As far as I could tell, The Obscura held—Merlin's enchantments wrapped too tightly around my true form for Mordred's spellwork to penetrate. But gods, it hurt. Like being caught between two millstones, ground down to powder while maintaining a pleasant expression.
I forced myself forward. Through.
The archway pulsed once—deep, resonant, like the heartbeat of the earth—and then the blue light surged forward, swallowing me whole.
A shock of bone-deep cold swept through me, brutal and absolute. The chill penetrated beyond flesh and muscle, driving straight to my core until I felt as though ice crystals were forming in my blood. My skin erupted in violent goosebumps, every nerve ending screaming as if struck by lightning, the sensation so extreme it bordered on agony.
My magic surged in response—water magic rising instinctively to protect me from the unnatural cold. But then something deeper, something far more powerful than my own abilities, crushed that response before it could fully form. The magical force of the portal wrapped around me like iron chains, binding not just my power but my essence.
Then, as suddenly as it had come, all sensation vanished completely. The cold, the electric ice racing along my nerves, even the familiar weight of my own body—everything simply ceased to exist.
Darkness claimed me with the hungry finality of a predator's jaws.
Not the absence of light, but a void so heavy it crushed thought and dissolved form. I floated—or fell—or simplywas notany longer. My limbs, my breath, my voice—all gone. There was no up, no down, only the terrifying stillness of nothing.
Then, without warning, the world slammed back into being.
I staggered violently, my knees buckling beneath me as reality reasserted its claim over me. A ragged gasp tore from my throat—raw and desperate, the sound of someone drowning who had suddenly found air again. Light blazed against my eyes in searing waves, too bright, too harsh after the absolute nothingness.
I stood in a twilit forest clearing where two opposing realities bled into one. To my left stretched the silvered dusk of Annwyn—trees aglow with leaves that shimmered like frost beneath a starless sky. To my right, golden farmland basked inwarm afternoon sun, fields of wheat and sun-dappled orchards from the fading edges of my earliest memories.
A narrow stream cut through the center of both locations, its surface reflecting both moonlight and sunlight at once, flowing in opposite directions—as if even time itself had fractured here.
My hands flew to my face in panic, fingertips tracing the familiar lines ofmyown face. Not Lioran’s. I was now returned to myself—to Guinevere. When I glanced down, I realized I now wore only my twilight-blue training robes from Annwyn—soft, flowing fabric that clung to my limbs with every uneven breath I took.
My white hair tumbled freely down my back, aglow with borrowed light from both sun and moon. I was fully exposed in this liminal space—no illusions, no masks, just the raw truth of myself standing between the realm that had raised me and the land that had shaped me into the woman I now was.
A flicker of movement.
I turned.
Sir Lioran stood behind me.
Not a memory. Not a reflection.
An echo made flesh.
His eyes—my eyes—were cool and calm, filled with a clarity that chilled me. He stood just as I presented him to the world: confident, composed, unreadable.
"You pretend loyalty to Merlin," he said, stepping closer, "while doubting his every word. The man who saved you from the promise of death. The man who raised you from nothing. Who gave you purpose." He paused. "Your father."
I swallowed hard. "He has hardly been a father to me."
Lioran's smile was faint, pitying. "No. Because a father offers love. And you—" He tilted his head, studying me. "You did not deserve love, did you? No, you were merely a useful weapon. A vessel. A tool."
I swallowed hard, my throat tightening. "I know that."
"Do you?" He shook his head. "Then why do you keep trying to earn your father's approval?"
I felt my eyes narrow of their own accord. "I don't care about his approval."
Lioran laughed and shook his head once more. "If that is so, why send reports hesometimesanswers? Why continue to seek his guidance, his advice? Why the anger over the fact that he never told you the truth? Why wonder and hope that this mission might make youworthy of hislove?"
"I've never hoped that."
Lioran shook his head. "Remember what this trial is meant to do."
"Reveal the truths we hide from ourselves."
