A dazzling white high-heel stepped out of the portal. Then came the yale dress hem, staying majestically still. Her majesty’s pure and emotionless face emerged under a wide-brimmed 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 with his long legs, dressed in a neat black and red suit.

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

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

“You are Vortigern, correct?” Guinevere 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.

"My queen, he said-" Lionel was about to explain.

"I understand him very well, thank you." Guinevere raised her hand. “I have come here only for my interest in why would a man such as you re-emerge to these lands with such a vile ritual, 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 smiled. “I wish to travel to the island of Avalon.”

Guinevere looked blankly at him. “...For what reason?”

“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, unlike villains such as you.”

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 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. Yet, with enough force, anything can change, and what is the greatest power in the universe? Time. Even bedrock will move and distort by its command. Water will rain, and flow, trees will grow, and even the strongest stone will crack. Even lies and misconceptions can become the truth. given enough time and effort.”

Guinevere put her small hand on her cheek and thought.

“While I cannot accept such a claim for the pride of our national heroes, I cannot dismiss the injustice you, previous royalty and king 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.

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 to keep her composure.

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

Lionel only then realized that his attire was closer to a bum, but could not admit such embarrassment. 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.

“That was just the thing I was planning, your highness.”

Oberon 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 will assess it in the morning.”

Diarmuid walked next to Jessie, who couldn't decide what she was supposed to be feeling. She only had a few soldiers with her, who were left to operate the radio.

“Ramsay,” Diarmuid called.

“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 would be proud of you.”

“Thanks, captain.”

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

“What is it?”

“I’m quitting the force.”

“What?” Jessie made a face. "Why?"

“It's my choice, don't think too much of it. What I wanted to say was that I think James and I would agree that you're the best fit to be the next captain.”

"Me?"

"Yes, better than I could ever be." Diarmuid walked away. "I'll be going now. Stay safe, Jessie."

"Right." Jessie held back tears.

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.” He looked down.

“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 to the door.

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

“The queen has some business with that Vortigern guy."

“What business?”

Diarmuid waited for Spec to go away. "I don't know much, but I think they are going somewhere. If what I heard is right, I would guess Avalon."

Norman’s eyes were about to fall off. Thankfully, they did not, instead, they fixated on Guinevere.

“Norman, are you alright?” Orel asked.

“We need to talk to the queen.” Norman stared at her.

“What?”

“We might be able to do this.” Norman walked in.

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

“Yes, it is about time we take our leave.” Guinevere turned her back on the group.

Eagton straightened his fingers and drew a portal in the air as if slicing through the air.

“This way, if you please.” Eagton stepped aside.

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

Guinevere released a 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.

“What is it now? Who dares to interrupt us?” Guinevere raised an eyebrow.

“I am Tobias Norman-Alcaeus of Atlas.” Norman introduced himself formally.

“Norman? I have heard of your family."

"I am honored, your majesty." Norman bowed his head.

"Why are you hoping to seek my audience now, sir Norman?"

“It has come to my knowledge that you are to visit Avalon."

“That is true, but it is none of your concern. Not even a mage of your esteem could help to partake in it."

"I ask you kindly, your highness." Norman dropped to his knees. "Visiting Avalon is the epitome of my research. I hope to use its findings to find the truth about magic, but I will not mention it in my papers. I swear on it. I will write a formal sign if it is what it takes."

“I suppose you are ready to put your family name on the line for this chance?”

Norman gulped. “Yes, your majesty.”

“The Magistrate happens to have garnered some interest in your families' research. I suppose with some additional settlements, I could make an exception. Only this once.”

“I thank you wholeheartedly for your exceptional kindness and understanding, your majesty.” Norman struggled with back pain.

"This is purely a business proposal, one which you will have to abide by."

“Of course, your majesty." Norman raised his head. "There is only one thing I would still ask.”

Guinevere frowned. "Select your words carefully. There is a limit to my 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 Ándras. She had heard that Atlas’ dress code was more open than theirs. They had also fought their way to the castle, so she tolerated it.

“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.” Norman glanced at Ándras.

Guinevere was one moment away from sighing until she stopped herself to preserve her dignity. “Very well. You are allowed this one chance, sir Norman.”

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

“You put us on some real hot water this time, Norman,” Ándras crossed his arms.

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

“Just hush and act snobby,” Norman said.

Lionel watched the scene and turned to Gotthold. “We need to give these three a medal or something.”

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

“Your majesty, the portal is still ready.” Eagton’s hands 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 nodded for Eagton before passing through. Orel went in carefully while Ándras shrugged his shoulders and walked in. Lastly, Eagton himself stepped inside, where the portal quickly collapsed into nothingness.

Ándras 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. Ándras lifted his gaze to see the waving face of the moon on the horizon. They were on a rocky shore somewhere. That was not, however, what Orel was looking for. Tracing his gaze, Ándras looked to his right to find that they were actually in the shade of something.

“That's one huge ship,” Ándras managed to utter.

It indeed was. Before the group was a vast dark ship that towered over even houses, made from wood alone, the large vessel could rival even modern ships. One of the sides was open like a drawbridge, where the rest of the group had gathered. Orel and Ándras snapped out of their trance as Eagton marched next to them.

The two walked on the patches of dark green grass. They stopped at the edge where the ship and the steep cliffside were connected by the drawbridge. Between them was a rather long fall to the rocky shores below. If anyone were to slip on it, they would surely fall to their death.

“Let us embark.” Guinevere stepped on board.

Eagton rushed past the others to the queen's side. Vortigern only grunted and stepped in as well.

“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 surrounded him, seeing Norman flail around, almost rubbing himself on the ship, made him feel at ease.

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 from the waves made Ándras seasick within a minute. Orel and Norman wondered in the darkness, lit by dim, blue lanterns. They were in the hull, yet there seemed to be no way to get on the deck, much less a way to control the thing. Still, the ship moved and turned. The passengers could only stand in the dim light, waiting for however long it would take to reach their destination.

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

“So this is how I'll die,” Ándras 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 on the ship’s side.

“Orel?”

“Hush.” Orel leaned closer.

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

“What is it?” He asked.

“There are no waves.” Orel took his ear off the wood.

“What do you mean?"

“You should hear ocean waves when the ship is going, but it has been silent for the whole time.”

“Where did you learn that?”

“Deras taught me.” Orel turned to lean on the wall.

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

“Well, I saw it docked, but not much else,” Andras said from the floor. “I can't tell the difference, though.” He groaned.

Orel and Norman 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 diminish after passing 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.

The two stopped in terror. It was Vortigern. Neither dared to say a word.

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

“Partly from here, yet partly not,” He muttered to himself.

Orel couldn't understand what he meant, but could not muster the courage to ask.

After some more walking, Norman glanced at Orel. Though it pained him to say, it was now or never.

“Orel,” He said.

“What?”

“There is something I need to tell you.”

“What is it?” Orel asked eagerly.

“I’m a-”

“We have arrived!” Guinevere declared.

Everyone's attention turned to the side opening again where blinding light shone inside.

"What was that you were going to say?" Orel asked.

“Nothing,” Norman sighed.

As the drawbridge lowered, the group was greeted with a warm summer wind full of petals and the fresh smell of grass. The bright scenery opened with a view of plains full of colorful flowers, trees with various fruits and berries, and fields full of grain. In the distance was one tall white tower, which Norman already recognized.

The group walked out and could not help but be amazed. The air was warm with sunlight, and the ocean breeze was fresh and salty. Everywhere they could see, the land was bountiful like paradise.

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 very same excitement as Orel in Pohjola, though Orel was still as amazed.

Guinevere took but a glance at the place and walked to the start of a small path. She looked back at Vortigern, who seemed glad yet conflicted. His face could not decide whether to be happy or angry.

“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 Orel could see the entire tower. It had no windows but an open terrace on the top under a pointy roof. Most bizarre of all, it rested in the air with the spiked base nearly touching the purple flower garden underneath.

The group 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 step forward until Guinevere turned over.

“Now, I will need you to plug your ears while I chant the hidden password,” She said with a serious face.

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

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 with a soft and soothing voice.

“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.” Merlin shook his head with a smile.

“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?” Merlin pointed.

Vortigern paused for a moment. “...I am lord Vortigern, of course."

“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 black 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?” Ándras 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.

“Interesting, very interesting indeed. Black and white are but the different sides of the same coin." Merling opened his eyes.

"What do you mean?" Vortigern asked.

"Vortigern, you were the inspiration behind the white dragon Gealtír that challenged the red dragon of Pendragon, yet as you lost, the white dragon morphed into Básdubh, the evil black dragon. With your connection to those myths, you became them, and they became you."

"What is he then?" Guinevere turned.

"He is all three, but perhaps the most prominent aspects are Vortigern and Básdubh." Merlin smiled. “It indeed has been a while, Vortigern. It seems that fate has brought us back together.”

Vortigern smiled, yet it vaned quickly. “Spare the compliments. I am only here to correct this error.”

"I understand." Merlin nodded.

“Why doesn’t he respect me like that?” Guinevere murmured to herself.

“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.” Merlin snapped his fingers.

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 judge the rulers of Albion to pass.”

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

“Who is she?” Orel pointed.

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

“Is it you?” Morgan pointed at Vortigern from under her shroud.

“Yes,” Vortigern kneeled.

“Your soul, a rug of many pieces. For you to be allowed in, all aspects of your soul must wish to find rest."

“Then, does that mean?”

“Yes. Two aspects of your soul have the same regret. A thirst for revenge. I will allow you to quench that thirst once and for all."

A ghost of a knight appeared in a glamorous suit of armor. The lion-headed helmet had a glorious red mane and a cape with the symbol of a ring on it.

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

“Take a look at the man that stands before me.” She pointed with her incorporeal finger.

Bors turned and stood up. 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 laughed with a roar. “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 explained. “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?” Ándras asked.

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

Bors pulled his glimmering sword. Vortigern readied his thorny armor and summoned his sword. The long-awaited battle between two souls was at hand. The audience could hardly wait for the conclusion.