The Lady of the Lake.
Not legend. Not metaphor.
Blood of my blood,the words echoed through my head.
Magic rippled outward, stirring the air. Around her, the lake sparkled under moonlight, the water bending and lifting at her command—graceful, powerful, eternal.
It could only mean one thing—she was my lineage, my ancestor.
My legacy.
But how was that possible? Was it the Caliope playing tricks on me? Was it my own protection magic spinning artifice? Was it the reaction of the Caliope and the Veilwood? Were they doing such a good job of covering my truth that new lies were being spun instead?
But I knew the answer. It was none of those things.
Because it was the truth.
The realization struck me with the force of a crashing tide. My water magic—the pull I’d felt toward water all my life—now it all made sense.Mywater magic washerwater magic.
Behind her, more figures emerged—men and women, some armored, some robed, each wielding water with reverence and fury. Battles surged, kingdoms rose and fell, all shaped by their hands. Every image bore the thread of the Lady's lineage—my lineage—stitched like silver into the fabric of history. Nowhere was there any hint of my parents, though, the dairy farmers who had raised me in Eldenvale.
I didn't understand.
My throat tightened as the images shimmered around me—stories in blood and water. I felt their triumphs, their grief,their sacrifices—all the weight of a legacy I hadn’t even known I carried. But still, it felt likehome.
The whispers of ancient bloodlines folded around me as I realized I was an heir to incredible magic. Powerful magic. A magic that had existed for seemingly ever.
And then, a new thought struck, cold and sharp: if my protection magic failed, if the Veilwood failed, if the Caliope failed, Arthur would see all of this. He wouldknow.
There is nothing to be done for it now,I told myself.If your magic fails, then all is being revealed.
But I didn't believe it was failing. Why? Because no one was uttering a sound. There were no yells of "Arrest her," no shocked gasps or angry outbursts. There was nothing but silence. And that had to mean one thing—I was safe.
More and more images continued to blur into one another before me—all revealing a magical lineage that was completely impossible to accept. And still, nowhere was there any representation of the people I'd believed were my father and mother. Had the Riddle of Blood made a mistake?
No. Because the pieces were finally falling into place. And the truth, once I looked at it, wasn’t surprising—neither of my parents had ever revealed the faintest spark of magic. This trial was meant to reveal my ancestry, to draw from my blood itself those who had shaped my path. My parents were the first people in that line. So why weren’t they represented here? Why did the mirror pass over them entirely, as though they’d never existed?
I didn't want to face the answer.
Before I could fully process this revelation, as well as that of the Lady of the Lake among my lineage, the vision shifted. The air rippled, and the world blurred.
Suddenly, I stood beneath a twilight sky, the light dim and dreamlike. Magic vibrated through the air. Even though I couldsee no distinguishable features of this place, I knew it like the back of my hand. Or rather,my magicdid.
Then, in the shifting haze, a figure emerged—Merlin—though younger than I’d ever seen him.
His white-gray hair was swept back from a face that radiated strength and conviction. He moved like a force of nature, unburdened by the years and regrets that weighed on him now. The elements bowed to his will—water curled around his fingers, lightning sparked above his open palm, and wind swirled around his form.
I stared, caught between awe and rising dread.
Was anyone around me witnessing this? Was Arthur seeing what I was seeing? Was Lance? Mordred? I didn't imagine so because there were still no sounds of shocked outrage, no orders to seize me.
Still, my stomach churned.
The vision continued. The air shimmered—andsheappeared once more: the Lady of the Lake. She approached Merlin, her presence as luminous as moonlight on still water. Magic bloomed around her feet, rippling through the mist, soft and powerful.
They reached for each other. Hands clasped. Foreheads touched. Their magic surged, intertwining, amplifying. They kissed. Merlin held her, and there was an expression on his face I'd never witnessed before—contentedness.
And then—between them—a sphere of pure energy formed. It pulsed with light and color, growing until it revealed what it cradled within: an infant. A child wrapped in radiance. White-silver hair. Violet eyes. Tiny, curious hands.
