The vibrant hues of autumn settled over Excalibur Castle and the bustling city of Caerleon, painting the landscape in rich ambers and fiery reds. Leaves drifted lazily to the ground, carpeting the paths with a golden blanket. The air carried a biting chill, heralding the approach of winter, while daylight dwindled with each passing day. The earthy scent of fallen leaves mingled with the crispness of the wind, which rippled across the glassy surface of Cardigan Lake, adding an air of quiet introspection to the season.
Within the castle walls, life carried on as usual for Godric, Salazar, Helga, and Rowena. Days were marked by the rustling of parchment, the sharp scratch of quills, and the metallic tang of ink as they tackled their lessons with varying degrees of fervor and frustration. Today found them seated in History of Magic—a class that Godric, in particular, had grown weary of. The endless tales of rebellions, uprisings, and civil wars had begun to blend together in his mind, all circling around one recurring theme: freedom.
At the front of the classroom stood a petite figure, a halfling with a scholarly air. Professor Lotho Sackville-Baggins was Excalibur's foremost authority on magical history. His wavy brown hair, tinged with the hues of fall, framed a face marked by keen green eyes that seemed to take in everything. Dressed in a crisp white shirt, a neatly buttoned brown vest, and matching slacks, he lectured with animated passion about Avalon's origins and its tumultuous history.
Helga leaned over toward Rowena as she let out a theatrical sigh. "If I have to spend another second in here," she whispered dramatically, "I'll transfigure myself into a pumpkin and bake myself into a pie." She sighed again, this time with a dreamy lilt. "Mmm… pie."
Rowena gave her a sharp look, her sapphire blue eyes narrowing. "Helga, shush," she hissed. "This is fascinating if you'd just pay attention. And don't forget—exams are right around the corner."
Helga groaned softly, slumping back into her chair.
Godric, however, was barely present in the conversation. He stared ahead, unfocused, as his thoughts wandered. His mind drifted to Raine and the unsettling truths about freedom—or the lack thereof—that plagued Avalon's history. The lectures on goblin rebellions, therianthrope uprisings, and orcish wars only underscored his growing unease. How could anyone look at another living, sentient being and decide they were no more than property, stripped of their rights on a whim? The thought gnawed at him.
"Mister Gryffindor!" a sharp voice broke through his reverie, jolting him upright. Professor Lotho stood at the front of the class, leaning casually against his desk with an arched brow. "Are you paying attention, or is there somewhere else you'd rather be?"
Godric's head snapped to attention, his face flushing slightly. "No! I mean, aye, Professor!" he stammered. "I apologize. Please… kindly continue."
Professor Lotho adjusted his perfectly straight tie, pacing methodically in front of the class. "Now," he began, his voice carrying an air of expectation, "who here can tell me about the Dark Lord Sarkon?" His sharp gaze landed on Rowena, whose hand shot into the air with practiced precision. "Miss Ravenclaw?"
Rowena sat up straighter, her tone steady and confident. "Sarkon, once known as the Witch King, Larian the Just," she began, her words measured. "He was a revered figure who became consumed by greed and a lust for power. Using magic, he enslaved all of Avalon and declared himself the Dark Lord."
Godric, pausing mid-note, looked up with a faint smile. "And then the Five Heroes rose up and united the five races of Avalon against him," he added, reciting his favorite part of the tale.
"Correct," Professor Lotho acknowledged with a nod, though his attention momentarily shifted to a smudge on his desk. He quickly wiped it away, muttering something about "unsightly distractions" before continuing. "But before the rebellion, the Dark Lord ruled for nearly a century, ushering in an age of misery and despair known as The Calamity."
"Ugh," Salazar groaned, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded. He muttered under his breath, "By the sweet, merciful Gods, why did I choose this class again?"
"Psst! Salazar!" Helga whispered, a mischievous grin spreading across her face as she pulled out a small sack. "Want a Giggle Gumdrop? Guaranteed to make even this lecture bearable!"
Salazar eyed the sack warily. "Last time I took candy from you, I ended up speaking in limericks for a week. No thanks."
"Miss Hufflepuff, Mister Slytherin!" Professor Lotho's voice sliced through their banter like a razor. His narrowed eyes bore down on them. "Is there something you'd like to share with the class?"
"Oh, no, Professor!" Helga chirped, quickly stashing the candy and flashing an innocent smile. "We were just discussing how absolutely riveting your lecture is." She elbowed Salazar in the ribs. "Right?"
Salazar rolled his eyes but managed a sardonic smirk. "Oh yes, positively spellbinding. I'm absolutely quaking in my seat."
Godric stifled a laugh, leaning closer to Salazar. "Hey, at least we're not on another Goblin rebellion lesson," he quipped with a shrug. "Seriously."
"You're all impossible," Rowena muttered, shaking her head, though a faint smile betrayed her amusement. "Now hush, before we lose house points."
Professor Lotho's gaze zeroed in on Salazar, his expression one of mild annoyance. "Well, since Mister Slytherin is so deeply enthralled," he said dryly, "perhaps he would care to enlighten us on exactly how the Dark Lord Sarkon was defeated?"
Salazar's eyes widened, panic flashing across his face as he scrambled for an answer. "Well… you see… the Dark Lord was…" He hesitated, his usually quick wit failing him. "Um… there was… er…"
****
Rowena raised her hand, her calm and collected demeanor breaking the growing tension. "Professor, if I may?" she asked. "The defeat of the Dark Lord Sarkon is intrinsically linked to the Five Heroes. Perhaps we should discuss them first?"
Professor Lotho's expression brightened immediately. "What an excellent suggestion, Miss Ravenclaw!" he exclaimed. "Please, continue."
Rowena straightened her posture. "The Five Heroes of Avalon were a truly diverse group," she began. "First, there was Gil-Galad, the elven prince of Lothlórien, renowned for his wit, wisdom, and unmatched skill with a bow. It's said he could hit a target with pinpoint accuracy from thousands of yards away."
"Oh! And Aura Stormbreaker!" Helga chimed in, practically bouncing in her seat with excitement. "The legendary dwarven blacksmith from the Iron Hills! I read somewhere that she once beat a dragon into submission with nothing but her bare hands!"
Godric's expression grew determined as he joined in. "And let's not forget Broughston Ashorc, the orc warrior monk. As Warchief, he united the scattered orc tribes of Vol'dunin and forged peace with the kingdoms of man."
Salazar folded his arms, his smirk returning. "Don't overlook Shin Hati, chief and champion of the Frost Wolf Clan from beyond the Howling Mountains." He leaned back slightly, his tone laced with amusement. "Quite the motley crew, wouldn't you say?"
Rowena nodded, continuing with the same poise. "And lastly, there was Uther Pendragon—a mere ranger at the time. An orphan who would one day be king. According to the history books, he began the rebellion after Sarkon's forces slaughtered his town."
Salazar turned to Godric, his smirk widening into a cheeky grin. "A simple lad with a hero complex, leading a rebellion against impossible odds. Remind you of anyone?"
Godric rolled his crimson eyes, brushing off the jab. "Oh, shove off, Salazar." Turning back to Professor Lotho, he raised a hand. "Professor, I seem to recall that Uther wielded a sword—something about it being a weapon of immense power?"
"Ah, yes! Caliburn!" Professor Lotho clasped his hands together, his green eyes sparkling with excitement. "Legend has it that Uther freed the sword from a runed stone deep within the shadows of the Mirkwood. It is said to have been forged by the Old Gods themselves."
As Professor Lotho spoke, a cold, gentle breeze drifted through the classroom, carrying with it the faint, nostalgic scent of autumn leaves. The class fell silent for a moment, as though the weight of the tale hung palpably in the air.
"Imagine uniting all those different races," Helga mused, resting her chin on her hand. "Must've been harder than getting Salazar here to share his potion class notes."
Salazar shot her a glare. "I'll have you know I'm perfectly capable of sharing… when the mood strikes."
Rowena shook her head, suppressing a smile. "Despite their differences, the Five Heroes succeeded in uniting all of Avalon against Sarkon," she said, tapping her quill thoughtfully against her parchment. "An army known as The Last Alliance. Truly remarkable."
Godric's eyes gleamed with admiration. "Unity in the face of true evil. That's what true strength is about, isn't it?"
"Excellent observations, all of you!" Professor Lotho beamed, clearly pleased with the discussion. His gaze drifted to a stray piece of chalk, and he absently aligned it with the others before continuing. "Now then, let us delve into the final battle against Sarkon, shall we?"
The room fell silent again, anticipation thick in the air as the students leaned forward, eager to hear the conclusion of the tale.
****
Rowena continued. "Led by the Five Heroes, the Last Alliance marched against Sarkon's forces, besieging the dark fortress of Nevermore, where the Dark Lord ruled from his Infernal Throne."
The classroom fell into an almost reverent silence, students leaning forward in their seats. The faint scratching of quills against parchment was the only sound as Rowena's words painted vivid images in their minds.
"On the blackened slopes of Shadowfell, they fought for seven days and seven nights for the freedom of Avalon," she continued, her tone softening. "A clash so fierce it would come to be known as the Battle of the Five Armies. Thousands fought; thousands more perished."
Helga bit her bottom lip, her wide eyes reflecting the weight of Rowena's tale. "All those people, all those lives lost," she whispered. "I can't imagine being there… watching your friends die one by one. It must have been terrifying."
"Si vis pacem, parabellum," Salazar said, leaning back in his chair. His emerald eyes gleamed with a sharp edge. "If you want peace, prepare for war. It may not be ideal, but it's often necessary."
"Necessary, perhaps," Godric interjected, his hand unconsciously curling into a fist. "But that doesn't make it any less tragic."
Rowena nodded solemnly and pressed on. "The Five Heroes fought valiantly against Sarkon's infernal army, and for a moment, victory seemed within reach." She paused, her voice lowering as tension thickened in the room. "But the Dark Lord's power was immense, and the heroes were ultimately defeated."
The air in the classroom felt heavier, the weight of the story palpable.
Rowena leaned forward, her tone growing more intense. "As the Five Heroes lay at Sarkon's feet, hope seemingly extinguished, Uther—his body broken, his spirit unyielding—grasped the shattered remains of his sword, Caliburn."
Her words carried the weight of history and triumph. "With his last ounce of strength, Uther rose and drove the broken blade into Sarkon's heart, shattering the Dark Lord's power and ending his reign of terror."
A hush followed as her tale hung in the air.
Helga broke the silence with a cheer. "That's always my favorite part!"
"An excellent recounting, Miss Ravenclaw," Professor Lotho said, nodding with approval as he adjusted a neatly aligned quill on his desk. "However, while the battle ended with Sarkon's death, the war itself was far from over."
Salazar raised an intrigued eyebrow. "Oh? Do enlighten us, Professor."
Professor Lotho clasped his hands behind his back, his tone turning thoughtful. "Even with Sarkon vanquished, the lands he had conquered remained under the shadow of his influence. It took years, decades even, to free those lands. Slowly, but surely, peace returned to Avalon."
Godric stroked his chin thoughtfully. "A century of darkness wouldn't just simply vanish overnight," he said. "Evil like that leaves deep scars."
"Precisely, Mister Gryffindor," Professor Lotho said, his gaze distant as though recalling the long-gone era. "It would be a lifetime before the Five Heroes reunited. When they did, it was as allies, sovereigns, and above all… as friends."
Helga's face lit up with excitement. "Oh, I bet that was some reunion! Can you imagine the stories they'd have shared? I'm sure Aura threw a feast that would put every banquet in Avalon to shame!"
The class erupted into light laughter at Helga's enthusiasm, the tension of the tale giving way to camaraderie, though the echoes of history lingered in the air.
****
Rowena tapped her quill thoughtfully against her chin. "I wonder how their years apart shaped them," she mused. "The weight of leadership, the scars of war… they must have been completely different people by the time they reunited."
"An astute observation, Miss Ravenclaw," Professor Lotho replied, folding his arms and nodding approvingly. "However, that is a tale for another day. For now, your excellent participation earns ten points for each of your respective houses."
A cacophony of cheers, groans, and scoffs rippled through the room, filling the oaken walls with the sounds of both triumph and mild jealousy.
Professor Lotho raised his voice slightly to be heard over the noise. "And," he added, "I expect a detailed report on today's subject on my desk by next week."
"Aww, come on!" Helga slumped in her seat; her face etched with mock despair. "Can't we just have a feast instead? Imagine it—roaring fires, fresh butterbeer, meat fresh off the bone…" She licked her lips dramatically. "Oh, I'm salivating just thinking about it!"
Amid the laughter that followed, Godric unexpectedly raised his hand, surprising even his friends. "Professor?" he said, drawing the halfling's attention. "If I may ask… what became of Uther's legendary sword, Caliburn?"
Professor Lotho's eyes lit up with delight. "An excellent question, Mister Gryffindor!" he exclaimed, pacing slowly as he spoke. "The fate of Caliburn remains one of history's most tantalizing mysteries. You see, it vanished in the aftermath of the Battle of the Five Armies."
The room fell silent once more, the students captivated by this new enigma. Even Rowena leaned forward, her quill hovering over her parchment.
The professor gestured animatedly, his words resonating with passion. "Interestingly, Gil-Galad and Aura crafted a new sword for Uther, one he aptly named Clarent, The Sword of Peace." His tone softened. "It remains with the Pendragon Royal Family to this very day."
"Wow!" Helga's eyes sparkled. "A real piece of history, right under our noses! Imagine touching it!"
"As for Caliburn…" Professor Lotho's voice lowered, drawing the class further into his narrative. "Theories abound. Some say the Old Gods reclaimed it, deeming its purpose fulfilled. Others believe it returned to the runed stone from whence it came."
Salazar's eyes flickered over to Godric's sword; his expression momentarily unreadable. "Or," he muttered under his breath, "it might be right here in this very room."
"Hhm?" Godric turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "Did you say something, Salazar?"
Salazar shrugged with feigned nonchalance; his smirk ever-present. "Oh, nothing, my dear friend. Just pondering the fascinating mysteries of history."
Rowena narrowed her eyes at him, suspicion flickering in her gaze. "A little cryptic, aren't we, Salazar?" she said, her tone pointed.
Helga giggled, elbowing Rowena lightly. "Oh, come on, Ro. He's always like this. If he didn't have an air of mystery, would he even be Salazar?"
Godric chuckled, shaking his head at his friends' antics, though his mind lingered on the thought of Caliburn, a lost relic of legend.