his three-section nunchaku, the metallic segments glinting under the light, each end armed with wicked hooks. He spun them with practiced precision, the air humming with each movement.

  “I don’t think so,” Mel said, his voice steady but edged with challenge. “I know I can take all of you down before those two even stir.” He tilted his head toward Anita and Althara, who were fast asleep in each other’s embrace, oblivious to the tension mounting in the room.

  Moments later, the room fell silent as everyone filed out, their expressions a mix of frustration and reluctant acceptance. They left Mel behind, his head bowed, his shoulders heavy with the weight of his decision. Althara hesitated before stepping closer, her gaze fixed on him.

  Gently, she placed her hand over his, and he responded with a faint squeeze. “Althara,” he began, his voice low and edged with gravity, “most of my friends won’t trust me after this. If you do anything—anything—to betray the trust I’ve placed in you, I’ll have no choice. I’ll be the one to kill you.”

  He lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her heart ache. Althara didn’t flinch. Instead, she nodded, her voice steady despite the tension in the air. “I’d expect nothing less. And if you couldn’t… I’d do it myself.” Her words were calm, resolute—a promise, not an empty reassurance.

  Moments later, Mel stepped out of the hospital, his expression unreadable as Althara followed behind him, hobbling on crutches, her body wrapped in bandages. She studied his calm demeanor, tilting her head slightly. “You’re not injured?” she asked, her voice quiet.

  Without a word, Mel lifted his shirt, revealing layers of fresh bandages wrapped around his torso. The sight made Althara pause, her gaze dropping to the ground as guilt flickered across her face. Mel noticed her hesitation and offered a small, reassuring smile.

  “It’s not from you,” he said softly. “Most of this is from Titian. You don’t have to carry that weight.”

  Althara glanced up at him, her grip tightening on her crutches. She gave a quiet nod, appreciating his words more than she could say.

  “Aren’t princesses supposed to wear dresses and fancy stuff? Princess Rue didn’t exactly look the part,” Althara mumbled, her voice light as she caught snowflakes on her fingertips.

  Mel chuckled, his breath visible in the chilly air. “Rue doesn’t want to be a princess anymore. Says it doesn’t suit her. She claims she’s an Atlantean now.” His smile lingered as he spoke, the memory clearly amusing him.

  Althara tilted her head thoughtfully, shrugging as she walked beside him. “Were you really going to fight everyone? Just for me?” she asked softly, her voice laced with curiosity.

  Mel turned to face her, walking backward effortlessly. “I was,” he said without hesitation. “Because you remind me of myself—someone new to the outside world, untainted by it, but with a fire burning inside, ready to fight for what matters.”

  Althara sighed, her breath a small puff in the cold air. “That’s… a lot to live up to.”