In response, the lake suddenly erupted in brilliant light—not the golden warmth of sun or flame, but a cool, blue-silver glow that pulsed outward from where my fingers touched the surface.
I gasped and immediately backed away, nearly tripping over my own feet.
Still, the radiance continued to spread in perfect, expanding rings, each wave more intense than the last. The illumination spread, bathing the tall reeds that bordered the water's edge and the smooth stones scattered along the bank. Every blade of grass, every pebble, and every delicate wildflower became touched with magic, transformed into something precious and sacred.
I hadn't even realized I'd collapsed onto my knees against the wet bank until I noticed the tiny motes of starlight that began dancing and swirling beneath my fingertips in the mud, glittering like fallen constellations.
The water then began to spread upward, climbing toward me in tendrils.
I couldn't move. It was as though my muscles had turned to stone, every nerve ending frozen in a mixture of terror and wonder. I could barely breathe as the water continued its ascent, painting glowing trails across the darkness between us.
Soon, the enchanted water surrounded me completely, rising from the lake in countless cresting waves that wove themselves into a cocoon of light around my trembling form. It enveloped me with the gentleness of a lover's caress, as if it had been searching for me across centuries.
The water wasn’t cold—it was warm, welcoming. Alive. And it was encouraging—pulling—me toward the lake's edge—as if it wanted me to walk into it.
Around me, the forest fell completely silent. No wind, no leaves rustling. Even the crickets were now quiet, and the owl had ceased its calling. The whole night paused to witness this communion between the lake and me.
"What are you?" I whispered to it, not expecting an answer—but sensing that someone was listening all the same.
The water brightened in response. The warmth deepened.
And then the lake began to shift.
At its center, the glassy surface began to churn. Water then rose up in a spiraling column, fluid and elegant. The column twisted upward, growing taller and more defined with each passing heartbeat until the liquid started to solidify and shape itself into something unmistakably human.
It was another second or so until a woman emerged from the transformed water—the most breathtaking, otherworldly being I'd ever seen. She floated above the surface, suspended. Her skin gleamed as if it were neither wholly flesh nor magic, but something in between.
As she drifted closer, her features became clearer. High cheekbones caught the moonlight. Her lips curled into an enigmatic smile. Her eyes—shifting between blue and silver—held centuries of wisdom, judgment, and recognition.
Her hair fell past her waist in every shade of blue. It moved as if touched by an unseen breeze while tiny droplets clung to her skin like gemstones, refracting light in patterns that danced across the lake.
She wore no clothing, yet her long hair veiled her nudity like a gown.
Her presence made it impossible to draw a full breath. In fact, I felt stripped bare under that penetrating gaze—everylie I'd ever told, every disguise I'd ever worn, every mask I'd carefully constructed to hide my true self suddenly pulled away from me like gossamer threads caught in a hurricane.
Behind her, a stone platform rose from the depths of the lake like some ancient altar breaking the water's surface. The structure appeared to be carved from a single piece of white marble, its edges worn smooth. Intricate Celtic knotwork spiraled across its visible surfaces. And there, embedded within the heart of that sacred platform, was the unmistakable hilt of a sword. Even from this distance, I could feel its power thrumming through the air between us, a resonance that called to something deep within my chest, something that recognized its significance before my mind could fully comprehend what I was witnessing.
Excalibur.
And that could only mean one thing.
This was the Lady of the Lake.
"You have called me," the lady spoke, her voice like water over stone—ancient, melodic. "And I have answered."
At the periphery of my mind, something stirred—her voice carried an echo that seemed to resonate in the deepest corners of my memory. The melody of it, that layered, flowing cadence, felt achingly familiar despite the impossibility of such a thing. I'd never ventured beyond the hills of Logres before my flight to Annwyn and had never encountered any being of such otherworldly power. Yet something in the way she spoke, in the gentle authority that threaded through each word, tugged at memories I couldn't quite grasp—fragments that dissolved like mist the moment I tried to focus on them.
I shook my head, backing away as my slippered feet sank into the soft mud at the lake’s edge.
“There must be some mistake,” I said, my voice unsteady. “I didn’t call anyone.”
The lady only smiled, gentle and knowing.
“The lake is part of me, as I am part of it. Its call is my call.” She gestured toward the sword. “When I am summoned, the sword must be tested. That is the ancient law.”
“But I’m not—” I stopped myself, my eyes darting around the shoreline. Still empty. Still alone. “I’m just a servant girl.”
“Are you?” the Lady asked, tilting her head, her eyes fixed on me. She wore a slight, knowing smile.
