-GUIN-
The lake was now behind me, and I could see Camelot's spires in the distance.
The mist parted like a veil, curling away from my body in soft tendrils that guided me forward. It felt almost alive—sentient—and it cleared a path just wide enough for me to escape. I didn’t question the mercy. I ran, breath ragged, heart pounding so hard it hurt.
The ground, slick with mud, should’ve slowed me, but it didn’t. Instead, water swirled around my ankles, pushing me forward. The earth firmed beneath my feet with each stride I took, preventing me from slipping, as if something unseen wanted me to escape.
I could hear Arthur's footsteps not terribly far behind me. The mist had held him, but not for long.
"GUARDS!" Arthur's voice suddenly rang out, echoing through the trees. "TO THE LAKE! NOW! Find a servant girl with white hair. Bring her to me.ALIVE."
I didn't know how he'd managed to make his voice carry so far and sound so loud. But I didn't have time to further considerit because the sounds of metal clanging, of voices raised in shock and panic, hit my ears, which could only mean one thing—Arthur’s guard mobilizing.
And then came the hounds.
Distant but closing in: the iron-choked baying of machines bred for hunting witches. My blood turned cold. Even now, they’d be loosed from their kennels, their red eyes already scenting the magic Arthur knew I wielded.
I didn’t dare look back.
The mist thickened behind me, forming a solid wall. Ahead, it continued to clear—just enough. A trail shimmered through reeds and water where no trail should have existed.
This wasn’tmymagic… at least I didn’t think it was. And it didn't bear the signature of Merlin either. Yet, it felt familiar—like an echo of something buried deep inside me.
Minutes.
I had minutes—no more—to outrun the hounds, the knights, and the wrath of the king I was supposed to destroy.
I burst from the treeline, breath ragged, heart thundering. Images flashed through my mind—being torn apart by Iron Hounds or burning alive atop a pyre.
No,I insisted.That isn't your fate.
Camelot loomed ahead, its silhouette slicing into the night sky. Hundreds of torches flickered along its towering stone walls like malevolent stars. I could see the glint of armor along the battlements—guards pacing, awaiting further instructions from their king.
I reached the castle grounds—gardens, fountains, deceptive beauty masking the horror that awaited me if I were caught. Somewhere behind those walls was the courtyard where they'd drag me. Where they'd burn me or run me through with their blades.
And I was more than sure there were guards awaiting me.
No, I couldn't enter the castle from this direction.
So, where the fuck was I going to go then?
A glimmer. Moonlight caught on water. A stream. It fed from the lake and cut across the grounds ahead.
Without hesitation, I plunged into it. The cold bite of the water should have been shocking against my skin, but it wasn't. It was welcoming. Merlin’s voice echoed in my mind:Move upstream. Always upstream.
The current fought me, but I forced each step, praying the water would mask my trail and my scent. If the Iron Hounds scented me, it would be over.
Moonlight shimmered on the rippling surface. I crouched low, slipping through reeds, my skirts sodden and clinging to my legs, making it even more difficult to move. My calves burned. My lungs screamed. But I didn’t stop.
I couldn’t.
All the while, Merlin’s voice echoed in my head—one of his first lessons:“Water cleanses. Confuses. It is your ally.”
The stream deepened suddenly, and I gasped as it surged to my waist, stealing the air from my lungs. I forced myself forward, fingers brushing the surface. The water answered, calming my wake, ripples disappearing unnaturally fast.
Above, the moon vanished behind a bank of clouds, cloaking the land in deeper shadow. I welcomed the darkness, even as I cursed the lack of light to guide my steps. The reeds thickened, whispering against my skin as I crouched lower, shoulders nearly submerged now, my heavy cloak pulling me down.
Then—the sound of clicking. Faint, metallic. The Iron Hounds were getting closer. Their handlers’ voices drifted through the night, sharp as knives.
