Mordrain smirked, unfazed. With a sickening squelch, he reattached his severed arm as if it had never been removed. A slow, twisted grin spread across his face as he brought his bloodied limb to his lips, running his tongue over the crimson streaks.

  “I’d love to see you try,” he said, his voice thick with amusement. “In fact, I would love to see that.”

  Earlier that day, Jake Knight, the chubby white card, wandered through the streets of Solstice City, his hands tucked into his pockets as he glanced around nervously. “It’s hard to walk around here with a serial killer on the loose,” he muttered to himself, shifting uneasily with each step. “But as long as I stay in the light, I should be okay… right?”

  Despite his attempts to reassure himself, a heavy sigh escaped his lips as his thoughts drifted to Lucy. Her usual spark had dimmed ever since Yasmine’s departure, and the weight of responsibility pressed down on his shoulders. “She’s been so down lately… Maybe it’s up to me, as acting leader of the Steel Pact, to do something about it.”

  The moment the words left his mouth, a shiver ran down the back of his neck, and his confidence wavered. “But I can’t! I’m way too weak!” he groaned, rubbing his temples. His frustration only grew as he thought about the Horace Groves—where everyone bore a magic mark on their body. Jake’s was on his eye, yet it had never once granted him any power.

  He smacked his forehead, then aggressively poked at his eye. “Work, stupid thing! Just do something!” But, as expected, nothing happened. With a defeated sigh, he trudged forward, his mind spiraling.

  “Do I even have any leads? All she said was that she’s heading to Camelot…” His pace slowed as dread crept up his spine. “Am I really brave enough to go to Camelot alone? There are literal body bags by the door!” His inner voice screamed, and he huffed in frustration, knowing deep down that despite his fear, he had no choice but to try.

  “I know what I must do!” he declared with determination.

  Moments later, he was sprawled face-down on his pillow in his room.

  “Wallow in shame!” he wailed, rolling onto his back dramatically.

  He sat up, wiping his eyes and taking a deep breath. “What would Mel do? What would Mel do? What would Mel do?!” he groaned, then suddenly stopped and slapped himself.

  “What would I do?”

  Shaking off his doubts, he stood up and grabbed his backpack, stuffing it with food and drinks. “I’m still from the Horace Groves! I’m half-crazy like everyone there!” Sweat dripped down his forehead as he zipped the bag shut.

  “…Or maybe I’m just full crazy,” he muttered, slinging the backpack over his shoulder. He hesitated for a moment before smirking to himself. “If things go south, I can always just run away.”

  “Forget it! I’m not doing this. I’ll just stay here and wallow.” He sat back in bed and sighed.

  Moments later, Jake found himself in Agura, the capital of Camelot.

  “WHAT AM I DOING HERE?!” he screamed internally, his heart pounding. “It’s like my body made the decision before my brain could catch up! I don’t even remember getting on the carriage!”

  Despite the uneasy stares from passersby, he kept walking, forcing himself to blend in. Adjusting the eyepatch over his eye, he muttered under his breath, “Better keep this covered… last thing I need is anyone asking questions.”

  With a deep breath, he pulled his hood up slightly and timidly made his way through the bustling streets, every step making him feel more like an outsider in the legendary city of Camelot.

  Suddenly, a rugged man slammed into Jake’s shoulder, nearly knocking him off balance.

  “Ow! You just assaulted me!” the man exclaimed dramatically. “That’s 13 years in prison, unless… you pay up, and we pretend this never happened.”

  Jake flinched, hands raised in panic. “S-sorry! I didn’t mean to!” He glanced the man over and frowned. “Wait a minute… you’re perfectly fine! Are you scamming me?!”

  The man let out an exaggerated groan. “Yeah… and now you’ve made this complicated. Guess I’ll just have to rob you instead.”

  Before Jake could react, the man grabbed him by the collar, yanked his wallet from his pocket, and shoved him to the ground. “Hand over the rest, fucker!” he snarled, looming over him.

  The man bolted into the darkness, leaving Jake lying on the ground, sniffling and shaken. He wiped his nose, muttering to himself, “I’m going home…” But just as he tried to will himself away, his body moved on its own, pushing him to his feet and forcing him to follow.

  His heart pounded in confusion and panic. “What the hell?! Why am I moving?!” he hissed, his legs betraying his every instinct to flee. A realization struck him like a slap to the face. Wait… this happened before. His mind raced back to the moment Althara attacked—when she was about to take Anita. I wanted to run… but instead, I jumped in the way. Why?!

  Before he could make sense of it, his body pressed him forward, step by step, until he reached a row of buildings. Desperate to regain control, he yanked at his limbs, but they refused to obey.

  Seeing the man disappear into a nearby home, Jake hurriedly ducked behind a trash can, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. “Dammit… What’s going on with me?” he whispered, his gut telling him that whatever was happening wasn’t just a coincidence.

  Meanwhile, in an abandoned house overlooking the street, Titian watched Jake through a grimy window, his sharp eyes tracking the boy’s every move. A smirk played on his lips as he leaned against the frame, arms crossed.

  “I came here to erase the Pride Kingdom’s old business in Camelot,” he mused, voice low and calculated. “But what do we have here? Ethan’s little brother, wandering around like a lost pup.” His smirk deepened. “Jake Knight… the brother of the Sloth King himself. I wanted to deal with you back when Althara was around, but I had more pressing matters.”

  He exhaled through his nose, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “No matter. Now’s as good a time as any. But why confront him outright when I can lead him straight to the Pride Kingdom’s unfinished business?”

  With a quiet chuckle, Titian reached for the blinds, closing them slowly. “Let’s see what you do, little Knight.”

  Jake leaned against the door, peering inside as the man he had chased fed his children. They were thin, dressed in tattered clothes, their hollow eyes filled with exhaustion. Jake exhaled sharply and backed away, guilt tightening in his chest.

  “I’m such a…” he muttered, disappointed in himself. Before he could finish, the ground beneath him gave a sharp creak.

  “Huh?”

  The floor collapsed, and he plummeted into darkness, his scream echoing as he disappeared below.

  Meanwhile, back in Solstice City, Mordrain stood across from Althara and Lincoln. Lincoln tensed, ready to attack, but Althara raised a hand, stopping him.

  “I’ll handle this,” she said, stepping forward.

  Mordrain tilted his head, studying her. “Your lineage is weak,” he mused. “But you tackled me, severed my arm… That means you’re stronger than I thought.” A slow, sinister grin spread across his face. “Let’s play a game. I hit, you hit. We take turns. First one to fall unconscious loses.”

  Althara’s expression remained unreadable. Then, she gave a single nod.

  “Game start!”

  Mordrain struck first, his shadow-wreathed fist slamming into her face, sending a spray of blood through the air. But before he could even smirk, Althara countered instantly, her fist wrapped in swirling clouds. The impact was devastating—Mordrain staggered back, coughing up black blood.

  His eyes widened as he wiped his mouth, staring at her impassive face.

  “Who is this woman?” he muttered, straightening himself, his usual arrogance flickering with uncertainty.

  Mordrain drove a fist into Althara’s stomach, making her flinch slightly, but she countered in an instant. Her palm, infused with swirling clouds, struck his chest, and his body erupted into a storm of mist. Mordrain howled, thrashing as he struggled to reform. In desperation, he tapped Althara’s arm.

  “That counted as a hit, right? It’s my turn now, right?” he wheezed.

  Althara tilted her head. “That was a hit?” she repeated, her tone unreadable.

  Mordrain dropped to his knees, trying to steady himself. “Wait, no! I was just composing myself—”

  His words were cut short as Althara’s fists came down. Cloud-infused strikes pummeled his body, over and over, relentless and merciless, until the once-feared murderer was nothing more than a lifeless heap.

  Althara exhaled sharply, wiping her bloodied fist against his corpse. “You made one mistake,” she murmured. “You dared to create shadow illusions of my friends… You son of a bitch.”

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  She turned away, walking toward Lincoln. He had shifted back into his human form, his eyes wide with shock.

  “A-Althara…” he stammered, almost hesitant to speak. “Are you even as strong as Melanthius?”

  Before she could answer, the sound of approaching voices and the glow of flashlights flickered up the cliffside.

  “I saw Mordrain’s shadows over here!”

  “Let’s get him!”

  King Aldara and the others were closing in fast.

  Althara sighed, looking down at her bloodstained hands. “Even if Mordrain was a serial killer… people are still going to be afraid of me,” she whispered, a shadow of sadness in her eyes.

  Lincoln studied her for a moment before suddenly scooping her up and laying her beside a rock. He took her bloodied fist and smeared it across her forehead.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, confused.

  Lincoln grinned. “If people think I killed him, I’ll be labeled a hero.” He patted her shoulder before gently shutting her eyes.

  “Play unconscious,” he instructed, before rising and stepping toward Mordrain’s body, ready to take credit for the kill.

  The headmasters, Mel, King Aldara, and the wardens stood on the cliffside, their gazes locked onto Lincoln.

  "Lincoln Randolph?!" King Aldara called out, his voice laced with surprise.

  Lincoln, still catching his breath, wiped the sweat from his brow. "Sorry... I couldn't control myself," he muttered.

  The wardens wasted no time, hauling Mordrain's body away while Draven approached Lincoln, shining a flashlight in his eyes. "You alright?"

  Lincoln blinked against the light and gave a small grin as the wardens checked him over, cheering him on and tending to his wounds. "I'm fine," he reassured them before casting a glance toward Althara.

  She leaned against the boulder, her arms crossed, exhaling a quiet sigh. "I'm okay with this… being alone," she murmured.

  Before she could dwell on the thought, her feet suddenly left the ground. Strong arms lifted her, and in an instant, she found herself on Mel’s back.

  "He got you good, huh?" Mel asked, glancing back at her with a soft smile.

  Althara's cheeks warmed slightly, though she quickly masked it. As Mel carried her, she blurted out, "Can we get married again?"

  Mel nearly tripped mid-step. "What?! Where'd that come from?" He let out a chuckle, adjusting his grip as he descended the cliffside.

  Althara let out a tired sigh and rested her head against his shoulder. "I need food." Mel smirked and handed her a napkin. "Wipe the blood off first." She took it, dabbing at her forehead before he jumped high and began flying. "Let's get you some food, then," he said, lifting off into the night sky with her in tow.

  Back in Camelot, Jake stirred awake, coughing as a cloud of dust swirled around him. His body ached from the fall, and he groaned, rubbing his head.

  "Oww… I must’ve been out for hours," he muttered, his voice echoing faintly in the vast space.

  His gaze drifted upward to the gaping hole above—the very spot where he had fallen. The night sky peeked through, confirming his suspicion. "It’s midnight…"

  As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he finally took in his surroundings. His breath hitched.

  He wasn’t in an ordinary basement.

  Towering stone walls encircled him, their surfaces lined with faded banners and cracked pillars. The ground beneath him bore the scars of countless battles—deep grooves, shattered tiles, and dried stains of an eerie crimson hue. Jake swallowed hard. He was in a massive underground coliseum.

  “This is…” Jake trailed off, his voice barely above a whisper as he scanned the eerie coliseum.

  His fingers brushed against something cold and solid. He picked it up—a gauntlet, its once-polished metal now tarnished and stained with dried blood.

  “Ew!” He yelped, dropping it instantly and stumbling backward. His pulse quickened as the eerie realization set in.

  Then, something else caught his eye. Scattered across the ground were stacks of old, dust-covered bills. He knelt down, picking one up carefully. His eyes widened.

  “Knightcoin…?” He turned the bill over, his breath hitching. Staring back at him was the face of King Arthur himself.

  “Wait, these are from the old era… Was this coliseum used by King Arthur?” He muttered to himself, his fingers tightening around the bill. His gaze flicked across the ruined arena. “Why is it so messed up—?”

  A chilling voice sliced through the silence.

  “Because it was destroyed by King Arthur.”

  Jake froze.

  From the shadows, a figure emerged—slow, deliberate. The dim light barely illuminated his face, but the presence alone sent a shiver down Jake’s spine.

  He swallowed hard. “Y-you were there when Althara attacked! You fought Mel and her! You’re Titian, right?!” His voice trembled as recognition dawned.

  Titian took a slow sip from a flask before lowering it with a smirk. “Yeah, I’m Titian.” His eyes gleamed as he took another step forward. “And you… you’re Jake Knight. The brother of Ethan Knight, aren’t you?”

  Jake furrowed his brows. “Ethan Knight? I don’t even know who that is!”

  Before he could react, Titian moved.

  A blur.

  A crushing force slammed into Jake’s head, sending him hurtling through the air. He crashed into the stone seating, his back exploding with pain as he coughed up blood.

  “So strong…” Jake groaned, struggling to push himself up. His vision swam, his limbs shaking.

  Titian stared down at him, amused. “You’re weaker than I expected.”

  Titian closed the distance in a blink, towering over Jake with an air of indifference. His voice was cold, laced with mockery. “Your brother was always the stronger one.”

  Jake barely had time to process the words before his body moved on its own again. His hand shot forward, scooping up a handful of sand and flinging it into Titian’s eyes.

  Titian snarled, staggering back as he wiped at the grit. “You little—!” His fury ignited, and his voice dropped into a dangerous growl. “Now I’m really gonna kick your ass.”

  Before Jake could react, Titian seized him by the leg and swung him like a ragdoll. His body slammed against the stone walls—once, twice, three times—each impact sending shockwaves of pain through his bones. His vision blurred, darkness creeping at the edges.

  Just as unconsciousness threatened to claim him, his body jerked into motion again. Without thinking—without control—his fingers grasped a battered shield from the ground, and he swung it with all his might. The metal cracked against Titian’s skull with a sickening crunch.

  The shield shattered on impact.

  But it worked—Titian released him, dropping Jake to the ground like discarded prey.

  Jake groaned, his limbs weak as he crawled forward, trying to make sense of what was happening. “What… what is going on with me?” he gasped, chest heaving. Pain wracked his body, but something deeper—something unfamiliar—twisted inside him.

  “Mel… help…” he wheezed.

  Titian scoffed. “Of course you wouldn’t know Ethan. He was a delinquent, ran from your father, and ended up in Northride.” He rolled his shoulders, as if the hit to the head had been nothing more than an inconvenience. “But none of that matters now.” He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “I’m destroying this coliseum. Since you’ve seen it, you know too much.”

  Jake’s eyes widened in alarm. “W-wait! What do you mean?”

  Titian smirked. “This place… is where one of Merlin’s secrets lies.”

  Jake’s heart nearly stopped. “Mel’s father?! Merlin—”

  He never got to finish.

  Titian’s boot crashed down onto his face, and everything went black.

  Titian adjusted his shirt with a sigh and took another swig from his flask. "Probably went a little too far," he muttered, glancing at Jake’s unmoving form. "Not that it matters—he’s dead anyway." With a flick of his wrist, he struck a match and tossed it onto a puddle of gasoline.

  Flames erupted instantly, licking up the stone walls of the colosseum. The fire spread fast, feeding on the ancient structure like a starving beast.

  Titian turned to leave but paused when something caught his eye—Jake’s body twitched ever so slightly.

  "That’s odd…?" His brows furrowed as he took a step closer. The imprint of Jake’s body in the dirt had shifted, subtle but noticeable. "Did he just move?"

  Then he noticed something even stranger. Jake’s physique had changed—his stomach, once chubby, now appeared sturdier, chiseled muscle peeking through. His entire frame had stretched, making him taller than before.

  Titian’s scowl deepened. "What the hell is going on?"

  A faint glow pulsed from Jake’s magic mark—one that had never worked before. It shone an eerie green.

  Then, against all logic, Jake’s lips moved. His eyes remained closed, yet a voice—thick with a flamboyant accent—spoke with unsettling clarity.

  "Perhaps my creator is wondering… why you would leave him to die in a fire rather than kill him with your bare hands."

  Titian stiffened. He took a cautious step forward. "Did you just—" Before he could finish, Jake’s body jerked upright. Towering over Titian. The aura around him was completely different. This wasn’t Jake anymore. Jake—or rather, whatever had taken over him—smiled, eyes still closed. "Sorry, I’m Jacob the Knight. Pleased to meet you."

  Titian narrowed his eyes. A split personality? No… something more.

  Freshman Year

  Mel climbed the bleachers, dropping into the seat beside Jake. The sudden presence made Jake jump.

  "I didn’t even hear you coming," Jake muttered, hastily trying to shove a notebook out of sight.

  Mel raised a brow. "What’s that?"

  "Just homework, nothing special!" Jake replied too quickly, forcing a smile.

  Mel, already curious, plucked the notebook from Jake’s hands before he could react. His eyes scanned the pages.

  Jake’s heart pounded. “He’s going to show everyone. That’s what popular kids do. It’s like a law of school.”

  But then—

  "—Amazing!" Mel grinned, flipping through the pages filled with detailed sketches of a knight, each laid out like a comic book. "I’ve never seen anything like this! Well, there were drawings in the Bastille, but those were usually written in blood by the psycho ones." He tapped his temple, referencing the crazed prisoners he grew up with.

  Jake’s head shot up. His eyes widened. "You… like it?"

  He searched Mel’s expression for any trace of mockery, any sign of an impending joke. But there was none—just genuine admiration.

  Mel pointed at one of the drawings. "So, Jacob the Knight is you?"

  Jake rubbed his knees, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "W-well, yeah. It’s how I picture myself… if I had magic and tech. Jacob’s got a sword that ignites in different colored flames with electricity. But I guess I’m just dreaming a little too big."

  Mel shook his head and handed the notebook back. "You’d probably be super strong." His gaze lingered on Jake’s face. "But why didn’t you give Jacob your scar?"

  Jake flinched, instinctively covering his right eye. "It’s… not something I’m proud of," he mumbled.

  Present

  Titian’s eyes flicked to Jake’s scar, realization dawning.

  "Wait… I’ve heard of this before." His grip tightened on his flask. "Is this a split personality? That’s the Evil Eye, isn’t it?! Did Jake even know he had this?"

  Jacob patted Titian’s shoulder with a smirk. "So much fire around—seems a bit excessive, don’t you think?" He gestured flamboyantly toward the roaring flames. "Let’s take this outside."

  He turned and walked through the inferno, completely unbothered.

  Titian’s instincts screamed at him. Without hesitation, he raised his wand and fired a blast straight at Jacob’s back. Jacob didn’t even flinch. He raised a single hand, and the attack vanished into thin air.Titian’s stomach twisted. “What…?”

  "That’s it?" Jacob sighed in disappointment, rolling his shoulders before reaching behind him. A sword materialized in his grip, engulfed in blazing green fire. With a flick of his wrist, he unleashed a torrent of emerald flames at Titian. Titian barely sidestepped—only for the fire to twist midair, curving back toward him like a living beast.

  His eyes widened as he raised a barrier just in time. “What the hell is this guy?!”