​Zorn stared down at the twin guns in his hands. Suddenly, the cold metal felt impossibly heavy, as if the weight of the entire world had settled onto his shoulders.

​Nearby, Don was slipping on his signature black arm sleeves while chatting with Khor. 

Zorn watched them, a flicker of frustration gnawing at his chest. He couldn't help it. 

He let out a long, heavy sigh that seemed to carry all his anxiety with it.

​Both Khor and Donal glanced up at the sound.

​“You alright?” Donal asked, tilting his head with a casual curiosity.

​“Yeah,” Zorn replied. 

He squeezed the grips of the weapons until his knuckles turned a ghostly white. 

“Just… nervous.”

​“You’ve got this.” Donal offered a small, reassuring smile and dropped a heavy hand onto Zorn’s shoulder.

​Zorn nodded silently, pocketing the weapons. Together, the three of them turned toward the massive double doors of the inner chambers. 

It was time to face the King.

***

​The thunderous rhythm of galloping hooves echoed against the palace walls as a carriage hurtled toward the gates.

​Ángel leaned precariously out of the window. His hair whipped wildly in the wind, his face a mask of frantic desperation.

​“Pull your head back in, child! You’re going to lose it!” Mossiah barked, his voice sharp with irritation.

​Ángel ducked back inside with a frustrated grunt, glaring at his mentor.

​“I’ve already lost it!” he shouted. He snatched the flyer for Lionel’s trial and thrust it directly in front of Mossiah’s face. “They’ve got my brother!”

​Mossiah calmly pushed the paper aside. 

“We will inform your father. Please… just calm down.”

​Ángel rolled his eyes and slumped back into the velvet seat, his jaw tight. 

“It’s easy for you to stay calm. It’s not your family on the line.”

​The carriage fell into a sudden, suffocating silence. 

Only the rattling of the wheels and the rhythmic clop-clop of the horses filled the space between them.

​Mossiah turned his head away, staring out at the passing landscape in silence. 

Ángel bit his lip, a hint of guilt hitting him. He knew his words had been harsh, but the fire in his blood wouldn't cool.

​Finally, the carriage lurched to a halt. Attendants hurried to open the doors, extending their hands to assist. 

Mossiah stepped out with practiced grace, his long black robes billowing in the breeze like a shadow. 

He tucked his book under his arm, his dark hair swaying in the sunlight.

​Ángel didn't wait for assistance. He burst from the carriage like a shot from a cannon. 

His red cape trailed behind him like a streak of blood as he raced toward the palace entrance, his heavy boots stomping across the stone.

​That stupid carriage ride took way too long!

***

​Zorn walked through the gilded halls of the palace, flanked by Donal and Khor.

​The architecture was breathtaking. High, perpendicular windows allowed the sun’s rays to slash across the marble floors in brilliant strips of light. 

Beside them, ornate curtains sparkled with every faint breeze.

​When they reached the throne room, Zorn didn't hesitate. He pushed the heavy doors open and marched inside.

​King Abad was currently occupied, speaking with a local noble, but Zorn didn't care for pleasantries. He rushed straight toward the throne.

​“Your Highness.”

​Abad shifted his gaze from the noble to Zorn, his expression unreadable. 

“What is it?” he asked, his voice draped in indifference.

​Zorn held up Cinco’s dual pistols. 

“Cinco left these behind the day he was arrested. We can use these to find him… and if we find him, we find your son.”

​Abad’s eyes widened. A single, shaky breath escaped him, sounding like a man who had finally found air after drowning.

​“Please… be careful,” the King whispered. “I would not know how to live with myself if my pleas to save my son resulted in all of your deaths.”

​Zorn tilted his head, slowly lowering the weapons. 

“Don’t talk like that. We got your Relic back, didn’t we? We can do this.”

​Donal stepped forward, spreading his arms wide with his usual effortless charm. 

“Besides, just think of this trial as a coming of age story for the boy,” he mused, a relaxed smile playing on his lips.

​“That is a horrible way to put it,” Khor deadpanned.

​“Yeah. No, Don. Just stop,” Zorn added.

​Abad raised an eyebrow, looking at the Planetary Lord with a hint of suspicion. There was definitely something off about this man.

​Suddenly, the eastern doors to the throne room burst open with a violent crash. The sound echoed like a thunderclap against the high ceilings.

​Zorn whirled around.

​Ángel stood in the doorway, heaving for breath, his chest rising and falling. 

In his trembling hand, he clutched the trial notice. He looked up, his eyes locking onto Zorn, Donal, and Khor.

​“Ángel,” Abad said, turning toward him. “You’ve returned.”

​Ángel’s brow furrowed in confusion as he looked at the three strangers. He stepped further into the room, his boots tapping sharply against the black marble. 

“Who are these people, Father?!”

​“This is… the Fae Star Guild,” Abad explained, glancing briefly at the trio. “They plan to infiltrate the Red Capital.”

​Ángel’s face went pale. 

“Isn't that the most wanted guild in all of Varnaiya?! Father! You’ll be executed for this! Was the fate of the Pentacle Circle not enough of a warning?!”

​“That was over a thousand years ago, son,” Abad replied calmly.

​Zorn’s heart skipped a beat. 

The most wanted guild in Varnaiya?

​He shot a panicked look at Donal. Donal didn't even blink. He just kept that relaxed, infuriating smile on his face, standing there with his arms crossed.

​Who the hell actually created this guild? Zorn wondered. And why does Don trust them so much?

​He looked back down at the guns. His fingers were trembling.

To be so highly wanted… was this guild a group of revolutionaries? And what was the "Pentacle Circle"?

​Khor noticed Zorn’s shaking shoulders and narrowed his eyes in silent question.

​“These three will find Lionel and bring him home,” Abad stated firmly.

​“So you already know!” Ángel shouted, waving the flyer. “April 1st at 18:00! They’re putting him in the Eternal Arena. That’s tomorrow! They say he has to face the Warion. Father, he can’t…”

​Abad raised a hand, instantly silencing his son. “I know. It is my fault he was captured in the first place.”

​Ángel recoiled as if he’d been struck. “What?”

​Abad sighed, his eyes dropping to the floor. 

“I was careless. My negligence allowed our Lunar Relic to be stolen by a Red Convert.”

​“WHAT?!” Ángel roared.

​“Let your father finish!” Khor commanded, his voice cutting through the noise.

​“We got the artifact back safely, though,” Donal added, offering a cheery thumbs up.

​“…But it also revealed to the Converts that my defense system is weak,” Abad finished solemnly.

​Zorn’s eyes went wide. 

That was considered weak? 

He, Cinco, and Khor had barely survived the Lunar Barrier.

​“Half of my new guards, and even Lionel’s own sparring teacher… they were all spies,” Abad admitted. “Infiltrators from the Eternal Flame Court. They suspected him of being a Star Curse, and they found him out.”

​Ángel stood in stunned silence. His arm dropped to his side, the paper dangling from his fingers. 

“If you’re saying all those new men were spies…” He trailed off, looking at the floor in horror.

​Zorn watched him, his mind racing.

​Ángel’s fist tightened around the flyer. 

“Mossiah… Mossiah was one of those new men,” he said, his voice dropping into a dark, dangerous register.

​Abad’s eyes snapped wide with realization.

​“So… I’ve been found out, then.”

​A voice echoed from the doorway. Everyone turned at once.

​Mossiah stood there, watching them. Ángel’s eyes burned with a primal fury. 

“No wonder you were so calm!” he screamed, pointing a finger at his mentor.

​Zorn let out a frustrated hiss. 

Another one? Just like Malachite?

​Mossiah held up his hands in a placating gesture. 

“I am not your enemy, Ángel.”

​“Not my enemy?! You deliberately isolated me from my brother so they could take him! I didn't need to travel for linguistics at all! It was a lie!” Ángel swung his arm, crumpling the flyer into a ball.

​“Please, let me explain,” Mossiah sighed.

​“Hell no!”

​“Wait…” Zorn stepped forward, interrupting the shouting match.

​Ángel glared at him. “I swear to the Moon Goddess, if you tell me I'm being unreasonable…”

​Zorn shook his head. “No. I’m actually on your side.” He squinted, focusing his vision on the mentor.

What the...?

“I can see his aura. There’s a... uh... blue upside-down triangle glowing behind him.”

That's so strange, I've never seen something like that before.

​Abad’s body tensed. He shifted his stance, his hands dropping to his sides, ready for a fight. 

Donal and Khor both looked on in genuine surprise.

​Mossiah let out a long, weary sigh. 

“Yes. I work with the E.F.C. But… I work with them behind their backs.”

​Zorn’s confusion only deepened. 

“What does that even mean? And why did you use Ángel?”

​Mossiah slowly sank to his knees, bowing his head until his black and grey hair spilled across the black marble. 

“My actions were treacherous. I isolated Prince Ángel to ensure the capture of his brother.”

​Ángel’s hand shook with pure adrenaline and rage.

​“But it was the only way to maintain my cover. Once I received word that Lionel had been secured, I broke protocol. I was supposed to kill Ángel. Instead… I brought him home.”

​Mossiah’s brow twitched. Why am I telling them this much? The plan was to be brief. Is it a spell?

​He looked up, scanning the faces in the room, until his eyes landed on Zorn. He froze. A red, sparkling aura was pulsing around the boy.

​“Oh…” The syllable escaped his lips, quieter than a whisper.

​Zorn’s grip tightened on the guns.

“What?”

​Mossiah stood up slowly, his long robes settling around him like a funeral shroud. 

He didn't look at the King. He didn't even look at the furious Prince. His eyes were locked entirely on Zorn. His expression was a haunting void.

​“So… it has already begun,” he murmured.

​“Stop talking in riddles!” Ángel snapped.

​Mossiah ignored him. He took a step toward Zorn. 

“That aura… that star…” His voice dropped to a reverent, terrifying whisper. “Do you even know what it is you’re carrying?”

​Zorn felt his stomach drop into a cold abyss. 

Donal’s smile vanished instantly. 

Khor shifted his weight, ready to defend Zorn. 

The very air in the room felt… wrong.

​“Answer him,” Abad demanded.

​Zorn opened his mouth to speak, but Mossiah cut him off.

​“If he interferes with the Eternal Arena…”

​Silence swallowed the throne room, thick and heavy. Mossiah’s face darkened with a grim realization.

​“…Then Lionel won’t be the one you need to save.”

​Ángel froze. “What are you talking about?”

​Mossiah finally looked at the Prince. 

For the first time, the look in his eyes wasn't that of a traitor or a teacher. It was pure, unadulterated dread.

​“If he goes there,” Mossiah whispered, “you’ll be the reason your brother dies.”

​The room went deathly silent. Zorn could hear his own pulse thundering in his ears like a drum.

​“…What?”

​Mossiah’s gaze flicked back to the glowing aura surrounding Zorn one last time.

​“Ask him,” Mossiah said, his voice trembling. “Ask him what happens to this world when that star fully awakens.”

​Zorn’s heart sank. He didn't answer.

​Because he was too afraid to know the truth himself.