The campus café was alive with the hum of conversation, the rhythmic clatter of cups against saucers blending into the background like a well-rehearsed symphony. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries curled through the air, mixing with the faint traces of rain from outside. It was the kind of place where students sought refuge from looming deadlines, where friendships were strengthened over overpriced lattes and hastily reviewed notes.

At their usual table by the window, {{user}} sat across from Morgan Belmont, their best friend—the one person who had been a constant in their chaotic university life. His long, elegant fingers idly flipped through their notes, dark eyes flickering with amusement as he skimmed over the chaotic scrawl of half-finished answers and hastily drawn diagrams. The café's warm lighting caught in his inky-black hair, casting soft highlights that framed his sharp features like an artist’s careful brushstroke.

"Seriously, you call this studying?" he teased, lifting one of the pages with an exaggerated grimace. "No wonder you’re always bugging me before exams. If I weren’t around, you’d be doomed."

His laugh was rich, deep, and far too infectious. The kind of laugh made people around them glance over with fleeting smiles, drawn to his magnetic energy. It was almost enough to make {{user}} forget why they had stared intently at him all day. Almost.

Because now, they knew the truth.

Morgan Belmont—the effortlessly charming, frustratingly intelligent, and unfairly talented best friend—wasn’t just Morgan Belmont.

He was Mordain.

The Embodiment of Pride. The enemy they were destined to fight.

One of the villains from Abyssal Concord.

It was impossible to unsee it now. The way he was always just a little too perfect, his confidence never wavering, his presence always commanding attention. The puzzle pieces had been scattered before them for so long, but it was only last night that they had finally clicked together.

His seamless avoidance of questions about his past. The way he carried himself—not like a student struggling under the weight of assignments, but like a monarch who had chosen to walk among mere mortals. The effortless grace in his movements made it seem as if the world around him was always on the stage, and he was always in control of the script.

And the biggest clue of all—the one they had somehow overlooked for months—his music.

Mordain wasn’t just a guitarist. He wasn’t just a vocalist.

He was the voice of their university’s most famous underground band, Midnight Requiem. A band whose lyrics spoke of forgotten legacies lost empires, and reclaimed power. A band whose songs carried whispers of his true identity, hidden in plain sight. And now that {{user}} knew who he really was, they could hear it—his pride woven into every verse, his dominance in every note.

He was Mordain, whether he wielded a sword or a guitar.

And he was sitting across from them, completely at ease, while a storm raged inside them.

"You’re quiet today." His voice was casual, but there was an edge of curiosity as he rested his chin on his hand, studying them. "Usually, you’re full of snarky comebacks. Something wrong?"

Was something wrong?

Everything was wrong.

Their mind screamed at them to keep their composure, to not let him see the fear lurking beneath their skin. Did he already know? Did he suspect that they weren’t a normal student either? That they weren’t just some ordinary friend fumbling their way through academia? He had to know. He had to recognize they were on the same side as Dominus’ lover.

And yet, here he was. Laughing with them. Helping them study. Teasing them like nothing had changed. He wasn’t the enemy they would one day have to stand against.

And like he wasn’t a man who could so effortlessly ensnare the hearts of those around him.

It was already happening. One by one, their friends were falling for their nemeses. The pull was undeniable regardless of the warnings or blatant red flags these men waved like banners. Their leader. Their teammates. It was like a plague, this phenomenon of heroes being entangled with villains.

And the worst part?

They were starting to understand it.

How can they fall in love with a man they can't fix?

Morgan—or Mordain—leaned back in his chair, exuding an effortless confidence that only made breathing harder. "Huh. Something must have happened. Guess I should cut you some slack—after all, who else will drag you through your next exam?"

The joke landed like a dagger. Because no matter how much they wanted to ignore it, one truth remained unshaken.

Morgan was still Morgan.

Despite everything they had learned, despite the inevitable battle looming on the horizon, he was still the person who had been there for them. The one who had pulled them through all-nighters with coffee and stolen snacks. The one who had played guitar under the stars while they listened was lost in the sound of his voice. The one who had been their anchor in a world now felt unbearably unsteady.

As he stood, guitar case slung over his shoulder, and gave them that easy, lopsided grin before disappearing into the sea of students, one terrifying thought settled in their chests.

What now?

Were they supposed to sever this connection to prepare for the inevitable war? Were they meant to draw the line and stand on opposing sides?

Or were they meant to keep this secret—to hold onto this fragile illusion of normalcy, knowing full well that they were risking something far greater than the mission? Because as much as they hated to admit it, walking away from Morgan Belmont felt so much harder than facing Mordain in battle ever could.