Six years had passed since Sylva's birth, and though Camelot flourished on the surface, Arthur's unease had grown like a shadow over the castle. Sylva remained hidden in the eastern tower, known only to a select few. Despite her confinement, her curiosity and magic had begun to bloom in unexpected ways, unnoticed even by her father.
The knights of the Round Table, unaware of her existence, prepared for a hunt on a crisp autumn morning. Among them was Sir Gawain, easily recognized by his emerald-green sash, a gift he wore with pride. Gawain's laughter rang out as he joked with his comrades, though his thoughts lingered on a peculiar encounter he had never shared with the king.
Months earlier, during a rare quiet day in Camelot, Gawain had wandered near the eastern tower. He had been restless, his usual confidence shaken after an unsuccessful campaign. As he leaned against the cold stone wall, he heard a soft voice from above.
"You look sad."
Startled, Gawain looked up to see a young girl peering at him from a narrow window. Her golden hair shimmered in the sunlight, and her green eyes seemed to glow faintly. She couldn't have been more than six years old, yet her voice carried an unusual calmness.
"I suppose I am," Gawain admitted, unsure why he was even answering. "And who might you be?"
The girl tilted her head, her expression curious but cautious. "I'm not supposed to say. But you shouldn't worry so much."
Gawain chuckled despite himself. "And why shouldn't I?"
"Because you'll be okay," the girl said simply. Her small hand reached through the bars of the window, her fingers brushing the emerald sash tied at his waist. "This will protect you."
Before Gawain could respond, the sound of footsteps approached, and the girl vanished from the window. Merlin appeared moments later, his expression stern.
"Sir Gawain," Merlin said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "This is not a place for knights to linger."
Gawain held up his hands in mock surrender. "I meant no harm, old wizard. Just wandering."
Merlin's sharp eyes lingered on him for a moment before he gestured for Gawain to leave. The knight departed, but the encounter stayed with him. Since that day, he had felt an unusual sense of confidence when wearing the sash, as if the child's touch had imbued it with something more.
Now, standing in the courtyard with the other knights, Gawain adjusted his sash and prepared for the hunt. As they gathered their weapons and supplies, he noticed King Arthur watching from the balcony above, Excalibur gleaming at his side. Arthur's gaze was steady, but Gawain couldn't help but feel the king's attention was sharper than usual.
The knights returned victorious that evening, their spoils a testament to their prowess. Over the feast that followed, Gawain finally shared the tale of his enchanted scarf.
"It's the strangest thing, my king," Gawain said, raising his goblet. "I've worn this sash every day since it was gifted to me, and I swear it protects me."
Arthur's interest piqued. "Protects you, Sir Gawain? In what way?"
Gawain leaned forward, lowering his voice. "There was a time, not long ago, when I felt lost—doubting myself. I wandered near the eastern tower, and there I met a child. She touched this sash and told me I'd be okay. Since then, I've faced dangers no knight should survive. And yet, here I am."
The room grew quiet, the other knights exchanging curious glances. Arthur's jaw tightened, his eyes flicking briefly to Merlin, who sat silently at the edge of the room.
"Do you believe it's magic?" Arthur asked, his tone neutral.
Gawain hesitated, then nodded. "I do, my king. There's no other explanation."
Arthur dismissed the knights after the feast but remained seated long after the hall had emptied. When he finally rose, he motioned for Merlin to follow him.
"Do you think it's possible?" Arthur asked as they walked through the darkened halls of the castle. "That she could have enchanted the sash?"
Merlin's expression was guarded. "The girl is… unique. Her connection to the seed may allow her to influence the world in ways we cannot fully understand."
Arthur stopped, turning to face him. "You speak as if this was inevitable."
Merlin sighed. "You swallowed the essence of the Heart Tree, Arthur. It now lives within her. Her magic is not something she controls—it is simply a part of her."
Arthur's grip on Excalibur tightened. "Then we must understand it. If she can do this to a single item, what else is she capable of?"
Merlin's brow furrowed. "You would use her gifts?"
"I would protect Camelot," Arthur said firmly. "If her magic can aid the Round Table, then it is her duty to serve."
Merlin hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. "Very well. But understand this, Arthur: her magic is not like ours. It is tied to something far older, far deeper. If we misuse it, we risk consequences we cannot foresee."
Arthur said nothing, his gaze fixed ahead. "Tomorrow, we will test this. Gather some artifacts—anything the knights might carry. Let us see what the girl can do."
The next morning, Merlin brought Sylva down from the tower under the guise of a lesson. She followed him eagerly, her golden hair bouncing as she skipped along the halls.
"Where are we going, Merlin?" she asked, her voice bright.
"To learn," he said cryptically. "There are some things we must test."
They arrived in a small chamber where Arthur waited with a table of items: a shield, a sword, a golden goblet, and a simple necklace. Sylva hesitated at the sight of her father, her excitement dimming.
"Come, child," Arthur said, his tone surprisingly gentle. "Show me what you can do."
Sylva looked to Merlin, who nodded encouragingly. Slowly, she approached the table, her small hands hovering over the items.
"What should I do?" she asked.
"Touch them," Merlin said. "Focus on what you feel."
Sylva closed her eyes and placed her hand on the shield. A faint glow emanated from her palm, spreading over the surface of the metal. When she lifted her hand, the glow remained, faint but steady.
"It feels… stronger," she said, tilting her head. "Like it can protect someone."
Arthur's eyes narrowed. "And the others?"
Sylva repeated the process, her magic imbuing each item with a subtle, unexplainable energy. When she finished, she looked up at her father, her expression hopeful.
"Did I do well?" she asked.
Arthur studied her for a long moment before nodding. "You did."
Later, as Arthur and Merlin walked through the castle, the king seemed deep in thought. Finally, Merlin broke the silence.
"You saw what she can do," Merlin said. "Do you still wish to use her magic for the knights?"
Arthur didn't answer immediately. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. "Tell me, Merlin. The Norse believed the Heart Tree gave them power—the gods themselves. Could it be true? Did their strength come from the tree?"
Merlin hesitated. "It is possible. The tree was a bridge, connecting this world to something greater. Its power was… boundless."
Arthur's expression darkened. "Then we must ensure Camelot has its own bridge. The girl—Sylva—she must be trained."
Merlin's heart sank. He saw the resolve in Arthur's eyes, the same resolve that had driven him to swallow the seed. Sylva's life was no longer her own, and the king was determined to see his vision through.