Camelot.

The birthplace of mankind, and the center of Midgard. Built under the shadow of the world tree Yggdrasil by Ask and Embla, the first humans, it was the origin and the end; the capital of Avalon fated to survive until Ragnarok.

Everything in the city sprung from Yggdrasil. All the buildings had been shaped from its bark, reshaped by druids in the form of houses, towers, and pavement. The most ancient monuments though, such as the royal palace, had been created by the Aesir from the fossilized resin of the world tree. This human hive breathed peace and serenity, under leaves spreading through the very clouds.

The palace itself stood against the world tree’s bark, its towers intertwined with the lowest branches. Most of the place was lifted above the ground by amber pillars, to illustrate how the royal family served as the voice of the heavens themselves.

From the throne room’s window, Gwenhyfar looked at her home city with melancholy. After the long campaign into the hinterlands and the darkness beneath Lyonesse, she appreciated this small pleasure much more than before.

“This is amazing,” Annie whistled at her side, as the sun set beyond the horizon. From above, it appeared that the city’s outer walls shone bright like gold.

“You never saw Camelot from this high?” Gwen smiled at her classmate.

“Never from the Royal Palace, no,” the witch replied, moving her hands behind her back in sheepish embarrassment. “I never imagined that I… that I would ever set foot inside. I thought only Jarls or servants could.”

“Which is exactly why I wanted you and the others to come in,” Gwen replied, glancing at the vast and silent throne room. Her eyes glimpsed at tapestries of gods and kings from ages pasts on each side; and the golden, empty throne in its midst. “My family has spent too much time looking at people from above.”

“Gwen, you—”

“Your Highness,” one of the armored knights near the doors interrupted Annie, who immediately blushed.

See what I mean? “It is fine,” Gwen replied, both to Annie and the guard. “We have fought side by side. You earned the right to address me not as a princess, but as a friend.”

The guard said nothing but didn’t hide his displeasure. “Sorry,” Annie apologized, before coughing.

“Annie, are you well?” the princess worried.

“It’s nothing,” Annie insisted.

Gwen wanted to believe her, but her friend coughed harder, and this time, she let out dark bile from her mouth. “You are not alright, Annie,” the princess said firmly.

“I’m sorry,” the witch said. “I’ll consult a healer.”

“You will,” Gwen said, turning to one of the guards. “Please bring her to the infirmary on my behalf.”

Annie protested, but the princess brooked no dissent. The guard led her comrade away, leaving the princess alone with her thoughts, her gaze lingering on Camelot.

The Royal Family had the best medics in the kingdom, especially since her father…

The few in the know called it the Curse of Asclepius, after the lich’s last words. Archmage Calvert did not believe the two events were related, since the king’s health had only started declining ten years ago, long after the lich’s demise… but dark magic was at work, rotting the king from within. A spell so vile, that no healing magic nor prayer could lift it.

The Archmage gave her father two more years at best, but the king was already gone. He had delirious episodes more often than he had lucid ones, and held court from his bed since Gwen's return. Some were already openly calling for her brother to assume the regency.

So little time ahead.

Gwen sighed, Annie’s absence having put her in a foul mood. Why was it that every time she tried to make a genuine connection with someone outside this palace, something always got in the way? She wished that she could engage people ‘normally’ without her royal status raising a barrier between them.

“Why are you making this face, Gwen?”

The princess looked at the door, as her brother and his two retainers entered the throne room.

The prince of Avalon had always been a strongly built young man, but Gwen could swear he grew an inch taller with each year. Wearing sky blue armor and his magical sword around his belt, he kept his golden hair short. His blue eyes radiated warmth and brotherly affection.

From outside, he looked like the perfect king, and you could point no fault in his appearance. You had to look beyond the veneer, to see the flaws.

“Arthur.” Gwen kissed her brother on the cheek, having to tiptoe to do so, before nodding at his handsome knightly bodyguard and his… his female companion. “Ser Lancelot, Ragnell.”

“Your Highness.” Lancelot bowed deeply, the picture of a knight in shining armor. The handsome kind too, with a perfect jawline, charming amber eyes, and long raven hair. A pretty boy barely in his twenties, Lancelot was the most powerful Royal Knight in the institution’s history, standing proud at level 80.

Gwen had something of a crush on him, but she kept these feelings to herself. She suspected, perhaps wishfully, that the knight returned some of her interest; she had often noticed Lancelot glimpsing at her when he thought no one was looking. While countless ladies fought for his favor during tourneys, he only ever asked for her own.

As for the woman, Ragnell… She was a fierce, strong amazon with a tress of black hair and cold hard eyes; a magical binding tattoo covered the left side of her face. Arthur had allowed her to keep her frost axe and tribal clothes, a mantle of winter wolf fur. He could afford to, when magic enforced her obedience in all things.

“Congratulations on your victory, sister,” her brother said warmly. “I am so proud of you, and I am sure Father is too.”

“Congratulations for yours,” Gwen replied, albeit with less warmth. “How was the fairy raid?”

“Good, we repelled their horde before they could reach the city of Ydalir.”

“We owe our victory to His Highness’ valor,” Lancelot argued, Ragnell looking away with a hateful gaze. “He charged straight at the enemy and cut a bloody path forward. Our soldiers said he looked like Thor triumphant.”

“They exaggerate,” Arthur replied, embarrassed.

Easy for him, his fate-granted Perks prevented him from taking a single wound. Not that Gwen could complain since her amulet had saved her from death more than once.

“Gwen, I would like to discuss our kingdom’s future with you,” the prince declared. “I have given thought about what I should do when I ascend as king. I wish to introduce social reforms, especially to alleviate the burden of the poor, and institute a care system for orphans. The Kingdom does not do nearly enough for those devastated by Calamities. ”

“I will do what I can,” she replied with a neutral tone.

Clearly, Arthur had expected a more enthusiastic response. “Sister, why do you look so unhappy with me?”

“You keep a thrall, Arthur,” Gwen stated with heavy disappointment. Am I the only one who thinks this is wrong? “Alleviating poverty is good, but there are greater wrongs taking place under your roof this very instant.”

Her brother sighed, while Ser Lancelot remained silent as a gravestone; he knew better than to get involved in royal arguments. “This again? Ragnell is a prisoner of war, Gwen. She killed good men. Father wanted her killed.”

“That doesn’t excuse treating her as property,” the princess replied, glancing at the silent Ragnell with compassion. Her kindness was answered with a cold, harsh gaze from the barbarian woman. Gwen had never heard her speak since her enslavement. “If anything, this is doubly wrong that you engage in this… this absurd practice. As the crown prince, you legitimize it.”

“Legitimize thralldom?” her brother didn’t sound offended, merely confused. He simply did not understand what was wrong with it. “This institution is older than our dynasty, Gwen, and it is a merciful one. Thralldom is only ever imposed on those who should have faced the death penalty otherwise.”

“Many thralls are not prisoners of war or criminals, Arthur,” Gwen pointed out. “Many are people who had the bad luck to cross a Jarl, or who fell into debt.”

“I agree that we should curb abuse, but not end the institution itself.” By now, Arthur sounded like an adult talking to a petulant child asking why the stars were always in the same position. “We do not have enough resources to imprison everyone, and death should be reserved for the most heinous crimes.”

“Thralldom encourages slave raids against our peaceful neighborhoods, and it is the main reason why all our efforts to establish lasting peace with the goblin kingdom and the eastern islands have failed,” Gwen pointed out, shutting off her brother before he could respond. “Besides, you also forget that thralls, as property, have no legal recourse against abuse; nor can contest their enslavement, even if it was done illegally.”

Her brother smiled, amused by her words. “Gwen, there can’t be lasting peace with other nations,” he said with a chuckle, “our neighbors are not the venerable light elves. They are goblinoids, barbarians, fairies, or giants. They only understand strength.”

“Barbarians that our ancestors drove out of their lands and into the sea.” Where they started praying to the Calamity Hrym to take their home back. “We need allies against Convergences, not more enemies.”

“We do,” Arthur agreed, although he held firm in his convictions. “But trustworthy allies. We need to strengthen our alliances with the light elves of Alfheim and the dwarves of Svartalfheim. You will have an important role to play in this.”

The princess looked away as if slapped. Was that how he considered her? A walking bargaining chip, a mare to be sold off? “I will do what I must for the kingdom,” she said. “Even marry an elf prince, if needed. But we should look for allies in Midgard, before looking for other realms. The portals are unstable, and while Ragnarok is centuries away, we only have so much time to adapt. And that’s not to mention what is happening in Logres...”

“I have read your reports on the [Death Knight].” Arthur interrupted.

“You did?” his sister stared into his eyes, surprised. The Royal Academy hadn’t been so convinced of the threat, only sending agents there because they couldn’t deny a princess’ direct order.

“The Logres region has been a hotbed of Calamity cultists for decades, but most of the time they fought against one another instead of the royal army.” Arthur nodded, having indeed done his research. “Yet they have been remarkably calm lately, and reports indicate that they now hold shared rituals.”

“So, you agree with me.” Gwen couldn’t help but smile at being finally shown some support on the matter. “Someone, probably this [Death Knight], unified the Calamity cults through guile and force.”

“The Royal Knights believe this is linked to the recent events in the Lyonesse region,” Lancelot added.

“Events in Lyonesse?” Gwen frowned. “I have not been informed.”

“The forest of Brocéliande was consumed by flames yesterday,” Lancelot said, immediately gaining the princess’ full attention. “With early divinations indicating the work of powerful magic.”

“How powerful?” Gwen strongly suspected more was at work in the region than it looked, and that the Pale Serpents may have remnants operating in Lyonesse’s area.

“Tier VIII spells were involved.” Both royal siblings exchanged a worried glance, as Lancelot continued his report. “The current investigation would point to either a druidic ritual gone awry or two bands of Calamity cultists fighting for dominance.”

“Tier VIII implies powerful magic users in the fifty-five to sixty level range,” Arthur said. “With the expected Convergence, the former presence of a necromancer in Lyonesse’s dungeon, and the sacrificial murders...”

Gwen wanted to add ‘assumed’ former presence but kept her mouth closed. As much as doubt nagged at her, most people had only started listening to her after this first victory. “There is something in Lyonesse that Avalon’s enemies desire,” the princess said. “Probably at the bottom of the dungeon. The local authorities had it condemned, but we should unearth it.”

“Yes,” Arthur agreed, bringing hope to Gwen’s heart. The perfect prince’s orders were law. “In fact, I believe I will inaugurate the new branch of the Royal Academy personally.”

Gwen hid her disappointment, as she had wanted to do it without his presence overshadowing her own efforts. “You intend to stay in Lyonesse?”

“Until the Convergence.” Arthur grinned. “I always wanted to have us work together as a family. You, me, and Morgane. We will get to the bottom of this mystery together.”

“Your Highness, please allow me to remain at your side,” Lancelot pleaded.

“Lancelot, you would be better deployed in Logres,” Arthur argued. “We are not so frail, Gwen and I.”

“Two heirs in the same city will bring great danger on your Highness’ head,” the knight argued. “Tristan can clean up Logres.”

“I thought I could lead the expedition force in Logres,” Gwen argued. “I have become very familiar with fighting the undead.”

“Gwen, a [Death Knight] is no lowly level thirty necromancer,” Arthur replied. “Let the Royal Knights handle this threat.”

“I am not a child,” the princess argued, anger breaking through her stoicism. “I can handle myself.”

“You are not a child, no, but you are a princess of Avalon and my little sister.” Arthur shook his head. “This [Death Knight] is no longer your responsibility, Gwen.”

And like that, Gwenhyfar saw her moment of glory snatched from her.

“Gwen…”

“Good day, Arthur,” she replied coldly, storming off, leaving the prince and his servants hanging dry.

Moving to the private sanctuary of her room in the palace’s eastern wing, Gwen closed the door behind her as the sun left to a cold, dark night.

Gwen sparsely decorated her room, not being a materialist. The princess did have a soft spot for her history book collection, which she kept on a shelf, but this place mostly helped her sleep or work uninterrupted. She moved to open the window, letting the wind brush against her cheeks; it helped her cool off.

Gwenhyfar loved her brother and knew he meant well. There had never been a more candid and caring prince, and had he been born in a better society, he would have become the perfect king.

But he was naive and overprotective. Even if he meant well, if he became king, nothing fundamental would change. He would improve some bits of the system but never reform it.

As the princess changed herself and put on her nightgown, keeping her trusty amulet around her neck, she tried to figure out a way to salvage the situation. She couldn’t create a powerbase under her brother’s nose, especially if he reaped the glory from her victories. As she raised her bedsheet, Gwen prepared herself for a sleepless night...

Then, she noticed a letter under her pillow.

Immediately casting a detection spell on the paper, Gwen sensed no hostile magic. Carefully, she opened it, and read words printed with blood.

‘That’s not Morgane. That’s a monster, taking her shape.

The Pale Serpents sent her to murder you.

Kill them all, Gwen.’

What was the meaning of this? Did a chambermaid leave it there? Or did—

Someone knocked on the door. “Gwen?” Morgane. “Can I get in?”

“Certainly,” Gwen replied, but discreetly activated one of the emergency features of her [Amulet of Avalon] before hiding the letter under the sheet.

Her half-sister entered the room and closed the door behind, a coy smile on her face. “I’m sorry to interrupt, were you going to sleep so early?”

“Not yet,” Gwen replied, trying to maintain a neutral face. “Why are you here?”

“I heard about Arthur,” Morgane said, her hands behind her back. “I thought you might want to discuss it.”

No. That wasn’t why she was here. “Morgane.”

“Yes?”

“Where did you find that wand?” Gwen asked, her paranoia flaring up.

“This again?” her half-sister replied with a wider, forced smile. “I told you a girl keeps her secrets.”

“Where did you find that wand?” Gwen repeated more firmly. Her instincts told her to trust her sister, but something felt… off about this scenario.

Morgane’s gaze turned sadder. “You don’t trust me. Gwen, after everything—”

“If you trusted me, you would answer truthfully,” the princess replied before she could change the subject.

“I just winked at our elemental magic professor and told him I might be open to some private tea time if he would give it to me,” the witch replied with bluntness, adjusting her hair. “There, now you know it.”

“Morgane, I started keeping secrets from you when you first lied to me,” the princess said, her amulet heating up against her skin. And right now, you lied to my face.

Morgane made a face and walked closer.

“Do not take another step,” Gwen said, Morgane ignoring her and approaching the window.

“Why these questions, Gwen?” her half-sister asked, looking at the void as if considering throwing herself out. “Why are you afraid? I have always been loyal to you. I’ve always done everything to put you on that old fossil of a king’s throne, so you could do better.”

“No, you were loyal to yourself. You helped me only because it was in your best interests.” Gwen immediately regretted saying this, but it lifted a burden off her chest.

“What difference does it make?”

“You were always contemptuous of everyone else of low birth,” the princess pointed out. “Yet since the Convergence, you have been a model teammate. You started spending more time with Annie and that Laufey.”

“I almost died and Laufey saved my life,” Morgane replied, sounding genuinely angry. “It helps reevaluate one’s behavior.”

“I don’t—”

“Your problem is that you don’t trust anyone, Gwen!” the witch snapped. “Always looking for a hidden lie, because you’ve grown up surrounded by them!”

“Maybe,” Gwen admitted. “Which is why I am asking you to speak the truth.”

Morgane bit her lower lips, looking at her trueborn sister right in the eyes. The princess held her gaze, although she felt a ping of remorse at suspecting her based only on hearsay.

“You know what?” Gwen’s half-sister stormed off angrily towards the door, “I’m done. Unless you truly need me, look elsewhere for someone to do your dirty work.”

“Morgane—”

Her half-sister slammed the door behind, leaving Gwen alone with her remorse.

Sitting on a roof under a veil of illusions, Laufey Sorrowsinger listened to Lady Yseult’s voice coming from inside the house, savoring her despair like a perfumed wine.

“Tristan…”

“This is not what it looks like.”

“Then what is it?” From the tone and her emotional scent, she must have been crying. “What is it, Tristan?”

It appeared Lady Yseult had caught her shining knight with another woman.

Not that it surprised Laufey, who knew that love came with an expiration date. Men and women always broke their vows, when they thought themselves above consequences. Still, after the poor woman went through so much to meet him again… the sweet smell of pain and treason, it was maddening.

“Mistress.” Her handmaiden Morgane joined her in the shape of floating mist. “Is this your doing?”

“No, but it was a welcome distraction,” the dark elf replied softly, so low as to make sure none listened. Technically, the dark elf wasn’t even supposed to be in Camelot. But what Walter didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

Thankfully, she had kept some secrets from the necromancer; namely, the fact that, as a daughter of the treacherous god Loki, magical contracts couldn’t truly bind her. Laufey obeyed Walter Tye because she wanted to, not because he bound her.

Morgane was no different. Her ‘masterpiece’ may have bound this shadowy fiend to its current vessel, the creature had always been Laufey’s handmaiden first and foremost. “Is he seeing through you?” the dark elf asked softly, playing with the [Black Athame] Tye gave her.

“No,” her shadowy handmaiden replied. “I can feel his anger through our bond, his attention is focused elsewhere.”

Hel, probably. Laufey had heard some rumors from her father, trapped in Helheim. “Good. The more we stoke the fires of wrath in his cold dead heart, the better. What of the princess?”

“Milady, why did you warn her?” Morgane asked. “His orders were for me to assassinate her, not tip her off. Why all this drama? The point escapes me.”

“The point, Morgane, is that I am an artist of the human soul,” Laufey explained. “People are like paint. Add some Morgane, a little Gwenhyfar, a touch of Arthur, and you get a crimson pigment.”

“She suspected me, even before your letter,” Morgane admitted. “I thought I had impersonated her sister well, but she trusts no one.”

“She should. Although I do wonder what kind of environment she must have grown up in.” The princess interested Laufey as a tragedy project, although she remained focused on finishing her masterpiece. “The more afraid and paranoid she is, the quicker she will reach a breaking point.”

The dark elf could never resist the urge to make a paladin fall.

The ghostly face of a hag appeared before Laufey’s eyes, one of her agents contacting her divinations. “Milady.”

“Loathly, my dear,” Laufey smiled back at the hag. “How was your meeting with Medraut?”

“He was angry,” the hag admitted with a fearful tone. She feared her adopted son almost as much as her god. “Even though I am his mother, he threatened to have my good eye torn apart! Truly wasted kindness…”

“You may serve Medraut, but remember that my father Loki is your patron above all,” Laufey told the hag, “Your pain shall one day be rewarded, in this life and the next.”

“Of course it will!” the hag cackled, “Loathly is always the Fell God’s loyal servant. Yet he asked me to raise wicked Medraut for war against Avalon, to serve him with love and care until he fulfills his fate.”

“A war my father shall have, so long as I get my fun too,” Laufey replied, resting lazily with her back against the roof. Below, Yseult had stormed off without murdering anyone, much to the demoness’ disappointment. “This Medraut is powerful but, forgive me the expression… bland. As a [Muse], he does not excite me. I aim to inspire a better, more promising protégé.”

“That wicked lichboy killed my sisters,” the hag complained. “Even mine mighty magic cannot bring them back.”

“They will be returned to you, do not worry,” the dark elf promised with a soft, honeyed tone. “They were a temporary, if necessary, sacrifice.”

Truth to be told, Laufey didn’t want her masterpiece and that Medraut to form an alliance. She couldn’t let an errant [Death Knight] with delusions of grandeur ruin her newest pet project.

“My masterpiece has great potential,” Laufey explained. “I am truly convinced of it, especially after investigating this buried city. He has the resources, the magic, the talent that could make him a great and terrible power of the Nine Realms. Yet he lacks a most vexing quality.”

“Motivation,” Morgane guessed.

“Sharp,” Laufey confirmed, “This frustrates me, my dear. This frustrates me because as this Lady Yseult molds clay into perfection, I shape people into greatness. Walter Tye could become my masterpiece, but alas, he wastes his talents on a naive obsession.”

The dark muse wanted the necromancer knocked out of his comfort zone, to take a more proactive course of action. He had tricked the princess into leaving him without killing any member of her party; and when he ordered Morgane to assassinate her ‘sister,’ it was out of a desire to end her meddling, instead of a calculated move to bring ruin to Avalon. He only ever reacted.

She was all for obtaining eternal life, but to make it available to everyone? How foolish. Walter should use it to rule Midgard with an immortal army, not protect lesser creatures from nature’s course.

“But thankfully my handmaiden, the stage is almost set,” the dark elf told her servants. “A few pieces knocked off the boards, a little push here, and the play shall begin.”

“What is your plan, milady?” Loathly whispered.

“My dear hag, fools use plans. Muses like me, though? We use inspiration.” Laufey looked at the leaves of Yggdrasil, and the darkness beyond them. “And for these royal brats, something cruel comes to mind.”