Duke landed hard on a distant mountain overlooking the Land of Hearts. His knees buckled. His hand shot to his chest—blood already spilling from his glowing, cracked heart.
That last hit from Krane and Overbrawl had wrecked him.
His neon heart flickered out of his chest, slipping through his fingers like glass. Duke snatched it mid-fall, voice breaking into a desperate whisper:
"No, no, no—don't die on me…"
He pressed it back into his chest, forcing it to pulse again, and slumped down right there on the mountaintop. Breathing ragged. Eyes distant.
The kingdom below shimmered under the night sky—soft pink towers glowing faint through the mist. The Blushinites were asleep. The whole world felt quiet… except inside Duke's head.
Way below him, trees stretched for miles, but nothing reached as high as this mountain.
He grabbed a rock and hurled it with all the fury in his body.
"They got the Power Gem!" he snapped, voice echoing off the cliffs.
The rock clanged off a tower and vanished into the dark.
Duke adjusted his mechanical suit, gritting his teeth, metal scraping against metal. Then… he pulled his heart out again. Staring down at it. Watching it flicker in his shaking hand.
A tear slipped from his eye.
"I'll do it… for the future," he whispered.
One Power Gem was still strapped to his side—the Intelligence Gem. But it wasn't enough. Nothing was.
Duke was fifteen now. But ever since he was twelve, since Lunaranites tore his life apart—parents gone, friends gone, everyone gone—it always circled back to one thing.
In the Lovely Palace at the Kingdom of Hearts
Oscar was awake.
Still up. 10 PM sharp. Way past when he should've knocked out. But here he was, wide-eyed in his room inside the castle, brain running laps.
His whole room? Pink. Walls, ceiling, even the bed. And all over those walls? Red heart-shaped pictures of Starla. Like, full shrine status. A soft lamp next to him lit up the whole place, casting everything in a cozy glow.
Oscar sat in his big royal pink bed, legs crossed, not even tired. On the red nightstand right next to him was his phone… and, of course, a framed picture of Starla with a heart on it.
He already knew why he couldn't sleep.
Starla.
The type of Celestianite girl that made his heart skip like five beats in a row. That's why he stayed loyal, always trying to be smooth, always trying to flirt—even though, let's be real, it never worked when Scourge Don was around. Don was his boy and all, but that other version of Don? The dark one? The edgy menace?
That dude made Oscar question reality.
Why was Don so different sometimes?
Oscar lay back on his bed, eyes on the ceiling, Starla plushie clutched in one arm. His brain just kept running it over, again and again, like a broken record.
"What could make Don flip like that…?"
He stared into space for a second, then shrugged it off with a sigh:
"Eh. Maybe it was Incarceration."
***
Don sat in the dark cave, quiet, just… thinking.
Was Starla right?
He didn't know. Honestly, he couldn't tell if it was a yes or a no anymore. The only thing he really felt sure about was one thing:
Free will.
Or more like… the fact that his was gone.
Don knew deep down, clear as day, that he couldn't think for himself anymore. Couldn't even think for anyone else.
He was Scourge Don now. Said it a thousand times in his head. But this time? He really meant it. It wasn't just a phase.
And yet, somewhere in there, the real Don—the one buried under all that Scourge Don weight—he was still asking the question:
Why did it even start?
And he already knew.
It started when he left Ella. Ran into the forest.
That was the crack in the glass.
Don knew Olsen was still alive somewhere, injured bad but alive. He knew that for a fact. But he couldn't shake the real fear. The prophecy. He didn't want anything to do with it. That's why he ran. That's why he turned into… this.
But the weird thing was… ever since Scourge Don took over, the prophecy didn't scare him as much.
What scared him more…
Was himself.
The real Don sat there in the dark, thinking about the future. Imagining it. Would the world break apart because of him? Would he become the next Dark Don?
Would he?
Hopeless. That's what it felt like.
But then… maybe—just maybe—he could still choose.
Stay a Scourge Don…
Or stop one.
***
Near the table buried under leaning stacks of ancient books and softly bubbling vials, the crew stood in a loose, uneasy circle, all eyes locked on the potion Eldritch had brewed like it was some sacred artifact pulled straight out of myth.
The glass vial glowed faintly.
Kayson leaned in way too close, squinting through the round bottle. His stomach actually growled. "So let me get this straight," he muttered. "You're telling me you need Leviathan meat and Gadian Seawater just to make this?"
Eldritch chuckled, slow and dusty, stroking his beard. "Correct, my fellow children. That is precisely how one brews the Oligirath Potion." He tapped the vial. "This concoction allows a person to turn against the negative versions of themselves."
Sophia's tiger tail shot straight up. "Whoa—hold on. 'Turn against'?? That does not sound reassuring."
Eldritch nodded like this was perfectly normal information. "It forces the user to confront and reject the worst parts of who they are. Fear. Shame. Self-loathing."
Sophia immediately set the bottle down like it might bite her. "Nope. We're not forcing Don to do anything. That's literally what Incarceration did to him."
Eldritch raised a finger, slow and dramatic. "Ah. Unfortunately, I do not possess recipes for psychological healing. That… is something only bonds and trust can mend."
The room went quiet.
That was the problem.
William's wings flared suddenly, the snap of air making Kai jump a foot back. Everyone looked around at each other, the realization settling in like a weight.
Eldritch shuffled away, passing between two towering bookshelves, then lowered himself into a creaking rocking chair like a man who had already said his piece. Beside him, a soft blue portal spun lazily, barely noticeable.
Angel crossed his arms and stepped closer. "Alright, old man. What are you really showing us?"
Eldritch smiled.
"I'm glad you asked."
He lifted his staff and drove it into the portal.
The energy rippled outward, the surface stretching and flattening until it became a wide, shimmering window.
Celestia filled the air.
Golden towers. Radiant clouds. Celestianites moving through the streets like living starlight.
Then—
The image shattered.
Lunaranites poured in from every direction. Spears raised. Explosions ripped through the skyline. Celestianite guards burst from the castle in flashes of light, wings flaring as battle cries tore through the sky.
Buildings collapsed under radiant blasts.
A dragon-like Lunaranite commander—not Dreadixz—cut through defenders with terrifying ease, his blade flashing as bodies fell.
Jocabed staggered back. "What… what is this?!"
Panic snapped through the room.
"Where's Dark Don?" someone shouted.
They turned.
The space where he'd been standing was empty.
No footsteps. No portal flare. No goodbye.
Just a faint shimmer in the air—already fading—like something had passed through and didn't want to be noticed.
A chill crawled up Emely's spine.
"He was here," she said quietly.
No one answered.
Then—
BEEP BEEP BEEP.
Keyler's phone exploded with noise, the ringtone echoing off the stone walls. William flinched so hard his wings knocked a stack of books over.
Keyler answered fast.
"…Yeah?"
A pause.
His eyes narrowed.
"…What?"
Whatever he was hearing drained the color from his face.
The call ended.
He stared at the screen for a long second, then slid the phone back into his pocket. When he looked up, the jokes were gone. Entirely.
Voice low. Steady.
"The Officials just confirmed it," he said.
Everyone leaned in.
"Celestia's under attack."