A dazzling white high heel stepped out of the portal. Then came the yale dress hem, fluttering from the slightest movement. Her majesty’s pure and emotionless face emerged under a wide-brimmed Panama hat. Under its shade, she looked at the people in front of her, first Lionel, then Vortigern. It was not only her, however. An old gentleman with a long and worried face stepped from the portal, dressed in a neat black and red suit.

“Thank you, Eagton,” Guenevere tipped her hat.

“Spare me of your praise.” Eagton tried to keep his lips from curling up.

“You are Vortigern, am I correct?” Guenevere gave a cold stare.

Vortigern thought nothing of the cold treatment and proceeded to bow with a slight smile.

“Ah, yes. The descendant of the king of knights.” Vortigern said.

“I have come here only for the interest in why would a man such as you re-emerge to these lands with the sacrifice of thousands of my people, trample my country’s beautiful dukedom, assault one of my dukes, and yet still have the nerve to ask for my attendance?”

“The reason is simple, your highness.” Vortigern stood up. “I wish to travel to the island of Avalon.”

Even the queen herself was taken back by such a statement.

“...For what reason?” Guenevere regained her composure.

“To take my place there that was stolen from me. It is the sole reason why my soul cannot find rest.”

“Then, who would have done something of that sort? Avalon is where the mightiest heroes are laid to rest until their next arrival.”

Vortigern’s pale frown turned sour like a lemon.

“There is an impostor there! A thief who stole all of my glory with lies and took the place I earned!”

“I do not follow. If such a man would exist, he would never be allowed inside.”

Vortigern let out a small pained laugh as if he had heard the peak of irony.

“History is like bedrock. For an outside viewer, it would seem the most stable thing imaginable. The unquestionable fact, the absolute truth. Set in stone, as they say. Yet there, with enough force, anything can change, and time is the greatest power in the universe. Even bedrock will move and distort by its command. Water will rain, flow, trees will grow, and even the strongest stone will crack, given enough time.” Vortigern explained with an angry tone. “In other words, even facts can become fiction, and lies can become the truth.”

“Which was the one that happened?”

“What does that matter? Either way, it is injustice! This cursed action stole my place in the afterlife!”

Guenevere required a minute to process all of the information, not that she was not brilliant, but soon enough, she would have to answer Vortigern.

“While I cannot accept such a claim for the pride of our national heroes, I cannot dismiss the injustice you, previous royalty and a citizen of Albion, have suffered, nor do I wish to leave your tormented soul to wander these lands.”

“I thank you from the bottom of my soul, your highness.” Vortigern bowed.

Eagton leaned in to whisper. “Your highness, should you not have inquired which person he means?”

“Without any evidence, it would only sully one of our national heroes.” She whispered back.

“I apologize.”

Agatha and the rest of Spec realized in unison that what Lionel had said was nothing but the complete truth.

“There is nothing more for us to see here. Let’s move on with the investigation.” Agatha walked out of the hall, trying not to seem amazed by the queen.

“Sure, ma’am,” Fleming had seen enough.

Lionel only now noticed that his attire was closer to a bum and tried to find anything to wear. Gotthold walked over and offered her jacket, which was only big enough for Lionel to keep over his shoulders.

“You may carry on with your duties, sir Lionel,” Guinevere said.

“Oh, that was just the thing I was planning.”

One of the fairies flew next to Lionel’s ear.

“We will be going, but we must tell you this: Those few seconds you used that power, it cost you-”

“I know.” Lionel sighed deeply. “I have to make it up to you somehow.”

Diarmuid walked next to Jessie, who was a bit anxious about her performance. She only had a few soldiers with her, who were left to operate the radio.

“Ramsay,”

“Yes?” Jessie almost dropped her weapon.

“Good job out there.” Diarmuid patted her on the shoulder.

“We just held out in Sir Lionel’s office.” Jessie blushed.

“But you kept all the people safe out there. I’m sure the major will be proud of you.”

“Thanks, captain.”

“I also need to tell you this.” Diarmuid scratched his neck.

“What is it?”

“I’m quitting the force.”

“What?” Jessie took a step back.

“Don’t be bothered by it. It’s my choice, but I’d say you would be the pest to become the captain.” Diarmuid walked away.

As Diarmuid walked out of the doors, he almost pumped into Orel, who just saw Spec leave from the same doors.

“Oh, sorry, kid. I didn’t see you there.”

“No problem. What’s happening there?” Orel tried to lean in a peek.

“See for yourself. Be careful, though. The queen is there.”

“Wait, really?” Norman rushed in.

“Orel, you need to come and see this.”

“Oh, Orel.” Slacume waved. “I was thinking where you might have gone.”

Norman reached to whisper to Slacume. “Hey, you. What is the queen doing here?”

“She and sir Lionel have business with that Vortigern guy,” Slacume whispered.

“What business?”

Slacume glanced at Gotthold to ensure she would not hear, even though she was far from him.

“That Vortigern wants the queen to take him to Avalon.”

Norman’s eyes were about to fall off. Thankfully, they did not, but instead, they fixated on the Guenevere like a pair of targeted missiles.

“Norman, are you alright?” Orel asked.

“We need to talk to the queen.”

“What?”

“We might be able to do this.”

Guenevere had made her choice, and Eagton had to respect it.

“Shall I open the rift?” Eagton raised his hand.

“Yes, it is about time we take our leave.”

Eagton straightened his fingers and drew a portal in the air.

“This way, if you please.” Guinevere glanced at Vortigern.

“You have the gate to Avalon?” Vortigern asked.

Guinevere released a small and dignified giggle. “Of course not. This is simply the way to reach the boat.”

“Your majesty!” A voice yelled.

Guinevere turned and saw Norman bow to a ninety-degree angle.

“Who are you?” Guinevere raised an eyebrow.

“I am Tobias Alceus-Norman.”

“I see. You are of the Normans from South Indies.”

“That is correct, your majesty.”

“For that, I will excuse that you interrupted us.”

“I thank you, your majesty.”

“What urgent have you to say?”

“I- it has come to my knowledge that you will travel to the island of Avalon with this man.”

“That is true, but it is none of your concern.”

“I would wish to partake in this travel as a researcher of magic. Is that acceptable?”

“This is a highly delicate situation and a highly secretive one. We do not wish to have it written and published.”

“I will be fully content to witness it with my eyes and nothing more. I will vow not to speak a word of this to any ear.”

“That is but the minimum we expect. I suppose you are ready to put your family name on the line for that claim?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“Then I suppose it could be allowed. After all, our country is open for co-operation with other mage families.”

“I thank you wholeheartedly for your expediential kindness and understanding, your majesty.” Norman struggled with back pain. “There is only one thing I would still ask.”

“What is it? Do I need to remind you that there is a limit on hospitality?”

“I understand, your majesty. I ask if my... Apprentices could join in as well?”

“Do you mean those two people behind you?”

Guinevere was slightly dubious of Orel being an apprentice, but at least he had a rugged suit rather than the overalls on Andras. Still, the queen had heard that Atlas’ dress code was more open than theirs. Andras made her also reconsider their standards altogether.

“Yes, they are the students that have followed me on this trip.” Norman was sweating from the lies.

“And you understand that you are fully responsible for all their actions?”

“...Yes, your majesty.”

Guinevere was one moment away from sighing until she stopped herself to preserve her dignity.

“Your family shall compensate highly for this extraordinary opportunity.”

“That is most acceptable, your highness.” Norman grinned under his pose.

“Very well. You are allowed this one chance, Mr. Norman.”

Norman could not help but smile, even almost cry. He turned to congratulate Orel and Andras, only to find them staring at him like a snake-oil seller.

“You put us on some real hot water this time, Norman,” Andras said.

“Yeah, what if she finds out?” Orel asked.

“Just hush and act snobby,” Norman whispered.

Lionel watched the scene and turned to Gotthold. “Wait, they’re all mages? I need to give them a medal or something.”

“Sir, please. Let us go ready for the press conference” Gotthold took Lionel’s hand.

“Your majesty, the portal is still ready.” Eagton’s hand shook from having to keep the spell on.

“Good work, Eagton. Let us continue.” Guinevere entered the portal.

“Come in, come in.” Eagton waved his hand with glee from the compliment.

Vortigern stepped in without saying a word.

Norman kept his composure and slightly nodded for Eagton before passing through. Orel went in with his mouth open from amazement while Andras waved back to Eagton. Lastly, Eagton himself stepped inside, where the portal quickly collapsed into nothingness.

Andras exited the portal into a dark and windy place, only to bump into something. He looked down and saw Orel, who seemed frozen still, looking up with his mouth open. Andras was not sure why Orel would have done that until he noticed the waving face of the moon on the horizon. They were on a shore, yet in the shade of something. Andras saw what Orel was looking at and froze similarly in amazement.

“What a huge ship,” Andras managed to utter.

It indeed was. Before the group was a vast dark ship that towered over even houses. While some modern ships might be larger, they are not made from wood. One of the sides was open like a drawbridge, where the rest of the group had gathered. Orel and Andras snapped out of their trance as Eagton marched next to them.

The two walked on the patches of dark green grass until they were on the edge where the ship and the steep cliffside were connected only by the comparably narrow drawbridge. If anyone were to slip on it, they would surely fall to their death.

“Let us embark.” Guinevere stepped on board.

Vortigern was about to step before Eagton rushed with quick steps to next to the queen. Vortigern thought nothing of this and came on board.

“This is it!” Norman was ecstatic. “Prydwen! This is the very same boat that king Artorias went on!”

Though Orel had been nervous about fitting in with the upper class that now surrounded him, seeing Norman flail around, almost rubbing himself on the ship, made him feel at ease and a bit worse to have that type of teacher.

Once everyone was on board, the opening closed, sealing the passengers inside. The ship’s inside was a vast yet dark space, where you could not tell how large it was, but the echoing sound of creaking wood made it apparent that it was no small ship. The damp smell of saltwater and slight wobbling with the waves was the only sensory triggers in the bitch black innards until strange blue lights lit up on the walls. The movement seemed that the boat was turning, but there were no signs of a helm or any other ways to control the ship. Instead, the passengers stood in the dim light, waiting for however long it would take to reach their destination.

The group was a bit separated. Guenevere and Eagton stood close on the other side while Vortigern wandered around. Orel, Norman, and Andras were together, but each took the trip differently.

“I’m bored,” Andras lay on the coarse wooden floor.

“How can you say that? We are going to Avalon! Right, Orel?”

Norman turned to see Orel, only to find him leaning onto the ship’s side.

“Orel?”

“Hush.” Orel leaned closer.

Norman gave Orel a passing moment to listen to whatever he heard.

“What is it?”

“There are no waves.”

“What does that mean?”

“You can usually hear ocean waves when you listen closely in a ship, but it has been silent for the whole time.”

“Where did you learn that?”

“Deras taught me.” Orel pushed himself off the side.

“But we all saw that the ship took to the sea, right?”

“Well, I saw that it was on the sea, but we never really saw anything,” Andras said. “Makes you ask if the ship is even moving.”

Norman was about to deny it, but when taking in the fact that they were traveling to a magical realm, an unmoving boat didn’t sound that ridiculous.

Orel and Andras decided to take a walk and see how large the ship was. They followed the left side, thinking they would have to travel in darkness, but more blue lights lit up like streetlamps as the two made their way. A small light would kindle a few feet before them and then diminish after Orel and Andras passed it. Their exploration was interrupted as they saw someone walk toward them. The two did not exactly see anyone, but they could tell there was someone because of the lights lighting up.

It was Vortigern taking a walk. Neither Orel nor Andras had anything to say or anything they dared to say.

The three quickly passed each other, but Vortigern turned his head and fixated on Andras before moving on.

“Appearances are deception, after all,” He muttered to himself.

Once Orel and Andras came back, Norman saw how Andras looked at him. It was asking when Norman would tell Orel.

“Orel,” Norman said.

“What?”

“There is something I need to tell you.”

“Well, what is it?”

“I’m a-”

“We have arrived!” Guinevere declared.

While Orel was distracted, Norman thought it wasn’t a good time.

“Nothing,” Norman readied himself.

Andras gave one disapproving head shake before joining him.

As the drawbridge lowered, the group was greeted with a warm summer wind full of flowers and trees. The bright scenery opened with a view of grass plains full of colorful flowers, trees with various fruits and berries, fields full of grain, and a large white tower in the distance.

The group walked out and could not help but be amazed. The air was warm with sunlight, and the ocean breeze was cool and refreshing. Everywhere they could see, the land was full of produce, even though there was no sign of farming.

Orel felt the soft wet grass. It was the most pleasant grass he had ever touched. He wanted to pick some flowers but resisted the urge.

Norman was beyond amazed, with tears almost running from his eyes. It was the first time he had visited a realm. He felt the same excitement as Orel in Pohjola, though Orel was still as amazed.

Guinevere thought nothing of the place and walked to the start of a small path. She looked back at Vortigern, who seemed to have conflicting feelings by the amount of changing faces.

“This way, if you would mind,” Guinevere informed.

The group followed Guinevere and Eagton on the trail. While the scenery was beautiful, the lack of any living soul was strange. Orel could see the white tower getting closer and closer as the group walked on the path.

The path led up a small hill, where you could already see the entire tower. It had no windows but an open terrace on the top under a pointy roof, and most bizarre of all, it rested in the air with the spiked base nearly touching the purple flower garden underneath.

They reached the base, yet there was no one to meet them. The purple lilies growing underneath the tower had a peaceful aroma of exotic fruit. Orel was about to reach for them, but Norman stopped him. Moments passed with Guinevere staring up at the building. Vortigern was about to ask if anything was wrong until Guinevere turned over.

“Now, I will need you to plug your ears while I chant the hidden password.”

Eagton made sure everyone obeyed by handing out earplugs and overseeing that they put them on. Guinevere took a deep breath and readied herself.

“You can do this, Ginny.” She told herself with a deep sigh.

Guinevere grew a vein on her perfect forehead. “Get down here, Merlin, you useless piece of work! You know we’re here!”

Another moment passed, and a sudden gust of wind lifted some flower petals into the air. They gathered and circled tightly until a figure began forming out of them. A steady yet wavy stream of silky smooth silver hair coursed in the wind and glistened in the sunlight. It set itself along the back of a pale young figure wrapped in the finest of white fabrics yet dark and loose sweatpants. The face was that of a saint, pure and flawless to the point it was unnerving, and with flower earrings hanging from their long ears. The almost prismatic eyes made Orel uncomfortable, even as they shone beautifully.

“You have summoned me, queen Guinevere,” Merlin spoke softly and soothingly.

“Yes, I have, Merlin,” Guinevere held back her anger. “Do you recognize this figure?” She pointed at Vortigern.

Merlin frowned.“That thing? What is it doing here?”

Vortigern looked back at Merlin with malice in his eyes but decided to let it go.

“He said that one of your residents stole his place here,” Guinevere explained.

“That cannot be. I make no mistakes.”

“I could say otherwise,” Guinevere said under her breath.

Vortigern stepped in. “But you did.”

“Oh? And what would that be?” Merlin said in contempt.

“That damned Bors took my place here.”

“Then, let me ask you. What do you think you are?”

Vortigern paused for a moment. “...I am lord Vortigern.”

“You cannot lie to these eyes. No lie can hide from me, nor can you, Bàsdubh. I see everything, past and future. Your disguise is good but not good enough.”

Vortigern was visibly pissed. Numerous veins grew on his face as it twisted with anger, yet with a tone of sadness.

“Even you, Merlin. However much I have been twisted, I still believed at least you would understand what I have become.”

“...I see. You are not Vortigern, yet you are not the evil dragon either. What a pathetic existence.” Merlin shook his head. “But how can it be?”

“What are you talking about, Merlin?” Guinevere asked.

“Oh, it’s like that.” Orel realized.

“What?” Norman asked.

“Sindri told me in Väinölä how mythology changes with time and people.”

“But isn’t he a real person?” Andras asked.

“There can be enough mystery surrounding some historical figures that they create legends of their own,” Norman explained.

“I needed to delve into the past to understand the situation,” Merlin’s eyes rolled down.

“You are quite interesting, Vortigern, or whatever you wish to be called. You predate the tale of the evil dragon, no, you are the predecessor of the tale, yet it is more known than yours by now. The summoning must have merged the two concepts as the base was lacking in records. Your instinct of hatred and your own intuition must have led you here.”

Merlin smiled.“It has been a while, old friend. I am sorry for my behavior.”

Vortigern smiled, yet it vaned quickly. “I am not the person you knew me as.”

Guinevere leaned in to whisper to Eagton. “Why doesn’t he respect me like that?”

“Then, what do you wish to do here?” Merlin asked.

“I wish that my soul would find rest here.”

“That is beyond my jurisdiction.” Merlin sighed. “You need to be approved by the nine sisters.”

“Then summon them.”

“If you insist.”

Ghostly apparitions of nine veiled women appeared on the flowerbed, standing in a circle.

“Those are the witches,” Norman gasped.

“Who are they?” Orel asked.

“Powerful sorcerers that rule Avalon and heal the wounded souls that enter.”

“Who stands for trial?” The elder sister stepped forth.

“Who is she?” Orel asked.

“That is Morgan the grand fay. The ruler of Avalon. It’s said she learned spells from Merlin himself.”

“Is it you?” Morgan pointed at Vortigern.

“Yes,” Vortigern kneeled.

“Your soul, a rug sewn together from two pieces. The Vortigern that once was allowed to enter is no longer. There is hatred inside you against one man. To be fit to enter, you must set aside your past and be forgiven.”

“I understand.”

“Then, you shall meet the man you have longed to see.”

A ghost of a knight appeared with a symbol of a ring on his suit of armor. Vortigern could barely see anything through the lion-headed helmet with red hairs bursting from it.

“Bors Fortis Claudin.” Bors kneeled. “What is the reason I have been summoned, o’ sorcerer?”

“Take a look at the man that stands before me.” She said.

Bors turned and stepped back. He was about to pull out his sword. “How can this be? What is the black dragon doing here?”

“You are mistaken, sir Bors. This man has the entwined soul of Vortigern and Bàsdubh.”

“I apologize for my insolence. What part do I play in this?”

“I have come here to apologize for my wrath against you and your descendants. I seek nothing more than to have my soul laid to rest here,” Vortigern explained.

“I see,” Bors said bluntly. “How about we settle this the way it started?”

“You and your descendant are all too similar,” Vortigern smiled. “Surely, I accept.”

“Is that allowed?” Guinevere asked.

“This is a paradise where all wounds are healed, and all that is broken is fixed,” Merlin said. “Or do you have a problem with this, Morgan?”

“Besides the problem with you, no, there is not.” Morgan looked away.

“Then do as you please.” Merlin cheered.

“Can I fight too?” Andras asked.

“No,” Norman said as quickly as he could.

Bors pulled his glimmering sword, and Vortigern readied his thorny armor. The long-awaited battle between two souls was at hand.