The Athlethora Gymnasium in the town of Luneveil was a vast marble edifice, encrusted with gemstone chandeliers and unnecessarily gilded dumbbells. Set right next to the only vegan dragon-taming dojo in the continent, it exuded an air of opulence, with crystal-powered treadmills and a smoothie bar run by a tired enchantress named Bev.

Inside, the four boys sweated not only for glory, but for the elusive concept of team cohesion; a term coined by Lucian after their encounter with the sentient bridge. They'd decided it was a good enough reason to start lifting enchanted kettlebells together.

Lucian, the veritable human trebuchet of the bunch, clapped his hands together. "All right, guys! Today's the day we conquer the Stairmaster of Eternal Leg Day! Who's with me?"

Nedrick wore a tunic with "PIGS DON'T QUIT" stitched across the chest. It was unclear whether this was motivational or autobiographical. Raised amongst swine and mud, Nedrick moved with the utilitarian grace of a young man who had once chased an angry hog uphill in steel-toed sandals.

"I'm still recovering from last time I worked out with you," muttered Nedrick, who was currently engaged in a one-sided staring contest with a medicine ball. "I nearly dislocated my liver."

Meanwhile, Runklebean was attempting to limbo under a barbell rack.

"It's a test of flexibility and limberability," Runklebean explained.

Lucian rolled his eyes. "That's not what it's for, Runk."

"Tell that to my gluteoclaptician."

"I won't, because I don't think that's a thing."

Runklebean beamed, rolling under the weight bench with the fluid chaos of a sock full of marbles. "Exactly. Innovation!"

In the corner, Alistair was cycling gently on an arcane indoor exercise bike powered by the soul of a retired motivational ghost. His midnight hair glistened from a precise ratio of sweat and expensive hair serum. His silk gym outfit shimmered with rhinestones that spelled out, "SWEAT IS SPARKLE FROM THE SOUL."

"Can we focus on cardio, please?" Alistair asked, discreetly checking an amulet before sliding it back into his signature fanny pack. "I'm doing forty minutes of this, and I'd like not to be interrupted by whatever Ned's doing with that medicine ball."

"It's made from a real pig bladder, actually," Nedrick said, not looking up. "Very absorbent."

"I—okay, now I have to interrupt that."

Lucian took a heroic stance atop a Bosu ball, which wobbled in protest. "Enough bickering! We train as a unit now. Unified. Like a quartet of abdominal destiny!"

Runklebean immediately dropped into a crabwalk position. "QUADRENOUSLY UNIFIED!"

Alistair raised a perfectly tweezed eyebrow. "If we're a quartet, can we at least agree on aesthetic coordination? I'm not battling a hydra dressed like an accountant on laundry day."

Nedrick glanced down at his brown tunic and grimaced. "It's poison-breath-resistant fabric. This is warwear."

Lucian clapped again. "All right, team cohesion drill number one: group squats while reciting our family mottos!"

They formed a squat circle. Alistair, ever graceful, descended like a curtseying swan. Lucian plummeted like a proud anvil. Runklebean bounced up and down like a caffeinated jackrabbit.

"My family motto is 'Punch First, Apologize Loudly!'" bellowed Lucian.

"Mine's 'Respect is Assumed, Not Requested!'" sang Alistair.

Nedrick spoke through gritted teeth, mid-squat. "'Wash Hands. Eat Lard. Don't Get Attached to the Pigs.'"

Runklebean blinked rapidly. "I'm not technically from a family. But my motto is: 'Scrumble forth and never unbutton destiny!'"

There was a moment of silence.

"That's barely even a sentence," said Alistair, still managing to look flawless mid-quadriceps burn.

"It is if you believe," said Runklebean sagely, doing a handstand and knocking over a squat rack.

After nearly two hours, three spilled protein potions, and one resistance band that nearly cut off blood-circulation to Runklebean's foot, the boys lay sprawled on the polished marble floor, their breaths ragged but their spirits moderately uncrushed.

Lucian, panting heroically, turned to Nedrick. "I'm more exhausted than when we used to race pigs through the creek back at your place. Remember that? And One-Eyed Gertie always cheated?"

"She was tactical," Nedrick replied defensively, eyes closed. "And possibly demon possessed."

"Good times," Lucian said fondly.

"You broke your arm trying to ride her."

"Still worth it."

Alistair swiped a shaky hand over his sweaty forehead. His eyes were having trouble focusing. "W-well, we may be a mess, but at least we're a cohesive mess."

Runklebean was tangled in the climbing ropes, upside down. "Cohesivity achieved!"

"Come on, men! One more round!" laughed Lucian, leaping back up on his feet with a grin too wide to say no to. 

Nedrick and Runklebean hoisted themselves upright, lightly groaning. Alistair, on the other hand, stayed right where he was on the floor. 

Lucian shook his head. "You too, Al! Come on, you're stronger than you look!"

Coming to kneel down behind Alistair, Lucian looped his arms under Alistair's, and hefted him up. The shaky prince stumbled for just a second, but managed to catch himself in time, a hand flying to the side of his head. 

Alistair grinned, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Not… trying to outlift a mountain," he replied, voice slurred enough to earn a pause from the group.

Lucian chuckled, but then glanced him over again. "You okay? You're… kinda pale."

Alistair waved a hand. "Just tired. Probably the heat." He rubbed the back of his neck and blinked a little too slowly.

Nedrick frowned. "Want to sit down?"

"No, I—" Alistair staggered a step, caught himself on a weight bench. His breathing was shallow now, fast. "Hold on… I—uh…" His eyes darted, unfocused.

Runklebean reached out. "Al?"

"I-I need my…" His voice slurred, trailing off. Then he dropped to one knee, shaking. His hand fumbled frantically with the zipper of his fanny pack, then gave up entirely.

Lucian's heart flipped. "Alistair, what's happening?"

No answer—Alistair just trembled, his skin damp with sweat. His knees buckled. The world tilted sideways. Torches blurred into stars. A soft thud followed—his body slumping onto the cold, sweat-slick marble.

"Alistair?!"

Lucian was the first to reach him, rolling him onto his side. Alistair's lips moved, but nothing came out.

"Is he… is he cursed?" Nedrick asked, panic sharp in his voice.

"Alistair! Look at me!" Lucian knelt, trying to hold him steady. "What do I do?"

"His pack!" Runklebean pointed. "Hurry! He's having a hypo!"

Lucian scrambled for the fanny pack, yanking it open. Upon the inner lining was a glacial rune, magically keeping the interior of the fanny pack cold. Stored within it were a mess of things—an amulet, some wand-like runestone injector tools, a bag of gourmet jellybeans, three vials labelled "Potion of Sugar Surge," and four different vials labelled "Insulin." Something clicked.

Taking out the insulin, Lucian nervously motioned to push up Alistair's sleeve, but Runklebean immediately stopped him. He was more serious than Lucian had ever seen him.  

"Don't you dare! You'll kill him!" Runklebean practically shoved Lucian out of the way, fumbling out a sugar surge vial instead. 

Lucian glared. "Wait! Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

Nedrick seized his shoulder. "You have to be completely sure! This is serious!"

"I am!" Runklebean shrugged out of Nedrick's hold, uncapped the vial, and held the potion to Alistair's mouth. "Drink this. Swallow. Please."

Next, Runklebean dug around in Alistair's pockets, retrieving a wyrmstone bracelet, which contained a number of faintly-glowing stones carved with different runes. He handed it to Lucian. 

"Here, press down on this charm," Runklebean instructed, specifying a red-glowing stone. "It will transmit an instant telepathic distress call to the nearest Arcane Response Tower or Healer's Circle. Tell them to deploy aid."

Lucian took it and followed Runklebean's instructions. All the while, Runklebean kept talking to Alistair, kept urging. 

Not long later, the gym doors flew open in a rush of feathers and wind.

A gryphon landed with a clatter, sleek and silver-plumed, bearing a rider clad in moonsteel armor and robes of cream and gold. The symbol of a glowing lantern was etched into her breastplate.

"I am Aera of the White Lantern," she declared, striding forward with her satchel already open. "Stand back."

She knelt by Alistair, pressing a rune-gloved hand to his chest. Her voice remained calm and crisp, used to the edge of death as she stated the current condition of his vitals and blood sugar level. 

She withdrew a crimson-glass vial etched with flamefruit leaves—the emergency elixir—and uncorked it with her teeth.

Alistair's mouth parted weakly, instinct taking over.

The potion hit like a furnace stoked too fast—his eyes fluttered open, pupils wide, lips sticky with syrup.

"Hells…" Alistair rasped.

"You're safe," Aera said gently.

Alistair blinked at her, then slowly turned to look at the shocked faces of Lucian, Nedrick, and Runklebean.

"I thought…" Nedrick whispered, guilt punching through his demeanour. "I thought you were just winded."

"I was," Alistair croaked. "Then I wasn't."

Wrapped in a thermal blanket and propped up on every pillow the group owned, Alistair rested back at the camp, sipping juice through a straw while shame and relief mingled like twin storms in his chest. He looked exhausted, but alive. Nedrick, Runklebean, and Lucian each sat huddled right beside him. 

"You scared the hell out of us," Nedrick said, voice quiet.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"You could've said something, you know," Lucian said, before briefly pausing. "That you're diabetic."

Alistair nodded, slow. "Type 1. Diagnosed when I was fourteen. I usually manage it better than that. Just… didn't expect to have a hypoglycemic episode."

Lucian softened. "Well, it's a big deal. Because you matter."

Alistair blinked at him, surprised, before looking away. "I wanted to join you all at the gym and just feel… normal, for once. Instead, I pushed myself too hard. Man, that was stupid.."

Lucian crossed his arms, still a little rattled. "Well next time, I'm carrying candy. Just in case. What's your favourite?"

Alistair sighed tiredly. "You're not a very good rival, you know that?"

Lucian rolled his eyes, but his smile was real. "You owe me, Al. Big time."