The morning sun had barely begun to warm the horizon as Artoria and Arthur continued their journey through the thick forest. The leaves above them rustled softly in the cool breeze, casting shifting patterns of light onto the dirt path below. The rhythmic sound of their horses' hooves against the ground was the only thing that filled the silence between them.
Artoria cast a sidelong glance at Arthur, her curiosity finally getting the better of her. "So, Arthur, will you tell me where we are going?"
Despite the question, she wasn't entirely impatient—just mildly exasperated. Arthur had been leading her with quiet confidence, but without an explanation. It was unlike him to withhold information from her unless he had a reason.
Arthur, who had been focused on the path ahead, turned his head slightly, amusement flickering in his azure eyes. "We are going to meet a friend of mine."
That answer, however, only made her more curious.
Artoria raised an eyebrow. "A friend?"
Arthur nodded but offered nothing more, his expression remaining as unreadable as ever.
Artoria sighed, but she let it go—for now. If he wasn't telling her, there was a reason for it. And if Arthur was leading them with such certainty, then whoever they were going to meet must have been important.
The thought settled in her mind, yet something else lingered underneath it—something softer.
Since that night, there had been an undeniable shift between them. It was subtle, yes, but it was there.
Before, their bond had been one of mutual respect, trust, and shared purpose. Now, there was something unspoken between them—something warm, something fragile.
And though neither of them said it aloud, neither of them denied it either.
She glanced at him again, watching the way his golden hair caught the sunlight, how his expression remained steady and calm. She had always known Arthur to be composed, but now there was something else in his demeanor—something softer when he looked at her, something almost protective.
She wondered if it was the same for her.
Perhaps it was.
She shook the thought away.
For now, she would trust him.
By midday, they had arrived at a secluded lake deep within the heart of the forest. The water was still, reflecting the sky like a polished mirror, and the air was filled with an almost unnatural serenity. There was no sound beyond the occasional whisper of wind through the trees.
Artoria immediately recognized that this place was not ordinary.
Arthur dismounted his horse first, his movements careful, respectful, as if he were stepping into sacred ground. Artoria followed suit, landing softly beside him.
"This is the place?" she asked, scanning the area.
Arthur nodded. "She will come."
Artoria frowned slightly. She could feel something—someone. It was an overwhelming presence, vast and ancient, like the very land itself was breathing.
Then, the air shimmered.
From the lake's surface, a figure emerged.
A woman, her hair flowing like silver moonlight, stepped onto the shore as if the water had solidified beneath her feet. She was dressed in flowing robes that seemed to shift between white and pale blue, almost as if they were woven from the very mist that clung to the water's edge.
Her eyes—piercing yet gentle—landed on Arthur first, then drifted toward Artoria.
Arthur inclined his head slightly. "Vivian."
Artoria blinked. Vivian? The name struck a chord within her.
Vivian's gaze lingered on her, studying her with an unreadable expression before finally speaking.
"So, this is the one who walks your path, Arthur." Her voice was calm, carrying an ethereal quality that made it impossible to tell whether she was speaking aloud or directly into their minds.
Arthur did not hesitate. "She is."
Vivian's gaze softened, and for the first time, she smiled. "Then it seems fate truly does weave strange threads."
Artoria, however, was not one to be easily unsettled, even in the presence of a being like this. "You know Arthur well, then."
Vivian chuckled softly. "I have known him since before he could walk."
Arthur remained quiet at that, his expression unreadable.
Artoria glanced at him, then back at Vivian. She had heard tales of the Lady of the Lake—But to see her now, to hear her speak so familiarly with Arthur, made her realize just how little she truly knew about his past.
"You have come for guidance," Vivian continued, "but I see that you have already chosen your path, Arthur."
Arthur met her gaze, unflinching. "Even so, I would still ask for your wisdom."
Vivian nodded. "Then come. There is much to discuss."
As they followed the Lady of the Lake, Artoria found herself walking a step closer to Arthur than before, her fingers lightly brushing against his for the briefest of moments.
He did not move away.
She smiled to herself.
A secret, indeed.
As they stepped through the water, reality itself seemed to twist around them. The shimmering surface of the lake rippled unnaturally, distorting their surroundings until the world they had known only moments before disappeared entirely.
The air grew thick with magic, pressing against their skin like an unseen weight. Artoria's instincts flared—this was no simple illusion. It was as if they had stepped between the folds of the world itself, passing through a veil that only a chosen few could cross.
Then, just as suddenly as it began, the sensation stopped.
They now stood in a place untouched by time. The lake stretched out behind them, but ahead lay a quiet grove, bathed in soft, golden light. The scent of fresh earth and blooming flowers filled the air. At its heart, nestled beneath the shade of an ancient willow tree, was a simple table, already set as if awaiting their arrival.
A single door stood at the grove's edge—though it had not been there a moment before. It did not seem to belong to any structure, merely existing where there had been nothing.
Then came the voice.
"King of Britain."
Artoria turned sharply at the call, her eyes immediately locking onto the figure standing before the door.
Vivian.
Her presence was undeniable. She was more than just a woman—she was something ancient, something beyond mortal comprehension. Her silver hair cascaded in soft waves, glistening like threads of moonlight. A knowing smile curved her lips, her eyes shimmering with mirth.
She regarded Artoria with a look of quiet amusement. "You seek a blade, yes?"
Artoria's breath hitched. Her fingers instinctively curled, her mind working to piece together how Vivian could possibly know that. "How did you—"
Vivian giggled, a light, airy sound, tilting her head. "I always know."
She turned effortlessly, the door behind her creaking open despite no one touching it. Artoria's eyes flickered to Arthur, but he seemed unsurprised by the display. If anything, there was an almost familiar fondness in his expression.
As if he had seen this all before.
They followed Vivian deeper into the grove.
The table was set with three chairs, arranged as though their arrival had been long foreseen. Vivian settled herself with effortless grace, her movements fluid like water, and motioned for them to sit.
Artoria hesitated. There was something about this place—about Vivian—that made her wary. Not fearful, but cautious.
Arthur, however, moved without pause, taking the seat beside her.
Not wanting to appear uncertain, Artoria followed suit.
The silence stretched for only a moment before Vivian's lips curled into a teasing smile. "You knew we were coming?" Artoria asked, though she had already guessed the answer.
Vivian giggled again, resting her chin in her palm. "Of course. I will always know when my Arthur is searching for me."
Arthur remained composed, but Artoria did not miss the way his fingers tensed ever so slightly on the table.
She also did not miss the way Vivian had said my Arthur.
It was spoken so easily, so casually. As if it was the most natural thing in the world.
A strange feeling curled in Artoria's chest—one she could not quite name.
She turned to Arthur, expecting him to correct her, to deny any claim, but he merely exhaled, his expression unreadable.
Vivian's gaze never left him. "Tell me, Arthur, how have your travels been? How has Lancelot been? Why don't you visit me more?"
There was an unmistakable familiarity in her tone, a warmth reserved for someone she had known for a very long time.
Artoria noted how she spoke only to him, as though she were the only one who truly mattered in this conversation.
Arthur sighed lightly. "Our travels have been long, but necessary. Lancelot is... well." A slight pause. "As for visiting, I have had my duties to attend to."
Vivian pouted slightly, an expression that seemed almost childlike coming from someone so ethereal. "Duties, duties. Always with duty, Arthur."
Arthur only chuckled, shaking his head. "Would you rather I ignore them?"
Vivian smirked. "For me? Perhaps."
Artoria, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. "If he ignored his duties, he would not be Arthur."
Vivian's gaze flickered to her then, as if truly acknowledging her presence for the first time.
There was something unreadable in her expression—curious, assessing.
Then, after a long moment, she smiled. "Ah, you are right."
It was an innocent exchange. Simple words, polite conversation.
And yet.
The way Arthur glanced at her, the small, almost imperceptible softening in his expression, the way Artoria kept her posture ever so slightly straighter—it was there.
Something unspoken.
Something not yet acknowledged, but impossible to ignore.
Vivian saw it—the subtle shift in Arthur's gaze, the way his eyes lingered on Artoria for just a moment too long. It was fleeting, but to someone like her, who had lived for ages and understood the hearts of men better than they did themselves, it was as clear as the reflection in still water.
Her expression remained pleasant, almost playful, but her eyes sharpened.
Then, with a smoothness only someone of her nature could possess, she spoke.
"So, King of Britain, what did you do to capture Arthur's heart?"
Artoria stiffened, though her expression remained controlled. The grip on her gauntleted hands tightened ever so slightly, betraying the tension that coiled within her.
Did she know?
Arthur, seated beside her, exhaled lightly—not a sigh, but a measured breath, as though preparing himself. He did not refute Vivian's words immediately, nor did he confirm them. Instead, he remained still, waiting.
Vivian's smile widened, her voice carrying the unmistakable lilt of amusement. "For him to follow you so unwaveringly, to stand by your side as both knight and equal, even to the death... You must truly be extraordinary."
The teasing note in her voice made it clear—she was playing with her, waiting to see how Artoria would react.
Arthur finally spoke, his voice calm yet firm. "Vivian."
Just her name. A quiet warning.
But Vivian merely tilted her head, eyes twinkling with unspoken mirth. "What? I only speak the truth."
Artoria finally turned her gaze toward her, meeting her eyes directly. "He is my knight," she stated simply. "His loyalty is to the crown."
Vivian chuckled. "Is it?"
The weight of her words lingered in the air.
Artoria felt something stir within her, something she did not wish to name. She had always understood Arthur's devotion, but to hear it framed in such a way—as something more than duty, more than mere loyalty—unsettled her.
Arthur, still composed, glanced at Artoria briefly before returning his attention to Vivian. "My choice to follow her is mine alone."
Vivian hummed, amused but not fully satisfied. Her gaze flickered between them, as though seeing far more than what was spoken.
"Of course," she murmured, her smirk softening just a little. "How noble."
Artoria did not react outwardly, but inside, she willed herself to remain steady. She would not entertain this game.
Vivian leaned back, her knowing smile never faltering.
Vivian's gaze was fixed on Artoria, her ethereal beauty unmarred by time, her presence exuding an aura of both wisdom and something almost cruel—an amusement that stemmed from seeing beyond the veils mortals wove around themselves.
"I shall tell you the truth, King of Britain," Vivian said, her voice smooth as the surface of the lake, but sharp as a blade.
Artoria met her gaze, calm, unreadable.
"I do not see you as worthy of Arthur's loyalty."
The words rang like a bell in the silent air.
"You are merely a product of Merlin, a conceptual dragon molded by his hands. You cannot even begin to grasp the weight of Arthur's existence. To those of us who dwell in the Inner Sea, to those trapped within the Reverse Side of the World, Arthur is not just a man—he is the only hope of breaking free from this prison."
"So tell me, King of Britain, why should you see yourself as his equal?"
Her lips curved ever so slightly, not quite a smirk, not quite a smile. "Or above him?"
Artoria's fingers curled slightly against her lap, though her expression did not falter. Her breath remained steady, her posture unmoved. But the air around her seemed heavier, the weight of those words settling upon her like a blade pressed to her chest.
Arthur, standing beside her, remained silent. His eyes, the brilliant blue of a sky after a storm, flickered toward her, watching. Waiting.
The silence stretched, heavy and unyielding.
Then, at last, Artoria spoke.
"Arthur is no one's miracle."
It was calm, but there was something beneath it, a quiet defiance. A refusal to accept the premise laid before her.
"He is not a symbol. He is not a savior to be worshiped, nor a key to salvation. He is a man—a knight—who carries burdens as heavy as the sky itself. And no matter how you or the Reverse Side of the World see him, I will not."
Arthur's eyes widened just slightly.
Vivian tilted her head, her gaze piercing.
Artoria continued, her voice unwavering. "You claim I do not understand his existence. Perhaps you are right. I am not of the Reverse Side, nor do I claim to know the weight of the world as you do. But I do not need to. I refuse to see him as a mere concept, as a force of nature detached from the man that he is. If you call me unworthy because I see Arthur as a person, then so be it. I will bear that accusation."
For the first time, something flickered in Vivian's eyes—curiosity, perhaps. Or something deeper.
Then, she laughed.
It was not a human sound. It was something pure, something beyond the grasp of mortal tongues. It was beautiful, ethereal, and utterly incomprehensible.
"How naive. How naive," she murmured, shaking her head, strands of silver hair shimmering like liquid light.
Arthur shifted slightly. "Vivian."
His voice was measured, a warning. But she ignored it.
"Arthur's relationship with the world itself—his connection to beings like me—is not something you can comprehend, little king."
Vivian's gaze never leaving Artoria. "He is not like you. He is an aspect of the world's will itself, untouched by the shifting textures of existence. He is the most blessed being on this planet, second only to the Twenty-Seven. He even holds authorities, something no ordinary human could ever possess."
Her voice dropped to something softer, something almost pitying.
"That is why you two are different."
She raised a single hand, palm upward, as though presenting something unseen.
"Arthur's existence is so vast, so immense, that you cannot even differentiate him from the greatest of the planet's divine monstrosities. So I ask again, little king—" her smile was not cruel, but knowing, like a teacher speaking to a child who had yet to grasp the truth—
"What makes you think you are even remotely worthy of him?"
The wind stirred, rippling the lake's surface.
Artoria exhaled slowly.
She did not look to Arthur, nor did she glance away. She met Vivian's gaze head-on, standing as she always had—unshaken.
"Because he is Arthur."
Vivian blinked.
Artoria's fingers loosened, and though her voice did not soften, something about it shifted—something rare, something so fleeting it could almost be overlooked.
"He is not the world's will. He is not a god. He is Arthur. And that is enough."
Arthur's lips parted slightly, his breath catching in his throat.
Vivian's smirk faded, just slightly.
For the first time, she said nothing.
Seated at the long wooden table, Artoria maintained her usual rigid composure, hands resting against her lap, her fingers curled only slightly. Yet, the moment Vivian spoke, something within her shifted.
"I see," the Lady of the Lake mused, her voice light yet unyielding. "You're in love with him."
Artoria stiffened.
The words cut through the air like a sword through mist, parting the quiet with precision.
"What—?" Artoria started, her voice sharp, but Vivian merely lifted a hand in dismissal.
"Don't be surprised," Vivian said smoothly, standing from her seat. The movement was slow, deliberate, the way one might rise when they already knew the answer to their own question. Her gown, woven of something that shimmered like liquid moonlight, trailed softly as she moved.
She stepped closer, her eyes flickering with something unreadable as she turned her gaze from Artoria to Arthur, then back again. "Merlin's magic doesn't work on me."
Arthur frowned, confused. "What magic?"
Vivian turned to him fully now, as if she had momentarily forgotten that Arthur himself was unaware. "Right. You cannot see it," she murmured, then turned back to Artoria with a knowing smile. "Merlin placed an illusion upon her, the girl-king. A subtle enchantment to ensure that the eyes of her people perceived her as something more masculine—more like the king they wanted to see."
Arthur's expression froze, his brows furrowing. He looked at Artoria as if seeing something new, something he had never thought to question.
Artoria did not flinch. This was not the first time she had been confronted with the truth of her existence, nor the weight of Merlin's hand in shaping her fate.
"It changes nothing," she said at last.
Vivian's smile widened, just slightly. "Perhaps not. But none of this is truly relevant to the matter at hand." She tilted her head, her silver hair falling over one shoulder like cascading water. "What we must discuss is your relationship—with Arthur, and with the Crown."
A silence followed.
Artoria did not speak.
Arthur, however, shifted beside her. His hands, resting against the table, curled slightly. His blue eyes—so bright, so clear—held something almost hesitant, as if he had words he wished to say but knew now was not the time.
Vivian continued, stepping closer still.
"You already know why you are here," she said, her voice softer now, less pointed, but no less weighty. "The choice before you is one that not even Merlin's meddling can alter. You may walk through the door—the one that now lingers in the stars beyond this place. And there, you will choose."
She lifted her hand, and in the empty space before them, the air shifted.
The ceiling above them faded, peeling away like mist at dawn, revealing the expanse of the cosmos itself.
And there it was.
A door.
Suspended in the vastness of space, untouched by gravity or laws of physics. Its frame was simple—wooden, carved with runes older than any kingdom, humming with a magic that neither the modern world nor the Age of Gods could claim.
Artoria exhaled, slow and measured.
She had known this moment would come.
"You must choose," Vivian continued, her tone carrying something close to finality. "To stay by Arthur's side, or to remain the King of Britain. The door will show you both paths, and once you step through, there is no return."
The weight of it pressed against Artoria's chest, but she did not falter.
She had been prepared to carry the burdens of a king since the day she drew Caliburn from the stone. To rule was to sacrifice. She knew this better than anyone.
And yet—
Her gaze flickered, just for a fraction of a second, to Arthur.
He was watching her. He always had been.
Through wars, through the weight of a kingdom that had never truly belonged to her—he had been there. Unspoken, unseen, but unwavering.
A foolish, impossible thing had grown between them. One they both knew could not last.
And yet she wouldn't let go, she would never let Arthur go it was a choice the first one that wasn't destined it was there secret they wanted each other neither one rejected the other, Artoria wanted all of him- no need all of him and Arthur had the same thoughts about her she would not give him up no matter what her duty weighted heavy on her however her feelings for Arthur seemed to be greater she truly didn't know what to do
Vivian's voice cut through her thoughts. "And there is one more matter to discuss."
"Your weapon will be decided based on the choices you make, within the trial, so go ahead King of Britain chose you destiny" Vivian said gesturing towards the open door
She exhaled, slow and steady, before nodding once.
"Very well."
Determination radiated from her in waves, a quiet but unshakable force. She pushed back her chair and stood, her armored boots echoing against the stone floor as she moved toward the door that would decide everything.
But then—
She paused.
Her fingers curled slightly at her side before she turned, her gaze settling on Arthur.
For a moment, she simply looked at him, as if memorizing his face, the way the dim candlelight softened the sharp edges of his features, the way his blue eyes—so impossibly bright—held something deeper than mere worry.
She crossed the distance between them.
Arthur's lips parted slightly, as if to speak, but the words never came.
Because she kissed him.
It was not tentative, nor hesitant.
It was firm, certain—filled with everything she had never said aloud.
His breath hitched, but he did not pull away. His hand came up, fingers brushing against the side of her face, hesitant at first, as if he still could not quite believe that this was happening.
And then, he kissed her back.
Time stretched, infinite and fleeting all at once.
When they finally parted, a thin strand of warmth still connected them before it broke.
"Don't worry, Arthur," she murmured, her breath ghosting against his lips.
Arthur smiled, small and soft, something just for her.
"I would never," he murmured in return, voice low.
There was a quiet moment, where neither moved, where their foreheads almost touched, and the weight of their choices settled between them.
Arthur swallowed. And then, as if the words had always been waiting, he said it.
"I love you, Artoria."
She blinked, just once.
A slow inhale.
And then she smiled—not the kind she wore as a king, but the kind that belonged only to her.
"I love you too, Arthur."
The words were soft, but they carried a weight that no battlefield nor throne could ever compare to.
She stepped back.
The distance between them grew.
Arthur did not move, did not try to reach for her, though his fingers twitched slightly at his side, as if resisting the instinct.
She turned once more, her steps sure as she approached the door to the unknown.
From where she stood, Vivian watched.
Her arms were crossed, her frown barely concealed beneath the veil of her unreadable expression.
Her eyes, however, told a different story.
It was not mere displeasure she wore—but something far more complicated.
She had always known that this was how it would end.
She just hadn't expected it to feel like this.