The gates of Mélovetsia opened with a groan of ancient iron, and the group stepped into its inner lands. What greeted them was not darkness, nor ruin, nor the suffocating despair they expected. Instead, their eyes widened at the sight of serene courtyards, pristine canals glinting in the afternoon sun, and wide streets paved with white stone.
The city glowed with a strange, quiet beauty. Children played in small gardens, laughter echoing softly, and the air smelled faintly of lilies carried by the wind. The walls, though old and cracked in places, shimmered with dignity—as if time itself had failed to strip Mélovetsia of its glory.
Junia blinked rapidly, holding Tieu's hand. "This… this is supposed to be the land of despair?"
Tieu's silver eyes widened in awe. "It feels more peaceful than any place we've ever visited."
Even Kael whistled low. "I was expecting skeletons, fire, and misery. This is… cozy."
Makoa, walking at their front, gave a knowing smile, his cape trailing along the white stones. "You are thinking that very thing, aren't you? That this land, the so-called land of despair, feels peaceful. That is because my father is the one who takes all despair upon himself. He is our savior. Our king of Despair."
The words carried reverence, almost like scripture, and lingered in the air as the group absorbed them.
Before any of them could reply, a boy hurried down the marble steps of a library nearby, clutching a stack of books against his chest. His dark hair fell over his brow, and his expression was bright with determination.
"Master Makoa!" he called, running to the prince before nearly tripping on his own feet. He managed to steady himself, panting slightly. "I—I am here! The preparations are all done!"
Makoa chuckled, patting the boy's shoulder warmly. "Good job, Vixor. Everyone, this is Vixor—my kind of apprentice."
Vixor straightened, then bowed politely to the gathered group. "It's… an honor to meet all of you. Please, treat me kindly."
"Aw," Julia was the first to speak, her eyes softening. "Look at him—he's such a cute boy."
Junia leaned down with a bright smile. "Yes, you really are adorable, Vixor. I didn't expect Makoa to have such a young apprentice."
Tieu giggled behind her hand. "Your face is all red. Are you always this shy?"
Tiana circled him once, her gaze sharp but playful. "For an apprentice of a prince, you look far too fragile. Still… cute enough, I'll give them that."
Julia teased again, brushing her braid back. "Careful, girls. If you tease him too much, he might faint."
Vixor's face flushed crimson as he clutched the books tighter to his chest. "P-please! D-don't… don't say such things! I—this is embarrassing!"
Kael barked out a laugh. "Relax, boy. You'll toughen up if you stay around us long enough."
Eric leaned toward Julia with a grin. "Ah, youth. Always fun to fluster."
The boy ducked his head lower, muttering under his breath. "Master Makoa… they're bullying me…"
Makoa only smirked, whispering back, "Get used to it. They're our friends now."
With that, he gestured for them to follow. "Come. The palace awaits."
The palace of Mélovetsia rose high against the sky like a cathedral carved from obsidian. Its towers reached upward, their spires tipped with iron, and stained-glass windows shimmered faintly in crimson hues. Despite its dark stone, the architecture carried a strange majesty—ancient yet unbroken, heavy yet graceful.
They entered through vast bronze doors, which groaned open into a throne chamber unlike anything they had ever seen.
At the far end, upon a dais of black marble, loomed a massive throne carved from onyx. Its back stretched high, jagged like the crown of mountains, and shadows clung to it unnaturally.
Beside it stood four individuals, each exuding a presence that made the air heavier, thicker.
Makoa stepped forward, his voice echoing in the chamber. "These four are the Horsemen of Despair."
He gestured first to a tall figure cloaked in black, his face hidden by a mask. "Dr. Death."
Next, "Nutcracker."
Then, "Darling Tragedy."
And finally, "Lady Despair."
All four bowed in unison, their movements sharp and deliberate, a synchronized gesture of loyalty and menace.
Junia whispered, clutching Tieu's arm. "They feel… overwhelming."
Tieu's lips trembled. "Like the air itself is bowing to them."
Eric scribbled furiously in his notebook, muttering. "Perfect. Absolutely perfect. The Horsemen of Despair—what a title, what imagery!"
Julia nodded in awe. "It's terrifying, but beautiful."
Makoa lowered his voice, solemn. "And beyond them… is the King."
Every head turned toward the throne.
There he sat: the King of Despair—Melancholy.
Shock rippled through the group at once. He looked… impossibly young, no older than Michi himself. His skin was pale, his hair black as midnight, and his eyes carried depths no mortal could fathom. Yet what froze them all in place was not his youth.
In his right hand, he held the severed head of a girl.
Blood dripped slowly from her neck, pooling onto the steps of the dais. Her lifeless eyes stared forward, glassy and pale, her hair matted with crimson.
Junia gasped, her hand covering her mouth. "No…"
Tiana's voice broke sharp. "What in the gods' names—?!"
Julia paled, clutching Eric's arm tightly.
Even Kael's smirk faltered, his eyes hardening. "That's… one hell of an entrance."
Lior narrowed his gaze, fists tightening at his sides.
The King of Despair sat motionless, the blood dripping rhythmically from the head he cradled like a twisted ornament. His lips curved slowly upward into a faint, unsettling smile, and the chamber filled with silence—so heavy it was as though the world itself was holding its breath.