History class barely fazed Miles any more. He did, however, feel slightly offended that the entire class seemed to have gotten a hold of his essay on the study of characters in the legends. He hoped that it was purely coincidence that all of the gang, as he had begun to refer to their group – but only in his head, of course, because really, they need a cooler name then that – had written essays on the characters they corresponded with. The fact that a paper scored better than Miles' own did was just a bit insulting, though. The most original paper ended up to be an essay explaining how Sir Lancelot was the original gay hero. The look on Lance's face when the girl read her paper was so priceless that even Miles had had to hide his mouth with his hand to keep from snickering.

After class was over, Miles had to hurry off to the advanced class of Higher Literature. The real title was something that actually clarified the course dealt with myths and legends of different cultures, but the teacher, Mr Steve Danvery, had a taste for the theatrics. Miles only prayed that he wouldn't show up in a kilt like last time. He arrived in the classroom just in time to see the day's studies on the main desk, something detailing the rise and fall of the Titans.

This is going to be a long lesson, Miles thought to himself.

While Miles was dealing with Greek mythology, Gerard and Garrett managed to pull Marco aside after the one class that all three shared.

"So what is this about?" Marco asked, an annoyed glare on his face. Gerard took a breath.

"Do you believe in other lives? Past lives?"

Now, this is what Gerard looked like to the outside world normally: a handsome teenager with dark brown hair that was grown out slightly, eyes that were a grey that seemed to make any girl he came into contact with swoon, and a smirk that seemed permanently plastered to his face. This is how he looked right now: a feverish, quite possibly insane and paranoid teen who seemed to be ready to jump out a window.

"Do you need to see the nurse?" Marco's response; it was only natural when Gerard's appearance. In response to the question, Gerard grabbed his shoulders.

"I know your secret, and if you do not tell me the truth right now I will go straight to the police." Unsurprisingly, Marco had no idea what 'secret' Gerard could be referring to. Still, the boy looked like he had enough on his mind.

"What do you need to know?" Marco sighed.

"Gerard had a dizzy spell when meeting your group the other day and thinks he remembers meeting someone named Merlin." Marco's eyes widened.

"When exactly did this happen?" He asked, turning to Gerard.

"Yesterday at noon, right when I shook hands with Miles."

"Did you feel anything, any sort of motion sickness or perhaps an out of body experience?"

"I don't know how to answer that. I shook hands with Miles and then it was like I'd unlocked a memory." Marco glanced at his watch.

"I gotta get to my next class. Meet me outside after school, right near the football field. I'll explain then."

Miles managed to run into Will during his break period.

"This is going to sound odd, but don't question it." Will eyed him warily.

"Should I be scared?"

"I need you to show me every blond person on the football team that I don't already know."

"You really need to phrase your sentences differently." Will punched Miles lightly in the shoulder.

"Ow, what was that for?"

"To cheer you up, you looked gloomy." Answered Will by way of explanation.

"How is punching me in the arm supposed to cheer me up?"

"It works with the Knights." Miles shook his head, trying to clear the pain and dizziness that had immediately overtaken him. Will was already halfway down the hall, running to get to his next lesson.

"You two are cute together." Miles turned around, startled and confused, and immediately located the source of the voice.

"You're the girl who wrote about Lancelot being gay?" When she nodded in reply, he continued, remembering what she'd just said. "What do you mean we're cute together?"

"Well, that was Will Wagner, wasn't it? He broke up with his girlfriend recently, so…" She trailed off and raised her eyebrows. It took Miles almost 30 seconds to get what she was implying.

"What? No. No. I'm not gay." He said the last part rather defensively.

"Well, technically you don't have to be gay to like boys."

"You're making me uncomfortable."

"Alright, I'll stop. My name's Vivian, by the way. Well, really, it's my middle name, after my mother, but I can't much stand my first name. If you tell anyone that, I will find you, come to your house in the middle of the night, and kill you. And then I'll put your head up on my wall." She said the last bit with a smile.

"Oh, um, Miles."

"I know who you are, but did you maybe want to talk more at lunch."

"Yes, sure, lunch sounds alright."

"You have thirty minutes." She backed away slowly, staring at him. Miles was almost about to ask what was wrong, when she smiled and turned the other way, hurrying off to her locker.

Mordred sat in his cell, his body shaking violently. The defeat at the hands of that blasted girl, as well as the loss of his staff and his fully realised state, meant that he didn't have much longer. Excalibur had managed to nick him in the shoulder during the fight. Though it wasn't serious, the wound itself refused to heal, and as a result, the past three days had ensured that he'd lost a lot of blood. His rant about King Arthur had only served to get him admitted for psychiatric care for his own protection. Still, he knew his end was near, though none of the peasants who worked there could see his wound. Such was the way when magic was involved. He gathered his thoughts; if he concentrated, he had just enough life force left to perform an essence transfer, a spell that if done correctly would transfer his consciousness into a body of his choosing. With his weakened state, the spell would most likely only work halfway. There would be a slight physical change, and his consciousness would be present, but it would be bonded with the mind that was already there. He would be that person, in a sense, but with a slight influence as to how things would go. Such was the theory, at any rate. As the spell was cast, the cell filled with a fiery light, and Mordred let out a scream.