The corridors of Camelot stretched long and silent, the echoes of Arthur's boots reverberating against the stone walls. Outside, the city burned. The distant roars of the shadow dragon and the anguished cries of his people reached him like ghosts, muted and haunting. His steps faltered for a moment, the weight of his armor and guilt pressing down on him. He closed his eyes, steadying himself.
Duty or love? Which comes first?
When he opened the door, the sight of Sylva lying unconscious cut through him. Merlin stood at her side, his staff leaning against the wall. His usually sharp expression had softened, lines of exhaustion carved into his face. Lancelot stood near the window, his hand resting on his sword hilt, a quiet sentinel.
"She's stable," Merlin said gently, stepping aside as Arthur entered. "Exhausted, but unharmed."
Arthur's gaze fell on his daughter. Her golden hair was tangled, her pale face framed by streaks of dirt. She looked so small, so fragile—a child burdened with powers she couldn't control. He knelt beside her, brushing a strand of hair from her face. For a moment, he saw her as she had been years ago, laughing as she played by her mother's side.
"She's so small," Arthur murmured, his voice barely audible.
"She's your daughter," Merlin said, his tone measured. "And you've done all you can to protect her."
Arthur's jaw tightened. "Protect her? By locking her away? By leaving her to face monsters while I—"
"—while you saved her," Lancelot interrupted, his voice calm but firm. "She's alive because of you. And now, you must take her home."
Arthur's eyes flicked to Lancelot, his expression conflicted. "The dragon is still out there. The people need me. The knights need me."
"They need to see their king as a man who loves his daughter," Merlin said. He stepped forward, his gaze steady. "You trained your knights to handle any challenge. Let them prove they are worthy of the Round Table."
Arthur hesitated, his hand brushing against Sylva's small, limp fingers. "This isn't what a king should do."
Merlin placed a hand on his shoulder. "No, but it is what a father should do."
The words struck a deep chord, breaking through the fortress of duty Arthur had built around himself. He leaned down and carefully scooped Sylva into his arms. She stirred slightly, murmuring something inaudible, her head resting against his chest.
"I'll take her home," Arthur said, his voice quiet but resolute.
Merlin and Lancelot exchanged a glance, both nodding in silent agreement. Arthur walked to the door, his steps lighter now, though the burden in his heart remained. Behind him, the war against the dragon raged on.
The streets of Camelot were chaos. The shadow dragon loomed above, its massive wings casting darkness over the city. Tendrils of shadow lashed out, tearing through stone and timber, reducing buildings to rubble. The cries of the people rang out, desperate and terrified.
"Hold the line!" Lancelot commanded, his voice cutting through the cacophony. "Keep it away from the castle!"
Gawain charged toward the dragon's flank, his green sash shimmering faintly in the firelight. His enchanted sword cleaved through the beast's writhing shadows, each strike cutting cleanly. Beside him, Bedivere moved in perfect tandem, his shield glowing with protective magic as he deflected the dragon's strikes.
Kay hurled a spear wreathed in flames, the weapon embedding itself in the dragon's chest. The beast roared in pain, its form momentarily destabilizing before it reformed, the shadows weaving back into place.
"It's too strong!" one knight shouted. "We can't hold it!"
"We must!" Gawain snapped, his voice unwavering. "For Camelot!"
Mordred stood back, observing the chaos with sharp, calculating eyes. His hand rested on Caliburn's hilt, the once-pristine blade now faintly darkened from the dragon's taint. He waited, his posture calm even as the knights fought desperately around him.
"Enough," Mordred said, his voice carrying above the noise. He stepped forward, drawing Caliburn. "I will end this."
The knights parted for him, their expressions a mix of exhaustion and hope. Mordred approached the dragon with steady strides, the blade gleaming faintly in the firelight. The creature turned its crimson gaze on him, its tendrils lashing out. Mordred sidestepped effortlessly, his movements precise and deliberate.
With a single, powerful stroke, Mordred drove Caliburn into the dragon's chest. The beast let out a final, piercing roar, its shadowy form writhing violently before dissolving into the night. The echoes of its death lingered in the air, the city falling eerily silent.
The knights erupted into cheers, rallying around Mordred as the remnants of the beast vanished. Gawain clapped him on the back, his voice filled with admiration. "You did it, Mordred! You saved the city!"
"Yes," Mordred said, his tone humble but his smirk faint. "For Camelot."
Yet, in his heart, he knew the truth. The chaos had served its purpose. The knights' loyalty was shifting, their trust in Arthur beginning to falter. Mordred's plan was taking root.
Amidst the rubble, Merlin moved swiftly, his staff glowing faintly as he repaired the damage. Stone walls reformed under his magic, shattered beams flew back into place, and the cries of the injured were silenced with his gentle touch. But no magic could undo the loss of life. For every building he saved, there were lives he could not.
A mother approached him, her child clutching her skirts. "Thank you, Merlin," she said, her voice trembling. "You saved us."
Merlin nodded, his face lined with exhaustion. "Do not thank me. Thank the knights who fought for you."
As he continued, his sharp eyes caught sight of a boy trapped beneath a pile of rubble. The child's small frame was streaked with dirt, his arms bloodied from digging through debris. Merlin paused, raising his staff. With a soft glow, the rubble lifted away, revealing the boy beneath.
The boy coughed, blinking up at him with wide, bright eyes. "I... I thought I was going to die."
"You didn't," Merlin said, crouching beside him. "And you saved others."
The boy shook his head. "I wasn't brave. I just couldn't leave them."
Merlin studied him for a long moment, his gaze softening. "What is your name, boy?"
"Aodhán," the boy said, his voice steady despite his exhaustion.
Merlin smiled faintly. "Aodhán. You have a heart worth more than all the gold in Camelot. This kingdom needs people like you."
The boy blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"
Merlin rose, offering his hand. "It means your future begins now. From this day forward, you are a squire of Camelot."
Aodhán stared at him, stunned. "A squire? But I'm just—"
"You're more than you think," Merlin said with a small smile. "Come. There is work to be done."
Back in the castle, Arthur laid Sylva gently on her bed. The room was warm, the faint glow of candles casting soft light across her face. She stirred slightly, murmuring something he couldn't hear. For a moment, Arthur allowed himself to breathe, to let the chaos of the world fade away.
He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his hand trembling. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "For everything."
The door creaked open, and Merlin entered quietly, his robes dusty and his expression heavy. "The dragon is gone," he said softly. "The knights handled it."
Arthur didn't look up. "And the people?"
Merlin hesitated. "We saved as many as we could."
Arthur's shoulders slumped, his hand resting on Sylva's. "Do they blame me?"
Merlin's silence spoke volumes.
Arthur closed his eyes, his jaw tightening. "Then it begins."