The wind wasn't quiet.
It screamed.
It shoved itself into my ears, rattled my skull, forced its way through the open windows like it had every right to be here. Banners overhead snapped violently, fabric cracking like whips. The red carpet stretched before the throne—long, straight, merciless—leading to the portcullis like a path designed for judgment.
I stood beside the throne.
Eyes closed.
Hair spike glowing with sharp white lunar highlights.
My boots clicked softly against stone, lunar cybernetics humming beneath my feet—steady, disciplined, pretending I was calm.
The Lunar Lance rested at my side, angled close enough to my face to remind me it existed. Like a threat. Like a promise.
I inhaled.
Energy crawled through my veins—alive, restless, impatient. I crossed my arms, the Lance lifting slightly as I exhaled through my nose. A low grunt slipped out before I could stop it.
Memories tried to claw their way back in.
The throne room was massive—too massive for how empty it felt. Windows blown wide open, moonlight flooding in, dust drifting like ash after a fire. The banners thrashed as if they were trying to escape their own history. Somewhere, a dented metal can skittered across the floor, pushed by the wind like a bad omen that refused to stay still.
Outside, Foreshade was silent.
The kingdom was silent.
I was silent.
My mind?
Absolutely not.
The portcullis rattled.
I opened my eyes.
White lunar energy flared from them as I lifted my gaze.
The wind surged inward—and then he emerged.
King Dreadixz dragged himself out from beneath the portcullis, armor cracked and scorched, each step heavy and uneven. His wings sagged, scraping stone before slowly folding against his back. He looked like a war machine that had lost every reason to shut down.
Moonlight hit his chest—and there it was.
The Lunaranite insignia.
A masterclass beast, etched and raised into his armor—feral, regal, eternal. Its eyes carved sharp and cruel, its form a fusion of fang, claw, and lunar geometry. Not decorative. Declarative. The symbol of conquest. Of survival. Of a people who refused to kneel.
Even damaged, it commanded the room.
I glanced him over, frowning despite myself.
"What kind of conflict rattled you this badly?"
My voice came out low. Controlled. Almost concerned—against my better judgment.
Dreadixz stopped.
Then straightened, forcing his broken posture upright through nothing but spite. His gaze locked onto mine—cold lunar fury burning beneath exhaustion.
"Battle with the Celestianites," he growled. "They dragged in the Officials… and Blightscaw."
He limped forward again, clutching his chest as moonlight washed over him, glinting off the beast insignia. His shadow stretched across the walls—twisted, enormous, alive. When he reached the throne, he turned and fell into it with a metallic slam.
The room shook.
He exhaled—long, reverent—rubbing the armrests like they might vanish if he stopped touching them.
"Oh," he muttered, almost lovingly, "how I missed this throne…"
I scoffed, eyes closing. "You're the king. Aren't you supposed to wipe out the Celestianites in one clean strike?"
Dreadixz snapped his head toward me, snarling. He leaned forward, wings flaring just enough to remind me what he was.
"You're a kid, Dark Don," he barked. "A Lunaranite kid. With a lance."
"I'm your second-in-command," I replied quietly, one eye opening as I stared at the dust-streaked floor. "Without me… I don't even know what you'd be."
He grunted and slammed back into the throne.
"Teenagers these days…"
"I'm not a teen yet."
"WHO ASKED YOU?!"
The shout detonated through the chamber—then vanished into dead silence.
I didn't move.
Distant footsteps echoed as Lunaranites filtered back into the castle, shadows reclaiming their places. Dreadixz sighed, calmer now, and finally looked at me—really looked at me.
"You still mourn for her?"
I didn't hesitate. "She's dead, King. No kidding."
My wings stretched wide, feathers scraping stone.
Dreadixz rose slowly, his voice rougher now. Older. Heavy with history.
"Those were our darkest moments," he said. "Worse than the war itself. The Celestianites—" His jaw tightened. "They humanized us. Treated us like debris under a donkey's hoof."
I stared at the floor.
"What am I supposed to do with that?" I whispered. "I can't even remember her promise. That's all I care about."
Dust floated between us, suspended in moonlight.
Then Dreadixz broke the silence.
"Find out who the Chosen Ones are. And kill the leader."
I looked up.
"They seek the Lost Key," he continued. "The artifact matters. I need it to take Avangard. Zeriath can wait." His gaze hardened beneath the beast insignia. "And when necessary… take breaks. Fulfill your personal quest."
He was right.
I had another mission.
Not conquest.
Not vengeance.
Find Silicia's last words.
So I never forget them again.
Ever.
AT INSANE MIDDLE SCHOOL — MORNING (DON'S PERSPECTIVE)
My alarm did not go off.
Of course it didn't.
I launched outta bed like I was late for saving the universe. Spoiler: I was just late for middle school. Equally dangerous, honestly.
Red hoodie? Crumpled on the floor like a defeated Pokémon.
Jeans? Halfway inside out.
Hair? Looking like I lost a fight with a ceiling fan.
Me? Glorious disaster.
I slapped on my clothes, shoved a half-eaten granola bar in my mouth, and bolted out the door like I was being chased by regret.
The sky was doing its golden-purple glow thing—sun barely up, air all crisp and perfect. And for once? No evil portals. No sky lasers. No dramatic boss music. Just… peace.
I hit the sidewalk and jogged toward school—well, tried to.
"YO, DON! THAT YOU?"
I looked over and saw Old Man Vek chilling on his porch, squinting over his daily newspaper, which had absolutely nothing to do with me, by the way. Looked like it had a huge headline about some squirrels taking over a bird feeder.
"Morning, Mr. Vek!" I called out, already speed-walking like my life depended on it.
"You're runnin' late again, huh?" he said, sipping a mug of something suspiciously green. "You know what happened the last time you skipped breakfast—you tried to fight a fire hydrant."
"ONE TIME, Mr. Vek! ONE TIME!" I shouted back, wheezing.
He cackled so hard he nearly dropped his mug.
"Watch out for those hydrants, kid!" he called after me. "They've got teeth!"
I waved as I turned the corner, smiling even though I was already feeling the panic start to bubble.
As I passed the playground, chaos erupted.
A bunch of little kids spotted me from behind the fence like they were spotting Bigfoot in sneakers.
"IT'S DON!"
"THE GUY WHO ACCIDENTALLY FLEW INTO A TREE LAST MONTH!"
"HE'S GOT POWERS!!!"
I spun around, grinning, and struck a superhero pose. "Still just Don. My only superpower is being fashionably late."
"CAN YOU FLY?!"
"Nope! But I can trip with dramatic flair!"
They cracked up like it was the funniest thing they'd ever heard. Honestly? I was kinda proud of that one.
Then came the rest of the walk. I passed Mrs. Lenu, sweeping outside her corner shop like she was about to start breakdancing with the broom.
"Morning, Don," she said, not even looking up. "You're running."
"Gotta hustle or I'll be toast!"
She smirked. "Well, don't burn yourself."
I gave her a little salute, then promptly tripped on a pebble. Smooth.
By now, people were peeking out their windows, giving me little nods, waves, and "there goes that boy again" kind of looks. Cars honked—not in an angry way, but in that "you got this!" way.
Mr. Nibbs, the ice cream guy, tossed me a frozen pop. I caught it without stopping.
"You're gonna need the energy, hero boy!" he laughed.
I turned down another block—and that's when I saw Jax the mailman absolutely getting wrecked by two rogue delivery bots going full Terminator. One was flailing around with a barcode scanner like it was a sword. The other looked like it was about to explode over a misdelivered envelope.
"JAX!" I yelled, already channeling a soft purple glow into my hands.
In five seconds flat, I zapped one bot into standby mode, then tripped the other one with a banana peel I'd completely forgotten was in my pocket. Don't ask why. It's Don logic.
"You good?" I asked as I helped Jax up.
He blinked. "Did you just throw a fruit-based projectile?"
"Strategic potassium-based takedown. Totally intentional."
"…You're late for school again, aren't you?"
I checked the time on my phone—and my heart dropped.
"8:27?! BRO I'M GONNA GET DETENTION FOR ETERNITY."
And then I screamed.
Like, loud. Birds flew out of trees. Someone across the street dropped a smoothie. I was full Gremlin Mode.
I booked it. Hard. Backpack flapping, sneakers skidding, frozen pop still in my mouth like a champion.
As I darted across town, Old Man Vek shouted from three blocks back:
"RUN LIKE THE WIND, YOU LITTLE ELEMENTAL WEIRDO!"
And that, my friend, is how my morning started. No prophecies. No shadowy figures. No ancient secrets.
Just a red hoodie, a late kid, and a whole town that somehow still loved me even when I tripped over my own shoelace.
A few minutes later
I was sprinting through the school hallway.
Like—full send.
Like—if I stop, I die.
Because yeah.
That part was not a metaphor.
Lockers streaked by in metallic blurs. Sneakers slapped tile. Footsteps hammered behind me. Someone screamed—my name, maybe. Or just screamed. Middle school's basically a noise generator with trauma DLC.
Name's Lens Don.
Twelve.
Celestianite.
Dragon traits. Horns. Wings. Tail. The whole mythical starter pack.
And no, I did not wake up today planning to almost die before first period.
But here we are.
Corner—too sharp.
I skidded. Claws scraped tile. Wings flared on instinct, catching air just long enough to keep me upright. Sunlight flashed off my purple crystal horns like hazard lights. My wings—crystal feathers layered with soft scales—beat once. Controlled. Barely. My violet tail snapped behind me, white stripes blurring as I ran.
For the record?
I look sick.
I just don't feel sick.
Red hoodie. Blue jeans. Black-and-red Nike Sketchers. Buzz cut.
Just an average Black kid tearing through a very not-average school while elemental chaos casually violated every safety regulation ever written.
Everyone's born with an Element here.
Fire. Ice. Earth. Lightning. Plant. Weird stuff.
Normal.
Mine?
Celestial.
Light-purple energy. Rare. Dangerous. Anime-level nonsense just waiting to ruin my schedule. And if I ever collect all nine Power Gems?
Yeah. Reality starts wobbling.
I wanna be a hero. A real one. A Hero of Avangard.
Not just the loud kid.
Not the weird kid with too much confidence and not enough chill.
I wanna be worthy.
Which is hilarious, because at that exact moment—
—I was late for class and hurdling an ice river.
I vaulted Emely's frozen hallway disaster.
"WATCH IT, ICE BIRD!"
"Sorry!" she yelled, already melting it. Ice Element. Hyper. Absolute menace.
Heat spiked.
Fireballs.
"ARCHIE!"
I flared my wings and tail-whipped a flaming orb into a locker. It crumpled like paper.
"Fifth time this week!" he shouted, laughing.
"JUST SHUT IT, HOT POT!"
The walls exploded with green.
Vines. Thorns. Branches everywhere.
Lonnie Mae—Plant Element—vibing like this was recess.
I vaulted high, slid low, barely avoided getting clotheslined by a thorny nightmare.
CRACK—
Lightning tore past me.
Prince.
"NO RUNNING IN THE HALLS!" the principal screamed.
Prince didn't stop.
He flew.
"NO FLYING EITHER!"
Classic Prince.
Rock pillars—ducked Olsen's.
Sticky webs—sidestepped Keyler's.
And Ella?
Ella just stood there. Calm. Unbothered. Like the apocalypse was optional.
Room 101.
I slid in like an action movie stunt—
—and immediately died socially.
Everyone was seated.
Every kid I passed?
Watching.
Judging.
Mentally roasting me.
I froze in the doorway.
Error 404: confidence not found.
Mr. Bassi looked up.
Twenty-four. Half man, half bull. Massive curled horns like bad decisions waiting to happen. White shirt. Green pants. Cleanest crew cut I've ever seen.
"You're late."
"Technically I arrived in one second so I'm not that—"
"Sit."
He smirked.
I dropped into the front row.
History. Allegedly.
Bassi turned to the board.
And didn't move.
No writing.
No talking.
Just silence, fermenting.
"So… aren't you gonna teach?" Mason asked.
Bassi blinked. "Wait. This is history?"
Collective facepalm.
He sighed. "I'm a math teacher. History's not my thing. Civil War or—"
"THE HISTORY OF AVANGARD!"
"…Right. That. Knew that."
He hauled out a massive ancient book and cracked it open like he was speedrunning destiny.
"Year 8000 B.C.E. Before the Celestial Era. The CL War began. It started with an artifact—the Lost Key—hidden by a Celestianite to keep it from Lunaranite hands."
The room leaned in.
"The Lunaranites—evil, conquest-obsessed, zero chill—were led by Dreadixz. Real 'world domination' energy."
Pages flipped.
"The Celestianites fought back. Dragon-like beings of Light, Astral, and Celestial power. White and gold scales. Halo-shaped horns. Feathered. Scaled. Terrifyingly strong."
Another page.
"The Lunaranites? Black and purple. Sharp scales. Curved horns. Walking narcissists."
Then—
He read that speech.
'YOU WANT POWER? CONTROL? REVENGE? FOLLOW ME—DREADIXZ, SHADOW LORD!'
Even Bassi paused.
Yeah. It went hard.
"In the final clash," he continued, "Vigilzante—the Celestianite leader—fell. But before dying, he wrote a prophecy."
He read it aloud.
Silence followed.
Then—
BZZZT!
The intercom screamed.
"ATTENTION STUDENTS! A BRIGHT LUNAR-LIKE OBJECT IS APPROACHING AT MAX SPEED! EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY!"
I shot up. "—WE JUST GOT TO CLASS!"
Chaos detonated.
The sun dimmed.
The sky twisted white.
Thunder cracked like reality snapping its knuckles.
Wind slammed the building.
Bassi went pale. "Oh, crap."
"EVERYBODY OUT!"
I ran—
BOOM.
The roof exploded.
White lunar energy tore through the room and launched me across it. Desks shattered. Dust filled my lungs. Pain detonated through my body.
I groaned. Pushed myself up. Ears ringing.
The smoke thinned.
And there he was.
My height.
That's what my brain focused on—because everything else about him was screaming wrong.
And deep down?
I already knew.
This was not a normal school day anymore.
Dark Don stood in the smoke like a living eclipse. Black hair slashed through with jagged white streaks. Eyes glowing silver—flat, merciless, not even pretending to be human. His sleek silver dragon wings sliced the haze behind him, each slow movement deliberate. His tail snapped once, sharp and metallic, precise like it had been programmed to kill.
His torso was cybernetic—layered white-and-black armor fused to dark skin, lunar-blue veins glowing beneath the plating like trapped lightning. The Lunaranite insignia burned across his chest, pulsing like a heartbeat that wasn't his own.
Arms reinforced with black cybernetics. Silver shoulders carved with glowing lunar etchings. Forearms streaked with black like gravity itself had clawed into them. White gloves lined with razor-thin silver patterns gripped a towering Lunar Lance, humming softly—hungry.
His boots cracked against the floor, white cyber-shoes laced with silver plates and black energy veins that warped gravity with every step. He didn't walk.
He drifted.
Silver thigh armor. Black knee guards. Cybernetic legs gleaming like weapons built to move faster than fear.
This wasn't a villain.
He was an event.
"You," he said calmly, voice low and razor-clean, slicing through the chaos like it wasn't even there. "One of the Five Chosen Ones. Confident. Relentless."
Celestial energy flared around me, violet sparks snapping in the air like broken nerves.
"Who—who are you?!"
He stepped closer. Casual. Like the burning room was background noise.
"Dark Don," he said. "Bounty hunter. Scarrist." His silver eyes locked onto mine. "The version of you that's better in every way."
I didn't even blink.
His fist detonated into my face.
Pain exploded across my skull as my body launched backward—through a bookshelf, wood splintering, shelves collapsing on impact. My vision swam.
But I didn't stay down.
Violet energy surged from my arms, jagged and wild. I shoved off the ground, catching his next punch mid-air and blasting him back with a violent burst. My eyes burned bright violet.
I swung—everything I had—and connected with his jaw.
He staggered.
Five seconds.
Five seconds of hope.
Then he vanished.
A blur of lunar grace.
His knee slammed into my gut. Air left my lungs. He flung me down the hallway like I weighed nothing—
—and the cafeteria doors exploded.
Chaos erupted.
Kids screamed like airhorns shoved into blenders. Teachers shouted over each other.
"EVERYONE TO THE EXITS!"
"NO—NOT NEAR THE—WHAT IS HAPPENING?!"
"IS THAT LUNAR ENERGY?! CALL THE FIRE DEPARTMENT—AND THE POLICE—AND PROBABLY A DRAGON OR TWO!"
Sirens wailed outside. Fire trucks roared in. Hoses blasted water everywhere. Glass shattered. Panic ruled.
Cementos the Bull charged, horns lowered.
"FREEZE! HANDS UP!"
"Or you're lunch!" someone yelled.
Dark Don glanced sideways.
Bored.
"More pests."
He raised a hand.
A lunar pulse tore through the air.
Cementos smashed forward, concrete spikes erupting from the floor—Dark Don sliced through them effortlessly. One lunar punch sent the bull-man skidding across the cafeteria like debris.
Nyx the Panther leapt, claws carving sonic arcs.
"YOU LUNARANITE—!"
Backhanded into a table.
Smite hurled a mist bomb. Titus launched red-glowing fists.
Dark Don stepped through the chaos and released a single slash of white lunar energy—
—all three detonated mid-air.
Lila surged with water, shouting, "WHY WERE YOU SENT HERE?!"
Dark Don sidestepped, grabbed her arm, and slammed her through the floor.
Crater.
And through all of it—he still had me by the collar.
My punches did nothing.
"You're not ready," he said flatly, dragging me through wreckage and screams. "Celestial energy won't save you."
I coughed blood. Sparks flickered weakly.
"You lack strength."
"WHO—WHO INVITED YOU?!" I gasped.
A thin, merciless smile touched his lips.
"I'm the reckoning."
BOOM.
Fire and dust ripped through the room.
My friends reacted instantly.
Archie rocketed forward, flames roaring. "YOU'RE NOT TOYING WITH HIM!"
Olsen grounded himself, earth buckling. "Uh—maybe let's NOT die today?!"
Prince lightning-sprinted, feathers crackling. "This guy's insane!"
Demaurion surged with water. "FOCUS! CONTROL IT—DON'T GET OBLITERATED!"
Teachers screamed. Cafeteria staff panicked.
"MOVE!"
"FIRE EXTINGUISHER!"
"MY MEATLOAF—MY MEATLOAF!"
And still—Dark Don moved like a predator untouched by panic. Every step exact. Every strike final. Lunar Lance humming. Gravity bending beneath his feet.
He flicked a finger.
Silver chains snapped into existence—wrapping around me, Olsen, Prince, Archie, and Demaurion. Lunar energy bindings crushed tight.
Prince struggled, wings sparking. "YOU SERIOUS?!"
"Why did you have to ask that," Dark Don muttered.
Something drifted down from above.
A scroll.
Old. Frayed. Glowing faintly like it didn't belong to time anymore.
He caught it midair without looking. Then he looked.
He read.
Slowly.
Too slowly.
"Oh," he said at last, voice flat. "So it's already written."
Demaurion snarled, stepping forward, water boiling off his scales.
"GET US OUT. NOW."
Dark Don didn't answer him.
His eyes were on me.
On us.
On the prophecy.
He raised one hand—and clenched it.
The scroll shuddered.
Lunar energy flared around his fingers, white and violent, veins of silver lightning crawling up his arm as he pulled.
The prophecy screamed.
Not metaphorically.
It screamed.
The parchment bent. Warped. The words flickered like they were alive and fighting back.
Dark Don growled low in his chest and pulled harder.
Nothing.
Not a tear.
Not a crack.
Not even a wrinkle.
The prophecy wouldn't rip.
For the first time since I'd known him—
Dark Don froze.
"…No," he whispered.
He tried again.
Harder.
The room shook. Tables lifted off the ground. Trays slammed into walls. The air itself fractured with sound as lunar power surged like it meant to erase reality out of spite.
Still nothing.
The prophecy held.
Dark Don's breathing changed.
Sharp. Uneven.
Annoyed… and something else.
He dropped the scroll.
It hovered for a second—then snapped back into place, floating calmly like it had won.
His eyes snapped to me.
Pure white.
"This was supposed to end here," he said quietly.
He walked toward me.
Each step felt like gravity doubling.
Mr. Bassi lunged forward. "Hey—HEY—!"
Dark Don didn't even look at him.
"Great," Mr. Bassi muttered. "How am I explaining THIS to the principal—"
I grabbed the stair railing, wings flaring instinctively as Dark Don stopped right in front of me.
So close I could feel the heat of his energy.
He raised his hand.
Lunar light condensed around his fingers—tight, sharp, final.
This was it.
I braced.
His hand twitched.
Just barely.
His jaw clenched.
Something crossed his face—fast, ugly, unwanted.
"…Tch."
He lowered his hand.
The energy dispersed like it had been embarrassed to exist.
Dark Don looked away from me, eyes narrowing as if I was the problem for still breathing.
"You're in the way," he said. Not angry. Almost… irritated with himself.
Demaurion stared. "What?"
Dark Don snapped his fingers.
"Snap."
A white hole tore open in the cafeteria, energy screaming as space folded in on itself. Wind howled. Tables ripped free. Trays and chairs spiraled into the light.
"You'll be out," Dark Don said. "All of you."
I stared at him. "Why?"
He didn't answer right away.
Then, quietly—too quietly—
"Because finishing this here feels… wrong."
He turned back to me, eyes sharp again, walls firmly rebuilt.
"You have a job to do," he said. "Now go."
He flicked his finger.
The shockwave hit like a god slamming a door.
"DAMN ITTT—!"
White swallowed everything.