The youth... no, the girl.
Golden strands of hair brushed gently across her forehead in the breeze, forming a clean arc in the air. Her emerald eyes, beautiful like the still surface of a deep lake, held a determination and seriousness unimaginable for someone her age.
This was a turning point—of the girl's fate, her identity, and this island's future.
From the very beginning, the girl had understood her mission. Fifteen years of education had instilled in her a singular truth: she must bear the burden of this nation. Even though she could not foresee the final outcome of this journey, she was fully aware of the weight she carried. And despite everything... she now stood, unwavering, before the sword that chose kings.
Artoria had been taught from the start: You are the King of Britain. You must lead this country out of darkness. Drive every invader from this land. Remember—beyond the sea lie our enemies.
She stepped forward until she stood directly in front of the sword. As she looked at the blade before her, a hint of confusion flickered in her eyes—Was this sword always so magnificent?
But it didn't matter.
Taking a deep breath, Artoria laid her hand upon the sacred sword. At that moment, the scent of flowers wafted through the air, and the chapel before her vanished. In its place stretched a vast, wind-swept field. The breeze rustled the grass, the scent of greenery filling her nose and easing her tension just a little.
Before her appeared three shadows.
She looked up.
The one standing in the center wore white robes that hid his figure and obscured his face. Beside this magus stood a youth who bore a striking resemblance to her. Yet his presence felt somehow... foreign to this world. His pale blue eyes seemed capable of embracing all things, yet also indifferent to them. Behind him stood a black dragon, silently keeping watch. One of its arms shimmered faintly with auroral light.
Before her stood none other than Merlin and Aslan. The dragon, of course, was Melusine.
Perhaps because this was a mental world disconnected from reality, Merlin was free to alter his appearance at will. Aslan, however, had not taken the time to disguise himself, and Melusine appeared exactly as she truly was. Between Aslan and Melusine glimmered a faint silver chain—evidence of the contract binding them.
Aslan cast a glance at Merlin, who stood before him. You said you'd just be watching… yet here you are, standing in front of her.
Even Merlin himself wasn't sure why he had chosen to manifest his form. What exactly was this feeling stirring within him? He couldn't say. He knew clearly the weight of the girl's mission, and yet—he wanted to give her a single moment, a single chance, to regret.
Especially after he saw Aslan draw that sacred sword, the strange emotion within him only grew stronger.
But who was Merlin? A nightmare who understood nothing of the human heart. A magus who operated in accordance with prophecy. Even this peculiar emotion was quickly cast aside by him. Still, since he had already appeared, he couldn't just stay silent.
"Before you take up that sword, think carefully," he said. "Once you grasp it, you will no longer be human. Humanity will despise you. And in the end, you'll meet a tragic death."
Artoria understood very well: once she drew the Sword in the Stone, she would no longer be the girl who studied and trained so hard to become king. She would become a real king—one who would stain her blade with blood to protect her people. Even if she were abandoned, betrayed, and reviled, she would have no road of return.
There was no hesitation.
As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Artoria drew the Sword in the Stone.
Merlin didn't know that it was precisely his own teachings that had shaped this girl's belief: The harsher the king's life, the happier the people. In simple terms, Artoria's ideal of kingship was that the king must sacrifice everything for the people.
She also held firmly to her mission—to bring peace to Britain, to drive all enemies from this land. She believed with unshakable conviction that if she did this, the people would be happy. That doing this was right.
One couldn't say Artoria was wrong. But she clung too tightly to this belief, which made her rigid. Her tragedy wasn't merely a matter of fate—her own ideals and personality were inevitably part of it too.
Still, it ultimately stemmed from the flawed education given by the nightmare who knew nothing of the human heart.
The sacred sword shimmered in Artoria's hand. At the same time, she sensed a strange connection between the sword and the golden-haired youth standing beside the magus. It was as if this sword felt closer to him. A curious feeling—as though her once-lonely self had finally found someone who could walk the same path.
As long as there's still a trace of humanity in one's heart... no one truly enjoys walking alone.
"May I ask... who are you?" Artoria couldn't help but ask the boy.
Aslan's lips curved slightly as he looked at her. He didn't know what was going through her mind—he simply assumed she was curious because he stood beside Merlin.
"I'm someone who may be involved in your destiny... or who may never cross your path again. If fate allows us to meet again, I'll tell you who I am then."
Merlin hadn't expected that his sudden appearance—driven by some inexplicable emotion—would pull both Aslan and Melusine into this mental space. He never imagined that Artoria and Aslan would meet like this. What kind of change would this variable bring to the weavings of fate?
And judging by appearances, the Golden Sword of Assured Victory seemed to have its own thoughts about Aslan.
Raising his staff, Merlin prepared to dissolve the illusion and end this unexpected first encounter.
"Artoria," he said, "your theoretical education as king is complete. Now that you've drawn the Sword in the Stone, you are a true knight. Go inform Sir Ector—I'll come to fetch you soon.
From here on, you will travel with me across Britain. You'll see this nation with your own eyes. You'll feel its pain, witness its present, and imagine its future."
With the wave of his staff, the vision vanished. In the chapel, only the girl remained, holding the golden sword. The three figures were gone.