"Thank you," a rather short boy said as he stepped out of the corner store, the bell on the door ringing loudly as he held a bag full of snacks and drinks alike.

  He took a deep breath as he stepped outside into the warm night air and immediately began to yawn. "What am I going to watch?" he mumbled as he turned the corner that the store sat on.

  "I don't think there are any good movies out right now," he said as he pulled out his phone and did a quick search.

  "Nope," he muttered as he continued to swipe aimlessly.

  But his attention was soon diverted to the bag that he swayed in his hands; looking at them dishearteningly, a pang of regret and shame filled him.

  "These are too many snacks," he muttered as he toyed with the idea of returning some.

  "No, no, no," he said, shaking his head. "This is a celebration; we finally beat that sadistic fuck once and for all and currently he's in rotting prison," he said, the words feeling surreal as they left his lips.

  Even though he stood over his unconscious body and witnessed the sentencing firsthand, it was still hard to believe. A royal, much less the grandson of one of the seven, was going to prison for his crimes against the people; it was historic, and it was amazing.

  Royals weren't invincible anymore, and Ryuji proved it, he thought as a vision of a dark blue-haired boy with purple and blue eyes appeared in his mind.

  "I wonder what he's doing," he pondered as he stepped over a puddle of dark liquid on the sidewalk. "He's probably on a date with Caroline," he guessed as a small smile appeared on his face before it turned into a deep groan.

  "Ahhhhhhh...ughhhhhh...I need a boyfriend," he groaned while dragging his free hand on his face, the plastic bag swinging lightly against his thigh as he rambled to himself under the streetlights.

  "Seriously, though," he started while kicking a stray pebble that skittered for a couple seconds before landing into a nearby gutter.

  "I need a boyfriend. Like, yesterday. Preferably someone tall so I can still steal his giant hoodies. Someone who'll watch terrible movies with me and call me a baby when I cry at the cheesy and terrible airport scene. Someone who'll fight me for the last slice of pizza.

  "And—okay," he said with a huff as if it took him a second to admit it to himself. "Fine—a guy who'll let me sit in his lap while we binge horror movies and we both pretend we're not scared."

  But as the next thought came to him, he paused mid-step, cheeks flushing as a particularly vivid image crossed his mind.

  "And maybe, y'know... someone who'll—"

  But before he could finish the lewd thought, his phone buzzed violently in his pocket, cutting it short.

  Fishing it out of his pocket of his shorts that stopped at his upper thigh, he began to squint at the screen. Right as Jake's name flashed across, accompanied by that ridiculous selfie contact photo of him mid-scream on a roller coaster that jake himself must have put in.

  "What does he want at this hour?" He grumbled as his eyes flickered up to the corner of his phone, where the time read 1:03 AM.

  "Well...", he muttered, as his finger hovered over the button to decline the call.

  "It must be important," he reasoned, before pressing the button to answer.

  The moment the call connected, Jake's voice exploded through the speaker so loud that Julius yanked the phone away from his ear with a wince.

  "—BRO BRO BRO BRO BRO—"

  "That was my ear, you animal," he hissed, slowly bringing the phone back. "What is it? You better not be drunk-calling me again."

  "Bro, bro, bro, bro, bro—" he continued as if he didn't hear a word Julius just said.

  "Use your words, Jake," he said in a tone reminiscent of him talking to a small child.

  Stolen story; please report.

  "Dude, I just saw the craziest thing!"

  Rolling his eyes because he heard this a million times from him, he was already regretting picking up. But already being on the phone, he decided to indulge him. He asked.

  "What?"

  "Bro, it was so crazy—it went like whoosh and then boom and then and then and then bang and then—mannnnn—it was so fucking crazy, dude," he said in a wild voice that was way too excited.

  "What are you even talking about?" he asked, severely confused now to the point that he had to stop walking entirely and lean against a nearby lamppost while running his hand through his white & blue hair.

  "Jake, you're not making sense. Are you okay? Did you hit your head? Speak clearly," he urged him.

  After saying this, he heard Jake take a series of deep breaths on the other side of the phone; "Well, at least he's listening," he commented as he awaited for him to speak.

  "You know Riven's grandfather, Ignatius, right?"

  Eyes widening as the words hit his ear, his stomach dropping at the mention of the name alone, sending a familiar chill racing up his spine.

  "Yeah," he said quietly, his voice going meek as if by instinct. "What, is he after you?!" he asked, his mind immediately going to the worst possible scenario.

  "He—he—he—he—he—"

  "Spit it out already!!" Julius shouted two seconds before hanging up and calling Ryuji.

  "He just got beat down!" he couldn't help but shout.

  Julius almost dropped the phone at those words, but luckily for him, his grip tightened reflexively.

  "WHAT!" he shouted, loud enough that a passing dog walker turned to stare. "WHAT? WHAT?" he continued to shout before a male voice from a nearby building shouted, "Shut up!"

  Realizing he was being overly loud, he quickly returned to as measured a voice as he could manage. "You're lying. He's one of the Seven. No one just 'beats' Ignatius Cross."

  "I know, but I'm looking at him right now," Jake said, voice shaking with excitement. "He's embedded in the side of a building, out cold. He's literally T-posing; it's absolutely insane."

  Heart hammering against his ribs, he could tell just by Jake's voice that he wasn't lying, but that only brought more questions to his mind. "Who even was able to do that? Was it Ryuji?"

  "Nah, it was this gray-haired guy. He—he looked kind of creepy, honestly. Pale as hell, from what I could see, it looked like he was controlling smoke, and he could fly. But the way he moved... dude, it was unreal. Actually—hold on—let me send you the video I took."

  "What the—" he started, unable to even process the outlandishness that just came out of Jake's mouth before he could bring up any more doubt.

  His phone vibrated almost immediately. Opening up the message with shaking fingers, he played the video.

  The clip started shaky—Jake's heavy breathing was loud in the mic—but the picture steadied on a massive crater lit by emergency lights and dying fires. In the center, a slender figure with tousled gray hair stood amid swirling smoke.

  Then the camera panned up across the street; high up on a building's brick face, the unmistakable form of Ignatius Cross hung limp, arms and legs splayed in a perfect, humiliating T-pose.

  Julius's mouth went dry at the sight.

  The gray-haired boy in the video turned slightly, face half-shadowed, expression blank and unreadable. For just a second, the camera caught his eyes—the eyes that seemed to have nothing behind them.

  "I didn't start recording until after, but you should have seen it; it was crazy—he sent him flying!!!" he said.

  "You see it?" he continued, obviously smiling brightly on the other end of the phone. "He straight-up sent one of the seven flying like a ragdoll! Who even is this guy?!"

  Opening his mouth to give an unsure response, his attention was suddenly diverted by a faint scuffing sound—barely audible over the night hum but loud enough that it disturbed the quiet—and it came from the pitch-black alley directly across the street.

  Freezing, he stared at the alley's darkness, the streetlights doing nothing to illuminate it. "" his mind suggested. But then he heard it again, clear as day; he could hear something too big to be an animal.

  "Jules?" Jake said, curiously, his voice finally measured.

  "Hold on," he muttered into the phone before putting it in the same hand as the bag and stepping off the sidewalk. As he crossed the street, the plastic snack bag handles crinkled tightly in his grip as he shakily raised his free hand.

  He summoned a soft blue flame in the center of his palm, which began small and then grew into a blue ball of fire, illuminating the damp brick walls, overflowing dumpsters, and scattered trash.

  But as he looked around jumping at every bug and rat that ran at the light he saw someone

  A figure slumped against the far wall at the end of the alley. But he was just out of reach for his light to illuminate him.

  He was too deep to back out now, so he stepped forward just enough to illuminate the full alleyway, and like that, the figure was shown, and immediately his breath hitched. The phone and the bag nearly slipped from his fingers.

  "Jules...Julius?" Jake's voice buzzed repeatedly from the phone. "Are you still there? Hellooooooo? Who do you think that gray-haired dude is, anyway? Some rogue mage? Is he a new royal we don't know about?

  Too deep in shock to answer.

  He took another step forward, the blue flame trembling slightly in his hand as the light played across an unconscious guy's face. His head was lolled forward, dirty white strands plastered to his forehead, which was slick with sweat along with ash. His pale skin that almost matched his own was luminous in the blue light, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.

  But he was soon—just as he was about to step a bit closer—snapped back to reality when Jake's voice grew louder through the tinny speaker.

  "Bro? Are you okay? You're not saying anything, and your breathing is weird. Did you see something?"

  Swallowing dryly, he lifted the phone to his ear and said,

  "Give me a sec; I'll call you back," he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he ended the call.