Bandruí stood alone in the forest outside Camelot, the cool night air filled with the soft hum of her fae guardians. She clutched a small memento—a tattered map etched with glowing symbols, the only piece of her father that remained.
"Why did you have to leave?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Why did it have to be you?"
Her fae flitted around her, their tiny lights flickering as though in response. But their presence brought little comfort.
In the days since Christopher's sacrifice, Bandruí had thrown herself into her duties, mediating disputes between humans and New-Inphel, helping to rebuild villages, and reinforcing Camelot's defences. Yet, no matter how busy she kept, the weight of her grief lingered.
Arthur approached her one evening as she worked late in Camelot's war room, poring over maps and reports.
"You're carrying too much," he said, his tone gentle but firm.
Bandruí didn't look up. "Someone has to. The world didn't stop because he..." Her voice faltered, and she clenched her fists. "Because he's gone."
Arthur placed a hand on her shoulder. "Christopher gave us everything so we could have this chance. But he wouldn't want you to lose yourself in the process."
She finally met his gaze, her emerald eyes glistening. "I don't know how to be what he was. I don't even know where to start."
"You don't have to be him," Arthur said. "You just have to be you."
One night, while meditating by the lakes where the New-Inphel thrived, Bandruí felt a strange pull—a faint, melodic whisper carried on the wind. Her fae guardians stirred, their lights dancing erratically as though urging her to follow.
She rose, her feet moving instinctively as she ventured deeper into the forest. The trees grew denser, their branches intertwining to form a canopy that blotted out the moonlight.
The whispers grew louder, guiding her to a circle of ancient standing stones overgrown with moss. At the centre, faint wisps of light coalesced, forming ethereal shapes.
Bandruí knelt, her breath catching as the spirits of ancient druids emerged, their forms shimmering with an otherworldly glow.
"Child of the Shaman," one spirit intoned, its voice resonating like a chorus. "You carry his legacy, but it is your path to forge."
Bandruí's voice trembled. "I don't know if I'm strong enough. He was... everything."
The spirits encircled her, their presence both soothing and commanding. "Strength does not come from what was lost, but from what remains. Your father's power was not his alone. It lives within you."
She closed her eyes, her fae guardians weaving around her like a protective halo. "How do I honour him? How do I lead?"
"By listening," the spirit replied. "To the land. To its people. To your own heart."
The spirits extended their hands, and Bandruí felt herself being pulled into a vision. She stood amidst an ancient grove, where druids gathered around a sacred fire. They spoke of balance, harmony, and the sacred duty to protect the earth and its people.
She saw her father as a young man, struggling with his powers, yet guided by an unshakable resolve. She saw his love for her and Alora, the quiet moments where he sought to shield them from the darkness he carried.
When the vision faded, Bandruí knelt in the stone circle, tears streaming down her face. "I understand now. He wasn't perfect. He was afraid, just like me. But he never stopped trying."
The spirits smiled faintly, their forms beginning to fade. "And neither shall you, Bandruí. Rise, Druidess of Avalon, and lead with the strength he saw in you."
Bandruí returned to Camelot with a renewed sense of purpose. She began to embrace her fae powers more fully, using them to heal the land and foster understanding between humans and New-Inphel.
In one village, she coaxed barren fields back to life, her magic weaving through the soil as crops began to sprout. The villagers watched in awe, their fear giving way to gratitude.
In another, she mediated a dispute between human farmers and New-Inphel hatchlings, her calm authority diffusing tensions before they could escalate.
Through it all, she carried the lessons of the druids and the memory of her father, their guidance shaping her into the leader she was meant to be.
One evening, Bandruí stood on the walls of Camelot, watching as humans and New-Inphel worked together to rebuild the city. Arthur joined her, his expression thoughtful.
"You've done well," he said.
She smiled faintly. "I still have a lot to learn. But for the first time, I think I know where to start."
Arthur placed a hand on her shoulder. "Your father would be proud."
Bandruí looked out at the horizon, the first rays of dawn breaking through the clouds. "This isn't the end. It's just the beginning."