Kapitel 96: Chapter 96
The stars tell their tales.
The prelude to all begins with even the smallest of sparks that light upon fragments of passion, desire, or duty bidding one forward towards their goals.
Like slowly burning embers, they weave a story in and out across the threads until finally, the embers meet their end snuffed out in the twilight; a form of symbolism representing the concept of all myths, fictions, and reality:
That for every beginning, must come an end.
The winds howl and give their assent, the subtilties of the passing breeze pushing back the clouds in the dark night sky offset by a radiant glow. Soft and unassuming, it carried the weight of dreams and resolution that all who gaze upon it hold hallowed and steadfast in their hearts.
It was a beacon in the night; a calling for all who knew to take heed for this earnest light that shone down from upon the heaven's surely belonged only to one.
Friends, family, comrades, and brothers-in-arms across the British Isles lay witness to the spectacle, each with their own hardships and burdens, yet all were drawn in by the light's splendor.
This timeline was different.
The people, the events, the situation, and even the context were no longer in sync with mankind's original history.
Camelot would fall.
It must if the original sequence of history were to be restored.
Failure meant an untold number of lives would be lost in what was known as a pruning effect. The lives and achievements of all those in the original timeline would cease to exist, as if sheered off by a pair of clippers in a manner no different from a culling.
This ordinarily would never happen, but the laws of reality had blurred in wake of an unknown disaster that enabled the potential of this outcome.
Regardless of what was right or wrong, one thing remains true.
This light seen across Britain was a light that shines at the world's end, the meaning of its glow all but apparent.
A point of divergence had been reached.
One world's end would be another's beginning.
In the distant hills of Camlann, a lone archer, a man trying to make right what was wrong, took in a shuddering breath of conviction.
'Paradise cannot simply be found, but more often than not, it had to be made. His utopia stands before him; a single happy ending all that he'd ever fought for and will continue to fight for.'
The man balled his hands into fists, and reaffirmed his oaths under the stars.
Elsewhere, a veiled woman looked up from deep within a vaunted castle of white, a shudder travelling down her spine.
'Ambitions, malignments, resentments, feuds, and even traces of bitterness and buried regrets. What was the point of it all if she turned back and stopped now? No. Only a single path remains…'
A flicker of doubt crossed over the woman's eyes, causing them to waver if only slightly. She gnashed her teeth and cursed at the stars, shying away from the distant radiant light as its only shadow.
From far yonder, across mountains, hills, forestry, and flat plains, the light's brilliance penetrated.
Regardless of who they were, or what their motives, this light regarded all:
The final curtain that would draw everything to a close had been signalled, and all the actors called into action.
The dogs of Alaya would no longer turn a blind eye.
Soon, soon everything would end. So just persevere, hold your head up high, and sneer upon the scorn directed upon you.
Morgan knit her brows and did her best to maintain a vigil of calm despite her growing worries. Her lips thinned, her eyes constantly drooped and dilated within the soft flame of candle light.
Deep within the chambers of the Castle of Camelot's interior, there were no windows to speak of, nor natural light that could illuminate the quaint chamber. It would be pitch black if not for the candlewicks burning and melting the wax that surrounded flammable thread.
Numerous inscriptions constantly remained active, scrawled across each wall of the room.
Morgan stifled a growing sense of indignation. It was difficult to admit, but she was displaying the utmost caution against Lord Ashton. These magic inscriptions and arrays had no other function than to mask subtle fluctuations of magical energy. It was like sound-proofing, but switching the concept of sound waves with magical energy.
Lord Ashton revealed an uncanny ability to pinpoint her location in Camelot's Castle. The only explanation she had logically come to was that he could sense her magical energy, and hence the need for the inscriptions. Moreover, so as to prevent no complications, the only objects found in the chamber she was in were a work table and a chair.
There was nothing else. No luxuries like food, water, or entertainment. Such things weren't required in her given dilemma. Of course, this didn't mean she neglected food and water entirely. She merely conjured what she needed, and barring that, she had the required items fetched for her when necessary. She had to focus on the important things.
After all, she had no time to lounge and pretend an enemy wasn't pushing her to the edge of cliff. Ignoring a problem was a sure way to tragedy, but solving it was always the hardest part, and now there was more to consider.
Impatient are we, dear sister?
Ever since she'd seen that radiance across the horizon she'd been waiting in apprehension, fully knowing what that light entailed.
It had already been a month, and the time of conflict was surely just over the horizon knowing her little sister's temperament. Arturia had always been decisive, and Morgan had no disillusions about how much her little sister resented her.
If not for the uncertainty Arturia had about her children, Morgan could already imagine how Arturia would have reacted upon seeing her again.
No matter what, to say Morgan hadn't expected this sort of outcome would be a lie. She'd long since understood that nothing would come easy for her, but she just didn't believe it would come at this scale.
The Ashton was mad in his ruthless tactics. For someone so well received and praised to be a magnanimous and kind-hearted ruler, using the entirety of Camelot to threaten her into passivity had never crossed Morgan's mind.
Instead, what she'd imagined was that her little sister and the last Ashton would storm Camelot on their own and fall prey to the various traps she'd already laid down. Their rash actions had happened time and time again, the first when they were children, the next when they ran head-first into a warzone.
Shirou Ashton was just as impulsive as Arturia when it came to upholding their sense of justice, but clearly, she'd underestimated Shirou's resolve. Did his love for Arturia and his family weigh more than his obligations to the Kingdom?
The answer was obvious now, and Morgan knew she'd made the wrong gamble.
Now, she was constantly harassed by a boogeyman vigilantly surveying her whereabouts, and her little sister was taking the time to lead and organize an army to siege Camelot.
These were the main two problems that must be dealt with. However, no matter how she thought of it, she could only ever have confidence in dealing with one. Not both.
Why was this so hard? She was so close, but the difficulty had raised exponentially.
Morgan's complexion paled, her fingers pressing on her temples to alleviate her growing migraine before pausing in her actions when she recalled who else was in the room.
Mordred was seated on the opposite side of the room, always within view. After the recent event with Duke Owels, Morgan was forced to keep her within sight lest some fool do something untoward and the Ashton finally lose his mind and drop the literal sword over the kingdom.
Mordred's vacant gaze quietly stared at her, not a trace of emotion to be seen, but Morgan knew her daughter's temperament.
'She must enjoy watching her mother struggling.'
She snorted. Considering their relationship, it was natural she supposed, but paying her anymore attention now was not worth anything.
Mordred would be needed to handle Lord Ashton. It didn't matter what a tool thought or felt. All that mattered was that a tool served its use without breaking too early. Mordred was part of the scheme to subdue that monster, and Morgan was well on her way to completing her trap.
The issue was that she would be unable to oversee and preside over Camelot's defences while out dealing with Lord Ashton.
Magi or not, the average magus from the Mages Association would be hard pressed to deal with a full-powered blast from her little sister's Excalibur. Hence, her conundrum.
What was worse, was that she was short on time.
A magic circle over her sole work desk glinted and produced a small noise that caused her to crane her neck up in alarm. Something had triggered her distant wards, and she was certain that it wasn't Lord Ashton this time. The signal had come from too far away.
She shut her eyes and tapped the activated magic circle. Instantly, she saw through the gaze of a raven perched upon a tree overlooking an area several kilometers away from Camelot's walls.
This was one of many of her lesser familiars. By concentrating on her craft, she could share vision and assess the situation for herself. This was also her main means of spying on her little sister's progress over the years.
In any case, her featured tightened as her nails dug into the skin of her palms.
Horses, Knights, war banners, and a teal-coloured gaze that seemed to know she was watching.
Morgan jolted as her shared vision with her raven was forcibly severed. Veins popped over her the sides of her eyes, and she couldn't help but release a low groan. How vicious her little sister looked.
The last thing Morgan seen was a gust of sharp wind generated from a swing of her little sister's sword, and for a fraction of second, she'd felt an edge bite into the nape of her neck.
Arturia was now practically marching at Camelot's doorsteps.
There was no more time to think.
Based on the distance, Arturia would arrive with her army in less than a few hours.
Unwittingly, Morgan clicked her tongue and bit down on the nail of her thumb.
She had to choose.
Arturia was someone that she had confidence in handling, but there was no telling what Lord Ashton would do especially with a massive construct still over the kingdom.
He must be dealt with first.
Disregarding Lord Ashton's capabilities, the construct above Camelot must be dealt with at all costs. There was no point in defeating Arturia if it would result only in a pyric victory where she'd win the battle but not the war.
Still, if she focused her efforts on Lord Ashton and carried out her plan, the dwindling few magi left in Camelot may not be capable enough to buy time for her to deal with the Ashton and return to oversee things.
What a conundrum.
In the past month, Shirou had hunted and killed too many helpers that had come the from Mages Association.
Morgan grew vexed, almost desperate. It was all that Ashton's fault, and she had no idea what it was she should do.
Regardless, she knew her priorities and the proper sequence of events. She'd just have to bet everything on how long it would take to deal with Lord Ashton. This was her only choice.
Deftly, she rang a bell attached to strings, which rang other bells in Camelot calling for a maid to attend to her.
Soon enough, an attendant arrived.
"I don't need you to ask questions. Go within view outside the castle and send this message to the man standing on the distant hills. If he's too far, don't bother trying to get to him. Write the message on the castle's wall instead. He'll see it no doubt." Morgan produced a small parchment written with fresh ink and gave it to the attendant. "Make haste. I will not repeat myself."
The message denoted a pre-set meeting location and a sentence reading 'let's end this here.'
The Ashton would understand the meaning.
The attendant opened her mouth, but Morgan leveled a venomous glare that shut the woman up. Bowing, the attendant left immediately.
Bowing her head lowly, Morgan grimaced before she stood up and began pacing. One hand rested beneath her chin, and the other was balled tightly in front of her. No matter how she thought about it, her chances in this coming siege were abysmal. It wasn't fair to begin with.
She was but a single person contending against two others on a similar level. It was already commendable that she'd gotten rid of Merlin, turning the difficulty from 'impossible' to 'difficult,' but now she'd have to reassess that thought.
There's over a seventy-percent chance of failure.
The odds were not in her favour anymore. She smiled derisively at herself.
Since when were the odds ever in her favour. She'd just make do as she always had on her own.
It was at this moment while she was coming to terms with the situation that change occurred. Whether Morgan's actions were right or wrong, was something that had already been decided once upon a time, leading to a proven future of humanity.
It wasn't perfect, nor was it a utopia, but it worked.
Lives blossomed, and man had its prosperity and ingenuity.
Would one abandon a charted path to take an untrodden road of uncertainties and dangers regardless of the outcome, good or bad?
Many may take this risk, but many more who prioritise stability and lower risks will not venture for change if it risked the safety of mankind. The collective conscious would not allow it so easily.
Unknowingly, the light triggered by Arturia a month prior had been the trigger to start a divergence; a definite split that couldn't be corrected once broken.
The Will of Humanity would call upon its beasts to ensure security when passive methods no longer worked.
Morgan felt a swell of magical energy abruptly arise within the enclosed room, a fierce wind buffeting her features and causing her to shiver. She shielded her face with her hands, only to grow dazed a second later.
A magic circle formed and activated on the ground, a meshwork of rotating sigils and archaic script forming the foundation.
Independent manifestation.
Morgan surmised while watching the congregation of magical energy above the archaic circle take humanoid form. Her thoughts flashed, bringing up all relevant information in regards to humanoid magical beings, and then abruptly stopping when she came to the answer.
Heroic Spirit.
In any case, what were Heroic Spirits if not Heroes of great renown and power immortalized in legend?
This was a hero unbound by time and immortalized through their miraculous feats.
Moreover, she could feel it. This connection before her wasn't made of her own volition, but out of necessity from a force willing to aid her…and she only knew of one that would interfere willingly in the machinations of mankind.
The Will of Humanity.
Morgan felt a weight seem to lift from her shoulders as assurance eased her expression. What other confirmation did she need to know that she was destined to succeed?
Colour returned to her complexion; a newfound confidence doing wonders to shift her mood. She didn't even care that she'd slipped up and allowed a smidgen of emotion to surface on Mordred's face.
Morgan was too elated.
Fate had not abandoned her. Justice for the true heir was at hand!
Within seconds, legs began to appear, followed by arms, chest, and a strikingly familiar face that had both Morgan and Mordred dumbstruck.
A moment later, and the figure fully formed, standing with an impressive height, demeanor, and a steely hawk-like gaze.
It's said that Heroic Spirits manifest from what is known as the Throne of Heroes that supersedes both time and space, but seeing was believing.
Of all people, of course he would meet all qualifications to ascend to the throne.
The figure frowned while observing his surroundings. The dark room lit only be candles, the mad glint in Morgan's eyes, and the growing denial in Mordred's were things that the figure could pick up on instantly.
The figure shook his head, shifting his gaze from Morgan to Mordred, then back to Morgan before focusing on the prerogative set upon him as an Agent of the Counter Force.
At first, he was stunned, hopeful, then eerily silent.
Morgan? Well, all she did was laugh at the irony of everything.
Fate really did like to work in mysterious ways.
The figure was utterly bewildered, almost lost, but this didn't stop him from frowning.
"You are?" The figure asked cordially after Morgan regained her composure.
"I'm surprised you act like you don't know me?" Morgan probed with a chuckle as the figure maintained a poker face. "Should I be offended that someone of your future renown thinks so little of me?"
The figure didn't answer, as if searching his thoughts, but in the end, he merely shook his head and remained silent. Without information he wouldn't make any assumptions until he could decide for himself the best course of action to carry out Alaya's will, irrespective of if he was willing or not.
Besides, it was difficult for him to understand the flurry of emotions he could feel from Mordred, and the reason for the sadistic gleam on Morgan's face.
Something told him that he wasn't going to enjoy this latest task of Alaya, especially as the relevant information of the era gradually filtered into his mind.
He felt like he was going to be sick.
Arturia felt uneasy.
It was difficult to explain, but she felt a pit of anxiety forming in her stomach while mounting her horse, Llamrei. She carefully tied up her hair and tightened the strands with a stout tug to secure it into a crown before grabbing Llamrei's reins and lightly flicking them.
Llamrei galloped into a steady trot, followed by a contingency of a hundred Knights of Gwent sent by Cywyrd.
The small company, though intimidating at first glance wasn't enough of a force to threaten Camelot at all. Instead, this group was only one of many set to meet in a location.
She didn't know how many would come, but Excalibur's light would draw them all back to only one place:
Camelot.
Her armies would gather. Those that remembered her rule, and kept their loyalty towards her and the kingdom in their hearts would answer the call. She was sure of this, but her heart still ached.
"Are you alright?" Emily's voice trailed from beside Arturia.
Emily herself was mounted on a horse while wearing tailored riding gear.
Arturia only gave curtesy response. "I'm fine," she said despite everyone knowing that she wasn't. Her shoulders were drooped, and her features were always wistful. "Let's just hurry. I-I can still make it time. Shirou's there. He must have kept the twins safe, so all I have to do is get there. Mommy's coming."
Emily didn't answer, putting on a troubled face instead out of Arturia's view.
It had been a month since the disappearance of Artus and Annabel, and no amount of optimism allowed Emily to let go of rationality. The twins were newborns, toddlers not even weened from their mother's milk.
A month. A month had passed with no word of them. Worse yet, they were likely in Morgan's hands, a notorious witch whose morals may not differ from the standard Magus.
Emily didn't want to be a pessimist, but she felt like Arturia was wishing for the impossible. Yet, like any mother blinded by their emotions and maternal instinct, she refused to come to this conclusion.
Arturia didn't say anything, but the looks of pity directed towards her over the month of preparation must have been noticed by her. She just chose to ignore it lest she the feeling of grief debilitate her.
"We'll arrive in another hour," Emily informed pointedly while surveying the surroundings. "Based on the time, the rest of us should be approaching the rendezvous point not soon from now. We'll form ranks and set up a siege at the hills of Camlann."
"Forward!" Was Arturia's only reply, her lips quivering while urging Llamrei faster.
Emily shook her head, but a small gesture from Arturia indicated that she still understood what needed to be done.
In any case, as the contingency from Gwent neared Camelot's Castle, both Emily and Arturia could only marvel at the sight before them.
A towering sword hovered over the entire Kingdom, rippling of magic energy creating arcing lights echoed by groaning metal.
"Your husband is quite capable." Emily spoke with mixed feelings. "It seems like he really did find a means to hold back your elder sister for an entire month until our arrival. Just like in the past, he'd always been reliable. In fact, what couldn't he do and know?"
Arturia nodded, a small smile playing on her lips before she frowned. "Why do you think he made a sword that big?"
Emily didn't respond for a moment, but in the end, she sighed while blatantly revealing her envy and jealous bitterness. "Because he chose you and his family over the kingdom."
Somewhat flustered at the words, Arturia looked at Emily, but Emily merely continued.
"Don't you understand? Your sister's ambitions lie with Camelot. From what I can sense, that construct hanging over the kingdom is packed with enough energy to destroy everything at its descent. He's mad. If that thing falls, it's all over and both he and Morgan know it. It would kill everyone and the very foundation of Britain's power against the Saxons. It's no wonder why Shirou was able to delay Morgan. If Morgan did anything that crossed Shirou's bottom line…like harming your children, then everything would be over."
Arturia immediately realized the implications, hope blooming past all logic as maternal instinct tossed aside all reason that Shirou would have killed thousands with his actions. "B-But the sword hasn't dropped-?!"
"Calm yourself you goof. There's no need to rush now," Emily's mood visibly improved before she chastised her friend. "Don't get ahead of yourself. This doesn't change anything since Morgan likely still has the twins and Mordred."
It was like a bucket of cold water was doused over Arturia's features. She gritted her teeth and gripped tightly onto her reins. "She won't hurt them. She won't. I won't let her. If so much as a hair is cut from their heads…"
"You don't look very threatening when you look like you want to cry from just imagery," Emily chided. Still, a chance at rescue was better than nothing.
"Oh, shut up," Arturia wiped at her eyes, and hurriedly led the group to the hills of Camlann.
Sure enough, any army had stationed itself there, bowing in Arturia's direction at her approach. Opposite to them was an equally large army that Morgan had long since stationed in place.
"We answer the Queen's summons!" A chorus of shouts echoed at Arturia's approach.
Palamid was there with his border Knights, and so was the Son of Wolfred.
Arturia directed Llamrei to trot over, and soon, she, Emily, Palamid, and the Son of Wolfred gave their greetings, all old friends that shared Bristol as their hometown. The only one missing was Shirou.
These three excluding Shirou were friends Arturia likely would never have made if Shirou didn't manage to influence her in her childhood.
It was just another thing that she was grateful for.
"We've heard of what's happening," Palamid took the initiative to say. "To think rebellion would be upon us at the eve of peace with this war with the Saxons."
"I'll organize the troops to ready for an attack now that you're here. You must be worried for the prince and princess," the Son of Wolfred nodded before shouting out orders.
With everyone of the same mind, it didn't take long to rally the troops almost five-thousand strong into tight-knit formation, spears in the front, archers in the back, and mounted Knights on the flanks.
Arturia was gratified.
Shields were raised, swords were unsheathed, and the horns billowed their assent. The Knights pronounced their oaths, the loyal remained steadfast, and the members of the Round table took their stations.
They looked to Arturia, their leader, for guidance and direction as the Queen in place of the King.
She flicked her reins, prompting Llamrei to trot at the front of the army where all could see her.
"Rebellion has taken over the courts of our Kingdom! The inner sanctum of our castle infiltrated by those with filled only with treachery! My sister wishes to usurp the throne, and she must be stopped, but more than that, I have but a humble request." Arturia's figure exuded a blue aura of unbridled energy as her magic core roared to life. "I stand before you today not only as your Queen, but as a mother to a son and daughter, and a wife to a maligned husband. I want to save them, my family. I've never asked for anything before of any of you but to put your faith in me, and now I ask you all this once to please aid me!"
"Sound the horns!" Palamid roared. "Emily, to the left flank under the banner of House Barthomeloi!"
"Forth! And keep the line! Shatter the gates to pave the way forward before the enemy magi are all on you!"
"On it," Emily wasted no time moving while the son of Wolfred took to the right flank.
"For the Queen!" The men thumped their shields, the Knights putting down their visors and readying their lances. "Death to the witch! Death to the traitors!"
Arturia swallowed down the lump in her throat and hardened her resolve. "Llamrei," she called out.
Llamrei neighed and shot up into a gallop.
"Charge!" The order was given.
Wind whipped Arturia's hair back as Llamrei galloped forward. Squinting her eyes to focus ahead of her, she quickly noticed when the figure of a single man stepped out from Morgan's army on his own.
It was like someone had punched her in the gut, her momentum slowing much to the shock of those that road behind her.
I-It couldn't be. W-What was he doing there?
Her expression fell. Something felt off, she slowed Llamrei's speed even further and sent a signal to stop the charge.
Ahead of her, the figure that had walked out made no move upon seeing Arturia call for a stop.
Instead, the figure was scowling deeply.
This wasn't right. None of this was right.
History was different. The events that should have transpired as they should have, no longer aligned. As a Counter Guardian, the reason for his summons couldn't have been anymore clear, but worst of all, the construct over Camelot clued the figure in as to who was responsible for everything.
He'd pieced evidence together bit by bit, and the expression on Arturia's face all but cemented everything.
"Shirou?" Arturia unmounted her horse and quickly walked towards him utterly defenseless.
Yes. That name said it all, and it also explained the reason for the lengths one man had gone to attain the happiness of the woman before him. The figure could understand and relate on a fundamental level, which was why this was all the harder.
Because no matter how justified her happiness may be, it didn't change the fact that it was wrong.
Grudgingly, Archer raised his bow, his features lacking any warmth as shock and disbelief clouded Arturia's features.
Forgive me.
To save the many, he knew what had to be done.
I must stop you here.
AUTORENGEDANKEN 
Parcasious
Parcasious P a treon. com (slash) Parcasious
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