Winx Confession #1: Enchantix is the best transformation and no one can tell me differently. I'll admit: Bloomix was beautiful (too bad they didn't have actual armor, though) but it doesn't beat Enchantix. Nothing does. Sure, it's simple, but that's what makes it look so majestic. It brilliantly conveys the girls' power and individuality without going over the top (plus the soundtracks are the absolute best and do a perfect job at capturing the magnificence/importance of the transformation. They give me goosebumps, especially the vocals in the fairy dust sequences and Aisha's initial transformation). Though all the Winx have pretty Enchantix, my favorites would have to be Stella's, Flora's, and Aisha's. Stella's because her style reflects her flirty nature, Flora's because she truly looks like a nature princess, and Aisha…It's almost sad how much Aisha's Enchantix got neglected (her transformation is so short!) given hers is the most unique and represents her magic the best. Her outfit gives me swimsuit/island princess vibes and in her more detailed artworks, you can see the fabric resembles the skin of a mermaid's tail. In addition to this, her wings have water-lily patterns inside them and are decorated with pearls, making her look like a water fairy without covering her head to toe in aqua blue (*side eyes Belivix*). Not to mention Enchantix showcases the versatility of her hair with to-the-scalp braids. All the transformations after it don't do her justice—by the way, did anyone notice how they muted the colors of her Enchantix as the series progressed? The pinks and greens are paler and the blue tones are outright nonexistent. I guess they changed the colors so they wouldn't be so similar to Bloom's. Speaking of Bloom, I actually like her Enchantix the least because….I don't know, really. I think it's because it has so many heart motifs, and I'm kind of tired of the Main Lead of these Magical Girl shows having the same symbol. Musa's Enchantix is super pretty, but I wanted her to have more of a kimono-type top instead. Tecna's is nice too, but I feel like it's deprived of digital-themed accents.


A/n: May 24th. Since today officially marks the beginning of the rest of my life, I decided to mark the date with the first chapter of Part 2. Here's to new beginnings!


Part Two 💨


Headmistress Faragonda of Alfea said nothing as the Fortress of Light's elite knights met her the moment she touched down in its private dimension. She replayed her most recent conversation with Griselda in her mind as they commenced with the usual safety protocol.

"Are you certain involving the Council is the wisest course of action?" Alfea's Assistant Dean/Head of Discipline adjusted her spectacles as she quirked a cynical brow at her superior. "Surely you haven't forgotten where we stand with them."

"No, and I'm sure they haven't either. But for the sake of both the students and the dimension, it's our duty to take the first step toward amending our relationship." Faragonda met her closest confidant's skeptical expression with an even one. Behind her desk, the expansive window overlooking the courtyard gave an obstructed view of the night sky, which was dotted with stars as if someone had spilt a bag of sugar across its surface. Though curfew had begun hours ago and most of the students/staff had already turned in, neither of them even entertained the thought of sleep. Ever since the disastrous incident that'd almost claimed a few of their students a few weeks ago, there was no time for such leisure. Not when it'd unleashed a firestorm of controversy upon Alfea and its sister schools, one they were feeling the full heat of. All of their time and resources went toward protecting the girls from the media and resolving the legal issues that'd arose in the wake of the Frelorn fire. This time of day was the only peaceful period they were allowed, and they had to spend it discussing their plan of action for the one to come.

Once the lengthy security procedure was finished, Faragonda was given clearance to advance onto the premises. The Councilmen were expecting her.

"How do we even know we can trust the Council?" challenged Griselda, "they might be the most respected order in the dimension, but you and I both know they're far from noble."

"A great portion of them are indeed corrupt," agreed Faragonda, "I'd rather we not entangle ourselves in their political games, but we don't have much of a choice. We can only gamble that the alliance will not cost us our integrity."

Though Faragonda's decision was concrete, Griselda would not yield to it so easily. For the sake of the students, the headmistress knew Griselda would go against the whole White Guard if the situation called for it. "With all due respect Faragonda, Alfea has been an independent institution for centuries. Headmistress Mavilla and her predecessors—your predecessors—fought to keep the Council from meddling in our affairs. Why invite what they put all their efforts into preventing?"

The monks, templars, scholars, and knights paid homage to her as she was escorted through the monastery's airy hallways. Faragonda, consumed by deep contemplation, allowed herself to slip out of her meditative state long enough to nod in return.

"Griselda. You probably haven't had time to fully digest this given how hectic things have been around here lately, but we are harboring a carrier of the legendary Dragon Flame. Bloom, one way or another, is related to the Dominus Royal Family."

Griselda huffed. "You say that as if you've always known. Is that the reason you allowed that girl to remain at Alfea?"

Faragonda sighed. "Yes and no. When we first met Bloom she reminded me of Marion, but I didn't make the connection. I started to have my suspicions when she told us of her upbringing on Earth, an otherwise magicless realm."

Griselda hummed her agreement. "I found that to be odd as well. No magicians have been born on that planet for centuries."

"Yes, and I doubted Bloom was the exception. I considered the possibility of her being the child Marion supposedly 'lost' but I dismissed the theory as my own wishful thinking—until she revealed her dreams about the nymph Daphne."

Apparently, this was news to Griselda because her brows lifted. "Marion's oldest daughter? Didn't she...?"

"Yes, but it would seem her soul never Departed from this existence. According to Bloom, she appears to her as a phantom, one no one can see but her. This all but confirmed her true origins."

After another security check, she was taken into the waiting room underneath the Councilmen's meeting hall. Having done this many times before, Faragonda mechanically took her position on the centralmost platform.

"You've known for quite some time then."

Faragonda simply nodded. "I debated appealing to the Council then, but Bloom didn't demonstrate an ounce of her true power back then. I foolishly assumed they would remain stunted due to her living on Earth for long, but I was sadly mistaken. Had I just requested a union like I originally planned, all of this could've been prevented."

Griselda scoffed. "I still think that's highly unnecessary. What can the Council do for Bloom that we can't?"

Faragonda sat back in her chair. "You misunderstand. I don't want the Council to have any involvement in Bloom's journey. That would be like throwing a rabbit into a den of wolves; they would take advantage of her status and vulnerability to further their own agenda. The same goes for all the other girls. The sole reason we need to secure an alliance with the Council is for protection."

"Protection?" repeated Griselda, baffled. Never had Alfea required assistance that couldn't be supplied by Red Fountain. "Does the future look that ominous?"

Faragonda sighed. "I fear it is. I've been having strong premonitions long before all of this transpired and I'm convinced dark times are ahead.A terrible evil has been lying in wake for a long time now and when it resurfaces I fear we'll be the ones to greet it."

Griselda was catching on now. "Because of Bloom," she said shortly. A statement, not a question. As history so blatantly proved, the Flame always brought about war. Being the ultimate power, it was the most sought-after, coveted magic in the whole dimension—one that'd been fought over countless times, resulting in some of history's worst conflicts. If—when it became known the Flame hadn't been snuffed out alongside Domino, that it was in the hands of an inexperienced teenage girl…every dark force in the galaxy would show up on their doorstep. Alfea would need the might of the White Guard, the strongest army in all the worlds, if it wanted any chance of holding its own.

"Because of the power she possesses," corrected Faragonda. "What she and the others experienced on Linphea…that was only a taste of what's to come. A great shadow will fall over the dimension once again and when that happens we must be ready. We need to start building up our defenses now and an alliance with the Council will grant us the resources we need to ensure the safety of our students."

"But what of our standing with the other institutions?" There was resignation in Griselda's voice. She was not protesting the headmistress's decision; just addressing the consequences it would bring. Neither Red Fountain nor Cloud Tower trusted the Council, so for Alfea to willingly ally itself with it…It would make a bold statement, one that would warrant the other schools' distrust. Not only would it jeopardize Alfea's relationship with them, but it'd also cause a shift in the balance of power. The political stability of Magix would be threatened.

"We could possibly lose support from Red Fountain, and any hope of mending our relationship with Cloud Tower would be lost," said Faragonda solemnly. This was too serious of an issue to sugarcoat.

Griselda studied her for a moment. "You've already come to terms with this," she said.

Indeed. She'd been mulling over this for weeks now. "As headmistress, it's my job to prioritize the wellbeing of our students above anything else. I will do what it takes to protect them even if it means sacrificing our reputation." It was one of the hardest decisions she ever had to make, if not the hardest. But it was necessary to the survival of Alfea, and that was what was important. "I've already requested an audience with the Council. I will appear before them in the morning."

And here she was now.

Her face was a mask of neutrality as the platform vibrated in warning before lifting itself off the ground by magical means. Like an elevator, it levitated toward the opening in the domed ceiling.

It rose into the councilmen's meeting hall, filling the gap in the floor and clicking into place.

And so it begins.

"The Council recognizes Headmistress Faragonda of Alfea," announced the sagely voice of the Head of the Council. Faragonda lifted her face upwards, toward the elevated seating encompassing the room in a complete circle. It boasted all one-hundred robed members of the Fortress of Light Council, the most powerful men in the whole dimension. Out of all of them, there were only four faces she didn't recognize even though it'd been some fifty years since she last stood in this spot. That was no surprise; the average member held his seat for about thirty years at least. The only thing that could result in his removal was retirement, death, or treason.

Her eyes met all of theirs' briefly, but lingered on a particular wiseman.

Councilman Givelian.

Of course he managed to hold on to his position all these years. And judging by the way the corner of his mouth turned down in disgust at the sight of her, he was every bit as sly as he had been fifty years ago. She would have to read carefully.

"I thank the Council for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice," she recited, her powerful reaching every corner of the rotunda thanks to the microphone clipped to her blazer. "I can imagine you all have been especially busy in light of most recent events."

"Yes, no thanks to your students," Councilman Givelian didn't fail to remind her, voice leaking the venom pooling in his beady eyes. So he was still holding a grudge after these years. "Ironic how the children guilty of throwing the whole realm of Linphea into chaos hail from the institution responsible for breeding so called 'protectors of peace.'" Already was he trying to pit the other councilmen against her.

Having dealt with snakes like him countless times before, Faragonda knew better than to display any form of vexation or hostility. "I apologize on behalf of my students," she proclaimed earnestly, "and take full responsibility for what happened on Linphea."

Givelian scowled. "Your words mean nothing. They will not undo the damage that has already been inflicted upon the poor natives of Frelorn Forest." Faragonda almost rolled her eyes at his feigned pity.

"I have no intention of glossing over the part Alfea played in the destruction of their home," she said firmly, "we've already contributed to the relief efforts dedicated to helping them recover."

Councilman Ibnakasir, who'd never had a tolerance for diddle-daddle in the council room, pinned Faragonda with a hard-as-stone stare. "If you're not here to seek exoneration, what is your purpose for coming before the Council?" One hundred pairs of ancient eyes fixed on her.

Faragonda braced herself for the reaction her proposition would undoubtedly warrant. "I come offering a proposal," she began slowly, "one that will unite the forces of Alfea and the Fortress of Light."

She could almost taste the tension that swelled within the room.

Faragonda fell silent, wisely waiting for the wisemen to digest this before she said her piece. While some eyed her suspiciously or curiously, others kept their face a mask of professional indifference as they bowed their heads and engaged in hushed conversation. She'd clearly taken them by surprise. Givelian's nostrils were flared as if someone had insulted him, and even the ever composed Head of the Council raised an eyebrow.

Back when Faragonda was the new headmistress, when Mavilia had just recently passed the torch on to her, the Council had tried to pressure her into forming a union with them. Though it would've been beneficial to the school even back then, she resisted the idea for the sake of principle. Because Mavilla had warned her of the consequences. Some of these old men had gone to great lengths to convince her to change her mind but she stayed firm in her decision, refusing to risk Alfea's sovereignty. But here she was now, requesting the very thing she'd tried her hardest to prevent. The very thing they'd offered, but she refused. The irony was not lost on any of them.

The Head of the Council gave his fellow wisemen a few more moments to discuss the matter at hand before lifting a wrinkled hand, calling for order to return to the council room once again. Once everyone settled down, he focused on Faragonda. "This is an expected term of events, one I'm curious to hear the origin of. If my old memory serves me correct, you had your reasons for protesting a pact with the Fortress of Light many years ago, and you've never been one to abandon your ideals without good reason."

"The disaster on Linphea has made her realize she's not as untouchable as she so foolishly believed," sneered Givelian, "she wants nothing more than to use our influence as a buffer against the media and High Queen Rachel's rage."

Faragonda leveled an even glance at Givelian to rival his scornful one. "With all due respect Noble Givelian, this is not the first time Alfea has had a rocky relationship with another realm, nor is it our first time at the center of controversy. I have no intentions of hiding behind the Council's name as you so shamelessly suggest. But you were correct about one thing: I do want protection, but not from the public. I fear the cult behind this chaos will target Alfea in the near future and we will need your support when the time comes for us to meet in battle."

This prompted murmuring between the wisemen again.

Councilman Isokrates was not convinced. "The cultists have no reason to set their sights on your school; they abducted your students for convenience's sake. Unless you are harboring that child rumored to carry the last fragment of the Asp's soul, they will not show interest in you."

"If only things were that simple. If you recall the report sent to you by the MCPD, every victim interviewed claims the one in charge of the operation to revive the Asp is known as Alvaz," reminded Faragonda, taking note of how Councilman Yerka leaned in to whisper something in Givelian's ear. It was good to know who his supporters were so she would have a general idea of who not to trust. "If the stories hold truth, Alvaz was Lamya's first lieutenant during the First War before he got banished to Oblivion—allegedly." It made her sick to think about how close her students and the other young people had come in contact with that monster. It was a miracle—one she thanked the gods for everyday—their encounter with him hadn't turned deadly. Especially since Alvaz had gone down in history as a man who could take on whole armies by himself.

Givelian snorted, waving away Faragonda's gravity. "What are you getting at? The warlock they described could be anyone; most likely a zealot was inspired by the Asp's Second and took on his name."

"I don't think so." One of the newer councilmen shook his head. "How would you explain his possession of the Asp's spirit? And his knowledge of a ritual that has been banished from all textual records since the First Era?"

Faragonda was grateful for the aid. "My point exactly. Some way or another, the warlock has escaped Oblivion and is dead-set on reviving his former mistress from the dead. Not only does this jeopardize the safety of the whole dimension, but it especially puts Magix's three schools in grave danger. Considering how close of an accomplice Alvaz was to the Prince of Darkness himself, he most likely knows of the Ultimate Power and I have no doubt that sooner or later he will come after the Codex."

The conversing councilmens' voices rose as they considered this possibility. Givelian, who must've felt threatened by this outcome, didn't miss a chance to shoot down the suggestion. "I doubt he'd be that foolish. The Codex is useless without the Dragon Flame, which has been extinct for ages now. If we are lucky, he will have no knowledge of this and waste all his resources hunting it instead.:

"Yes, and it's this likelihood that will put Alfea in the most danger," countered Faragonda. When she received a considerable amount of puzzled looks, she continued, "Though this might sound far-fetched, I have never been more certain about anything in my life." She took a deep breath. "Gentleman, I have made a worlds-changing discovery. House Sparx was not completely eradicated like we were lead to believe. There is a survivor, and she has come under the protection of Alfea. She is the carrier of the Dragon's Sacred Fire."

WwW

The deadly, resonating melody of automatic gunfire jostled Crown High Prince Sky of Eraklyon out of his deep slumber with a start.

Though his mind was addled by sleep, a voice within the deep corners shouted in alarm: we're under attack! And then to confirm his worst nightmare, a nearby explosion drowned out the roaring in his head, accompanied by the sound of glass shattering and a bloody shriek that made his blood run cold. Oh gods—

Spurred into action, Sky's soldier response, borne from the emergency drills Red Fountain often conducted to prepare the students for a code-red alert such as this one, kicked in immediately. He acted before fear (or consciousness for that matter) fully got a chance to set in, his first instinct being to get to cover since the gunmen were shooting through the window.

Without first bothering to untangle himself from his sheets, he rolled off the bed and his side collided with the floor, which, oddly, wasn't littered with glass shards since nothing was digging into his skin. He thought nothing of it—he had more important things to worry about. Like finding Brandon and getting to their station now

Another thunderous explosion fired, followed by a frustrated, "Godsdammit! I'm dead!"

"Ha! You can't outgun a sniper!" another said triumphantly, his voice nearly drowned out by the cackling of bullets punching through glass. Timmy….?

It was then Sky took notice of the menacing, bass-boosted background music blasting beneath what now sounded suspiciously like simulated artillery fire. The hell was going on—?

Head thick with sleep, panic, and confusion, his eyes snapped open to behold two backsides positioned just feet away from his face. Thanks to his adrenaline rush, Sky's eyes adjusted immediately and it only took him a few seconds to take in the rest of the scene.

"Give me some space, dude!" Bishop Bornebolt was shouting, jerking his wireless controller up and to the right as if that would help him escape certain death. He was shirtless, clad in nothing but pajama bottoms as he and Timmy played a first-person shooter game on his and Sky's holographic netscreen.

Timmy, who was seated on the floor beside him, gave a smug little laugh before his character sent a barrage of bullets through his opponent's. The feat produced a gory sound effect that made the walls rattle.

Oh, you had got to be kidding me—

"Can't you mute that?" hissed Sky, heart still hammering from the scare as he sat up. They both ignored him, leaving the netscreen at a provokingly high volume that made the dorm room sound more like an arcade.

Brandon, who was perched on Timmy's bed eating from a bag of chips, was in a state his (many) girlfriends were well-familiar with, defined by unruffled hair and boxer shorts. "Hey man," the brunette said in Sky's direction without taking his eyes off the battle occurring onscreen. "Sleep well?" He somehow didn't seem bothered by the noise at all.

He snorted at the rhetorical question. "Yeah, until you guys almost gave me a godsdamn heart attack," the blond spat, lifting himself back onto his mattress. "What're you even doing here?" he shot at Bishop. Ever since the shapeshifter fell into an easy camaraderie with them a few weeks ago, he had a habit of inviting himself into their rooms unannounced.

"What does it look like? I'm trying to keep Four Eyes from blowing my head off!" the near bald-headed Specialist fired back, caught in the heat of the moment as a quick maneuver saved his avatar from being sniped by Timmy's. "Lay off me, dammit! I can't even scratch my ass without you shooting up the place!"

"That's the point!" Timmy, smug as ever, looked and sounded like he was enjoying his domination way too much. Sky'd learned a long time ago the showoff got some kind of thrill out of kicking other people's asses at video games. He never lost a match and from the looks of it, now wouldn't be the exception.

Sky groaned groggily, putting his pillow over his head in an attempt to block out the racket as the high of waking up so suddenly began to fade. Now that he was calming down, he realized the dull ache throbbing throughout his body. Codatorta had worked them pretty hard yesterday evening. With it being Saturday, today was the ideal day to rest but it was obvious that wouldn't be happening anytime soon...

Apparently, Sky wasn't the only one whose peace was disturbed by the sweet song of digital warfare. In between blasts of reverberating gunfire and Bishop's profane outbursts, he heard pounding on the other side of the wall his bed was set against—sounded like his next-door neighbor was pissed.

"You guys may want to mute that," said Sky warningly, "or you're gonna have to answer to Gideon." The one Specialist no one—not even Riven—messed with. You'd literally have to be suicidal.

Timmy paled, but Bishop just huffed. "So? What's he gonna do? Beat my ass?"

Timmy had the sense to look nervous at the prospect of upsetting the biggest kid in their year. "Uh, it is a little loud. Maybe we should turn it down."

"No way. The sound contributes to the overall experience of the game. How do you expect me to give my A-game if I can't hear my victims shrieking in terror?"

"This is your A-game?" Brandon's eyebrows lifted in surprise as yet another man in Bishop's squad got shot. "I almost feel sorry for you."

Timmy made to say something more but startled when the door suddenly swung open so violently it banged against the wall. A massive six-foot-five, two-hundred-forty pound figure filled up the doorway.

'"Hey Gideon," chorused Brandon and Bishop as the Specialist stormed in.

The way the brutish Specialist's bloodshot eyes zeroed in on the latter reminded Sky of an enraged bull right before it charged. Timmy gulped, beads of sweat collecting on his forehead. Oh boy…

Gideon didn't say anything. Without a word, he snatched up the remote (while modern technologies had booted manual controls a long time ago, Red Fountain was old school) aimed it at the netscreen, and muted the game.

"Hey!" exclaimed Bishop, "what was that for?"

Gideon flashed his teeth at him before marching out of the room, taking the remote with him. Sky didn't realize he'd been holding his breath until they heard—and felt—Gideon's door slam shut.

"You're never seeing that again," said Brandon, matter of fact.

"Nope," said Bishop.

Timmy adjusted his glasses, releasing a sigh of relief. Relief that things hadn't gotten physical like they so often did whenever Gideon was involved. "Don't worry, I can build another one."

Thankfully, Bishop didn't hang around much longer after that. He ended up rage-quitting when another battle against Timmy concluded with his defeat, claiming the nicotine craving he had going on was responsible for his ass-kicking. Once he stomped off to his own room to have a morning smoke, Brandon took his place on the floor with Timmy and the two launched into a new, quieter game. Grateful for the reprieve, Sky allowed the newfound peace to lull him back to sleep.

He had no idea how long he dozed; he just knew that when he woke up again the room was empty. Blinking against the morning sun spearing through his curtains, he dragged himself out of bed and trudged over to his closet.

All of his clothes were wrinkled. It was no big deal; no one in his dorm knew how to iron, so everyone walked around in clothes that looked like they'd been packed away in storage for a year. He yanked a sports jersey and a pair of sweats off their respective hangers before balling them into a wad and tucking them under his arm. Once he collected his phone and pouch of hygienic products, he headed for the showers.

Since morning protocol wasn't (usually) enforced on the weekend, the halls had a slack, airy feel to them. Any other day Codatorta would've been in drill-sergeant mode, going door to door yelling for the Specialists to have their teeth brushed, ass wiped, and uniform on within the next thirty minutes. That would prompt everyone to flock to the bathrooms all at once and there was nothing worse than getting caught in the Shower Stampede, something which every Specialist could attest to. You were screwed to hell if you weren't one of the first people to claim a shower; while they had the privilege of refreshing themselves in a stall that had yet to be invaded by a dozen other BOs and pairs of feet, everyone else had to fend for themselves outside and fight to keep their place in line. And if you were unfortunate enough to be any position behind the next ten people—and that was only if they had a reputation for cleaning up after themselves—you might as well wash up in the sink and hope you had better luck that night; otherwise, you'd find yourself taking a cold shower in what was a cesspool of hairballs, dirt, and gods knew what. But since everyone was either sleeping in or having an early morning workout, Sky would pretty much have the whole bathroom to himself (an occurrence worthy of a prayer of thanks).

Brandon's room was in that direction and as the blond was passing by his slightly open door, he happened to overhear a snippet of the brunette's conversation.

"...yeah, you really should," he was saying. "We'll all be rooting for you."

Though he felt guilty about intruding on his oldest friend's privacy, Sky's curiosity got the best of him and he couldn't help but stop to eavesdrop.

"Your beauty's as radiant as your magic. None of those other girls will stand a chance," said Brandon to what sounded like Stella on the phone. A long period of silence followed, meaning Stella was going on and on about something (herself, most likely). Either way, she had Brandon's full attention given the way he hummed an agreement or made a short comment every now and then. That said a lot about how fond he was of her; being the romancer he was, he always preferred to play hard-to-get, to let the girl come panting over him instead. But now that Stella was in the picture, the tables had turned. He was pursing her. "So are we still on for later?" he asked. A pause. "It's a date then. I'll pick you up around five. Hope you can hold out that long." Stella must've sassed him in return, because the brunette laughed. "Later, Sunshine."

He hung up, and Sky chose then to walk in. "Was that Stella?" he asked casually.

"Yeah," said Brandon, voice muffled by the shirt he was putting on. "She was telling me about how she's going to enter the Miss Magix contest."

Oh yeah, that beauty pageant. Sky remembered her mentioning it a while back. He found such things to be frivolous wastes of time, but he'd go anyway just to show her support. "You two are getting pretty close, huh?" teased Sky.

"Maybe," said Brandon noncommittally, though a grin was blooming on his face as he looked away.

Sky was happy for Brandon—so rarely did he regard a girl as anymore than another conquest— but guilt nipped at his heart. This was the first real relationship Brandon had ever committed himself to, but it was founded on lies. Lies Sky had begged him to tell.

The blond pushed this cruel reality out of his mind; he didn't want to start the day off on a bad note. He had the sense to walk off before Brandon's cheerful mood made him feel like an even bigger piece of shit.

Thankfully, the bathroom was empty just as he anticipated. It still smelt of lemons and disinfectant, meaning the maintenance crew had just worked their magic. It would only be a matter of time, however, until their hard work was undone.

Although every square inch of the space was sparkling clean, Sky inspected each shower out of habit before stepping into one. After hanging up his clothes and setting his phone in the soap dish, he stripped naked behind the concealment of the curtain.

The warm water jetted from the showerhead, meeting his skin with a steamy kiss. Turned out that was just what he needed because his joints started to unstiffen, the tension from yesterday's workout thawing under the pressure of the water. Ahhh….

He relished in this relief until his phone chimed suddenly, startling him out of his meditative state. Like he did whenever "me" time was interrupted, he felt a tug of annoyance at the incoming call. Who the hell was that? A few people sprung to mind, and he wasn't in the mood to talk to any of them.

Regardless, he half-turned in the direction of his phone. "Who is it?"

The AI, the interactive voice assistant programmed into his smartphone, responded in a tone so natural and melodious it sounded almost as if a real woman was talking back. "The profile-less contact labeled 'zzz Diaspro' is requesting a voice call with you." 'zzz' so her name would appear at the absolute bottom of his contact list, and profile-less so her picture wouldn't pop up for all (mainly Bloom and the Winx) to see when she called him at an inconvenient time (which was always). "Do you accept or decline?"

A mixture of emotions stirred within Sky. He was tempted to ignore her like he'd been doing over the past few days, but knew that would only take him so far. While Diaspro had always been persistent, she was outright relentless now. Ever since the meltdown on Linphea a few weeks ago, the princess barely gave him breathing room. She'd made it her responsibility to check up on him every day—Every. Single. Day—and though was he initially honored by her loyalty and genuine concern, her clingy behavior now suffocated and exhausted him. He'd alluded to this growing exasperation several times on several occasions but she refused to take a hint. Thus, he had to resort to the only method that would give him peace: steer clear of her altogether. He'd been ignoring her habitual calls for about a week now and while that'd helped relieve some of the stress, he knew he couldn't beat around the bush much longer. Sooner or later, Diaspro would overreact and interpret his prolonged silence as him being in some kind of crisis and notify Sky's parents, High King Erendor and High Queen Samara. The last thing he needed was for them to show up at Red Fountain; his cover would be blown immediately and all hell would break loose. So for the sake of protecting Brandon, for the sake of preventing the ceiling of lies they'd constructed from caving in on them, he needed to appease the girl he wanted nothing to do with.

Before it stopped ringing, he grabbed his phone, almost dropping it in the process—darn you slippery hands! He switched the water off before tapping the green button and bringing the phone up to his moist ear. "Hello?"

"Hello darling," Crown Princess Diaspro of Isis, Sky's old childhood friend and current fiancé, sounded relived at the sound of his voice. "It's good to hear your voice again. I've been trying to get through to you for days now, but you haven't been answering my calls. I was starting to think the worst had happened. Is everything alright?"

"Yeah...sorry. It's second semester, so they doubled our course load. I have a really tight schedule now." A half-truth.

"I can relate. The professors here have seem to forgotten that unlike them, we actually have lives outside of school." Diaspro, alongside the other nobles of their home realm and majority of their mutual friends from primary school, attended Eraklyon Institute, the most prestigious academy in that whole world. It was an unspoken requirement for the elite to study there and being the face of it, you could imagine the lengths Sky had to go to convince her parents to let him go to Red Fountain instead. He didn't have a grudge against the institution or anyone associated with its name, but he just couldn't see himself being truly happy there. Given he was the High Prince of the whole realm, he would've been treated like a god there. And though other princes might've felt entitled to that privilege, Sky had grown weary of all the flattery and ass-kissing. He craved a taste of normality for once, to have the same experiences normal teenagers had in high school. He would've never gotten them at Eraklyon Institute, nor would he have made such good, genuine friends.

"So what's up?" asked Sky, aiming to make this conversation as short as possible. This wasn't the right place to launch into a discussion with the very girl he was trying to keep a secret. Anyone outside could easily overhear snippets and piece them together.

"I have some exciting news," announced Diaspro, the raw exhilaration in her tone making Sky nervous. She wasn't one to display that much enthusiasm about anything unless it involved him somehow. "As you know, the annual Miss Magix pageant is coming up—"

Sky's chest clenched tight like a balled fist. Please don't say what I think you're about to—

"—and I'm considering becoming a contestant as a representative of our homeworld. Considering I've been crowned Miss Eraklyon for several years straight, I'm a shoo-in for this year's competition. What do you think?"The pride in her voice was shining as bright as the collection of jewels she never missed an opportunity to boast about.

Sky could barely breathe, his insides knotting up in panic. No no no no

"No," he accidently blurted out.

The other end went deadly silent. He could almost visualize a giant question mark hanging over Diaspro's head. "You don't want me to enter?" She sounded more confused than shocked. This was not the reaction she was expecting. She (foolishly) assumed Sky would approve of her decision; being the beauty she was and his future wife, she figured he'd be more to eager to show her off to the dimension like some kind of trophy. And that was the whole reason Sky could never fall in love with Diaspro no matter how hard he tried; not only was she egoistic, but she was still under the impression Sky was too. Even though they'd grown up together, she still couldn't see him as anything more than a privileged prince. Just because he was a member of high society, she lumped him together with all the other narcissistic assholes in his father's court. She didn't know him at all, even after all these years.

Shit. The roaring in Sky's head was loud as a train whistle as he frantically brainstormed in excuse. "Um—I have plans for us that night," he nearly shouted, calling out the first plausible excuse that sprung to mind. He debated chopping off his tongue the second that lie passed through his lips.

There was a stunned silence on the other end. Diaspro was taken aback. Despite the fact that they were now the appropriate age to have an official courtship, Sky had never made formal advances. Until now.

"Really?" she said, breath catching.

Stoptalkingstoptalkingstoptalking. "Y-yeah," he stammered, unable to shut his trap. "I, uh, already made arrangements at a few places in Magix City. It was supposed to be a surprise but since you're planning on entering the pageant—"

"No! I'd rather spend the night at your side," chirped Diaspro. This was the liveliest and most girlish he'd heard her in a while. He could feel her glowing through the phone. "You're much more important than a silly contest. Where are we—?"

This was too much for Sky to handle. "Sorry Diaspro, I gotta go," he cut it with urgency that wasn't feigned, "I'll call you later with the details, okay? Bye." He barely got that last bit out before he was hanging up.

DAMMIT! he shouted in his head, banging the tiled wall with the side of his balled fist. What the hell did he just do?

Because he was so desperate to save his lying ass, so desperate to make sure the life he led on Eraklyon didn't overlap with the one he had on Magix, he'd backed himself into a corner.

But what else could he have done? He certainly couldn't have allowed Diaspro to enter the Miss Magix pageant—not with Stella competing as well. It made him break into a cold sweat just thinking of the two of them being in the same city, much less the same building. The two of them interacting would ruin everything. Considering both princesses were frighteningly alike—spoiled and saucy to the highest degree—it would take nothing for them clash. One backhanded comment or sassy remark and the two would spring into a verbal sparring match. Sky could almost imagine how it would played out; after insults were exchanged both girls would put herself on a pedestal, first boasting about her beauty and all she'd accomplished with it, then going as far as to brag about her status in attempt to best the other. Thinking she had the upperhand, Stella would undoubtedly flaunt her title as Crown High Princess of Solaria and then Diaspro would counter it with the revelation that she was both Crown Princess of Isis and Crown High Princess of Eraklyon…. All hell would break loose.

Being under the impression Brandon was actually Crown High Prince of Eraklyon, Stella would be led to believe he was Diaspro's fiancé and flip her shit. And even if things didn't quite happen like that there were still a dozen other scenarios that could lead to his and Brandon's secret being exposed. All it would take was one bad encounter with the Winx, who would no doubt show up to support Stella, or them overhearing her being referred to as the Crown High Queen of Eraklyon, and it'd be over for them. All the relationships they'd formed on Magix would be ruined. Though that wasn't to say they—he—didn't deserve such a fate.

Sky cursed himself for being such an undeserving bastard, for ever suggesting that he and Brandon swap roles. Fueled by his desire to lead a normal life before the time came for him to take the throne, he begged—begged his oldest friend to switch places with him before they left for Red Fountain. At the time it'd seemed like a golden opportunity: with Planet Magix being so far away from Eraklyon, they could easily take on the other's identity and no one would be the wiser. Sky would assume the role of lowly squire and enjoy the freedom of being overlooked while Brandon would become prince and step into the spotlight for once. He'd thought it was a win-win, but now he realized they'd—he'd screwed them.

Introducing themselves in reverse had been one of the worst mistakes they ever made. Originally, they thought the people they met in Magix would be nothing more than casual, low-stakes acquaintances. They never expected to cultivate them into what they were now, to form solid comradeships with their classmates and the coolest group of fairies around. All of those relationships had the potential to be long-lasting, but how could they when one party was being deceitful?

There was not a day Sky didn't hate himself for being so selfish. He didn't even stop to consider the consequences their decision could bring about for Brandon, who had nothing to gain but everything to lose. Lying about being a prince was worse than lying about being a squire. If the truth were to come out, Brandon's reputation would be tarnished forever. Not only would their fellow Specialists hate him, but Stella would hate him too. And it'd all be Sky's fault. He would be the one responsible for ruining his friend's social life.

And what about his own? He had a few good friends himself, Bloom especially. Ever since they started getting to know each other, Sky had a feeling—just a feeling—something more, something deeper, was blossoming between them. He didn't think it was love, but didn't shy away from the possibility either. Deep down he knew they had the potential to be more than friends, but Bloom would never allow it if she knew he'd been tricking her this whole time. Gods new she was devastated enough as it was; not only had she discovered her hidden power in the worst way possible, but she'd also come to find out that she didn't have an ounce of her parents' blood in her veins. And to make matters worse, High Queen Rachel had just recently decreed that Bloom was banned from ever stepping foot on Linphea again as punishment for what she did to Frelorn. (Though this exasperated Sky to no end, he knew he would've done the same thing had anyone burned down a historic part—or any part— of Eraklyon). This was the most depressing, confusing, stressful time of her life; she couldn't afford heartbreak, or else she'd break. Not only would she push him away, but everyone else too.

The Winx were the Winx because of Bloom and without the important role she played, the group would be thrown off balance and eventually disband. And if there were no Winx, what would happen to the Specialists? All parties involved would suffer for his mistake.

No—the situation couldn't escalate to that point. It wouldn't, if Sky could help it. There was much more on the line than he thought; the stability of team hinged on him, and he needed to preserve it as long as possible. Even if it meant going a date with someone as insufferable was Diaspro.

"Dude, what the hell are you doing in here? Jerking off?" Bishop called suddenly, voice ricocheting off the tiled walls and knifing through his thoughts. "Hurry up or we're going to breakfast without you."

"Coming," Sky called back over the sound of the water, realizing its temperature had gone from hot to warm. He'd been so consumed by his thoughts he lost track of time. After switching off the water, he toweled off and finished the rest of his morning routine in haste, being sure to push his troubles to the back of his mind. He'd worry about them later; for now, he just wanted to hold on to this sense of normalcy while it lasted. While Magix still knew him as an average teenager instead of a High Prince.

The guys were enthusing about their upcoming class trip when he met them in the hallway ten minutes later. "—our tour guide's gonna be Radolf Zervakos himself. He's the only Elite Dragon Master at Embershield who graduated from Red Fountain." Embershield was Magix's most reputed dragon base and the rookie Specialists would soon have the honor of touring it. It was a tradition they upheld every year in honor of the institutions' alliance. All the freshmen were excited to go, Sky included. Just thinking about it eased his mind.

"Not for long," assured Bishop as they made for the mess hall. When they reached the stairs, the near-bald Specialist climbed onto the banister and slid down. "In a few years, I'll be running Embershield," he said when he hit the landing.

"So you want to specialize in dragon-handling then?" asked Sky. They were called Specialists for a reason. Each one of them was learning to hone their skills in a particular field. While Timmy was studying to become a sharpshooter, Sky and Brandon were here to heighten their swordsmanship.

"I already specialize in dragon-handling," insisted Bishop, puffing out his chest. "I'm better than most of the riding instructors here."

Brandon's brows lifted. "Is that why you nearly broke your neck climbing on a dragon in class yesterday?"

The others chuckled as Bishop's face went beet-red. "It wasn't my fault! The old geezer keeps assigning me to the Grandma, and not even he can get on her without spraining something." It was true. Though "the Grandma" was a young dragon, her feisty and cranky nature had earned her the nickname. She was known to be uncooperative, so the instructor always paired her with the student who'd pissed him off that day. And since Bishop was an infamous smartass, you could guess who he always got stuck with.

They poked fun at Bishop the whole way to the mess hall. Despite it being late morning-almost afternoon, breakfast was still being served since the Specialists usually got a late start on their off days. Unlike most of the students, Sky had an odd appreciation for the place they ate all their meals. Maybe it was because it was so different from the elegant, dramatic settings he was used to. Here, there was no need for crystal chandeliers or priceless utensils ("the first High King of Eraklyon dined with these very spoons!"). All it needed was the lemony, ever-present scent of bleach, a few abused vending machines (naturally they would look a bit tattered when they'd taken a kick from approximately half of the student body), and a sea of wobbly wooden tables to have more character than any "royal" dining room Sky had ever stepped foot in.

They couldn't have had better timing; judging by the warm, pleasant aroma overpowering the bleach smell, a fresh batch of pastries had just been set out—a fresh batch that was theirs for the taking since there was literally no one else here. For once, they'd managed to beat the crowd and would be rewarded for their punctuality. The four nearly tripped over their own feet rushing to the food counter. They all loaded up their trays with treats and claimed a table nearby the windows in the back of the empty mess hall.

Sky was barely seated before he was sinking his teeth into a doughnut. The second they penetrated its flaky, sugary crust, warm curd gushed out of the center and onto his tongue in a burst of flavor, giving him a culinary orgasm. Mmmmm…..

"To hell with looks," said Brandon around a mouthful of doughnut as Sky gobbled the rest of his, "find me a girl who can cook like this, and I'll marry her on the spot."

"Uh-oh. Things aren't looking too good for Stella," cracked Sky.

"I dunno. I think it's missing something," said Bishop, eyeing his pile of cinnamon rolls like something was off about them. Blasphemy, if you asked Sky. With their decadent texture and gooey glaze, they were perfection. "Luckily, I know how to fix it." He pushed away from the table and as he walked over to the concession counter. He threw something in the microwave and came back two minutes later with a disposable bowl of...

"Is that butter?" asked Timmy, nose twitching at the smell.

"Sure is," said Bishop, tilting the bowl over his plate.

"Dude, what are you doing?" Brandon looked horrified as the cinnamon rolls drowned in a current of melted butter. While one half was runny, the other was thick and goopy—it was disgusting, and it truly pained Sky to see such divine creations suffer such a horrible fate.

"What does it look like? I'm making 'em edible," said Bishop, not looking the slightest bit disturbed at the dreadful mound of dough and butter. It looked like a congested troll had sneezed all over his tray.

"You mean inedible," said Sky as Bishop knifed off a big chunk and brought it to his mouth. The others gagged as he made a show of savoring every bit, letting butter dribble down his chin.

The tattooed Specialist began to say something, but was interrupted by a mutter from Timmy. "Don't look now but here comes trouble."

That was the others' cue to crane their necks in the direction he was looking in.

The late-morning crowd was starting to trickle in, and among them was none other than Riven. He was storming over intently, gait defensive and eyes narrowed dangerously. Even from afar, Sky could almost see the lighting cackling within them. He was clearly pissed—again—and ready to raise hell.

"Oh boy. This is sure to be fun," mumbled Brandon.

"With Riven, it always is," said Sky, keeping his face neutral. The maverick was unnaturally aggressive these days; if you so much as looked at him the wrong way, he'd explode. It didn't take a genius to know he was still hanging out with Darcy and her friends. Thanks to his unstable nature, the people he hung out with tended to determine his personality. And when one was constantly in the company of rude, stone-hearted witches...

Riven came up beside Timmy and brought his fist down on the table, making it rattle.

Brandon seized his drink, steeling it before it tipped over. "What's your problem?" he hissed. Usually, Brandon was one to tolerate Riven's jackassery, but the maverick had just recently insulted the one person he shouldn't. ("You think Stella the Slut cares about you? She's in the inbox of half of the guys here").

Riven ignored him. "Who the hell is he?" he demanded, jabbing an accusing finger in Bishop's direction. He was just being vindictive; everyone knew Bishop was. He alongside Sky, Brandon, and Karel Gleirscher Wuestenhagen had gained school-wide recognition thanks to the whole disappearing-students dilemma, much to Sky's dismay.

Bishop made a show of dabbing his mouth with a napkin before looking Riven straight in the eye. "Your replacement," he drawled. "It was an upgrade if you ask me."

Riven's nostrils flared. Here we go...

"What did you say, you little pissant?" he growled, hand balling into a fist.

"You heard me...Ribbon, was it?"

Riven gritted his teeth, clearly gearing up for a fight. "You better shut that smartass mouth of yours, or I'm gonna do it myself."

"You can come over and try if you'd like."

"That's enough, both of you," said Sky, glaring between the two of them. The last thing he wanted was to end up in detention over a pointless scuffle. "We didn't replace you, Riven."

"Liar," spat Riven, "you didn't take egghead here under your wing until I left."

"That was just a coincidence. Why do you even care? You ditched us for the witches way before any of this happened," reminded Brandon.

"Besides, shared traumatic experiences have the tendency to bring people closer together," added Timmy, "it's it's like a social glue of some sort." He had a point. Sky couldn't explain it, but ever since they miraculously survived the Frelorn Fiasco, he'd developed a much deeper bond with Brandon. And not only him; the Winx, particularly Acadia, Bloom, and Flora, and Specialists had become a more tight-knit group because of it. He even felt a tad-bit connected to Karel, who still didn't want anything to do with any of them despite all they'd been through together.

"Yeah, Ribbon. For crying out loud, we go to the same damn therapy sessions. What did you expect?" said Bishop. Like the other schools, Red Fountain had hired a professional therapist to help the victims cope with the aftershock of almost dying. They had sessions with her twice a week.

Riven scowled. "Oh, I get it. You became best buds because you're all entitled, sympathy-grubbing bastards."

Sky furrowed his brows. "What?"

"Don't act stupid. You know damn well what I'm talking about. You think you're so special because you have the whole school eating out your hands. Because you get privileges for being the sorry-asses you are."

"What?" repeated Sky, genuinely confused.

"Oh, I get it," piped up Brandon, eyes lighting. "You're just jealous because everyone's paying attention to us."

Sky couldn't believe it. He'd always known Riven was bitter, but to the point he'd hate them over something they had no control over? Because they'd returned to school as survivors instead of becoming those cultists' victims? They could've died, but Riven didn't seem to care at all. Anger swelled within him and before Sky knew what he was doing, he was shooting to his feet.

And without warning, he socked Riven right in the jaw.