My pulse quickened, and the heat of anger suddenly washed over me as I instinctively resisted her words. How easy it was for her to speak of destiny when she wasn’t the one buried beneath it.
"The sword chose you. Excalibur awaits, as does the fate it demands of you."
Below the surface, that cursed sword started to gleam, ascending to breach the water, rotating so the hilt pointed toward me.
"I never asked for it," I countered, hands trembling in the water. I made no motion to accept the sword that was clearly offered to me. "I don’t want Arthur’s crown or his throne. I have no desire to rule Logres—or Camelot. My path is my own."
The Lady glided closer through the crystalline depths, moving with the fluid grace of water itself. Each movement sent ripples of light around us, and I could feel the ancient power radiating from her like warmth from a distant sun. Her eyes searched mine in such a way that I felt exposed.
"Is it about what youwant, Guinevere," she asked, her voice carrying the weight of countless ages, "or what isright?"
Her words didn't merely reach my ears—they seeped through me like water through parched earth, mingling with the deepest currents of my thoughts. Images flashed unbidden through my mind: villages where children cowered at the mention of magic, where healers died in hiding rather than risk exposure, where the very gift that could save lives was treated as a plague to be eradicated. I thought of justice denied, of freedom strangled by Arthur's iron fist, of a world where magic could flow freely again—where those like me wouldn't have to choose between using their gifts and staying alive. These were things I wanted desperately, with every fiber of my being, yet they seemed impossibly distant when weighed against the future she demanded I embrace.
But how could such noble goals require a destiny I didn't want? How could the salvation of magic depend on me becoming something I fundamentally was not—a ruler, a queen, a figure of authority when all I'd ever wanted was the freedom to choose my own path?
"I can't embrace a destiny I don't want. No matter how right it might seem to you, or the sword, or to anyone else."
The Lady’s gaze softened briefly, acknowledging my resolve. A current passed between us—understanding, maybe even respect.
"I am no queen," I continued, conviction solidifying my words. "Magic must be returned to Logres, but my head won't wear a crown, and I won't sit on a throne. I wish for a new king. A deserving one. But not me."
For a long moment, her visage flickered like candlelight, the serene composure that had seemed so unshakeable wavering at the edges.
"What you want or do not want does not matter."
"It does matter," I insisted, my tone growing sharper because it did matter! It mattered to me. "The path of kings and queens is not mine to walk."
The Lady sighed—an echo reverberating through the water. "A path is often not chosen, child, but found along the way."
"Then let me find my own. I won’t shape someone else's life, nor will I become a pawn in a game I have no intention of playing."
The silence that stretched between us felt heavy and suffocating. Yet her gaze never wavered from mine. I could feel her measuring me, weighing my words, testing the mettle of my conviction against forces far greater than my mortal understanding.
The water around us seemed to hold its breath, the gentle lapping against the shore falling to an unnatural stillness. Even the mist that perpetually shrouded this sacred place appeared to pause in its eternal dance, as if the entire lake waited for her judgment.
Finally, after what felt like centuries compressed into heartbeats, she offered the slightest inclination of her head. It was barely perceptible—a movement so subtle it might have been nothing more than the play of light across the water's surface.
Without warning, her luminous form began to fade, dissolving back into the waters that had revealed her. As I watched, she vanished completely, leaving behind only the gentle lapping of waves against the ancient stones and the lingering echoes of a destiny I couldn't accept.
I stood alone, breathless in the muted dim, wondering if I'd made the right decision. I'd essentially just denied my destiny. But there was no part of me that felt as if that destiny or that path was truly mine to walk. The thought felt—wrong.
Then you were being true to yourself, I thought.
Yes, I was.
Almost immediately, the surface of the water began to ripple, throwing dancing patterns across the stone walls. My pulse stuttered as slowly, another form emerged—Arthur.
He rose from the water as though it parted for him alone, his presence commanding and undeniable. His gaze found mine, and the force of those eyes hit me hard.
“You wanted me, and you want me still,” he said. “You let desire bury your mission."
"No," I started, shaking my head.
"I am your enemy, and you despise me."
"Yes," I insisted, narrowing my eyes at him.
He chuckled. "And yet you yearn for my touch.”
