Unknownfate
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Chapter 3
🕑 Added 2025-03-29 00:03:18 +0000 UTCThe world did not stop while I slumbered.
Soon enough the sun rose upon Camelot’s walls, its radiance painting the white stone in golden hues. A city such as this, appearing from nothing, could not go unnoticed for long.
Even in a place as remote as this, England had no true wilderness. There were always people nearby, settlements scattered across the land.
And in one such settlement, a person awoke to find an unfamiliar sight.
A young man stirred in his bed, the morning sun forcing its way through his blinds. He groaned, rolling over. Sunday. No school, no obligations. A day to sleep in.
Or so he had planned.
But the light was too persistent. So with a heavy sigh, he sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He hated living in the countryside—his friends were far away, and without a car, he had no way to visit them. The weekends dragged on, filled with nothing but dull routines.
Wake up. Wash up. Sit in front of the television until breakfast.
And today looked like it was just another day of nothing.
His mother’s vacuum roared to life downstairs. Wonderful. That meant he had no choice but to leave the house.
After a rushed breakfast, he grabbed his jacket and headed out for a walk, more out of necessity than desire. He followed the familiar paths, the same ones he had walked countless times before.
And then—
He stopped.
“…What the fuck.”
His eyes widened. His breath hitched.
There, standing tall in the distance, was something that should not be there.
A massive, walled city.
His heart pounded as he fumbled for his phone, his fingers shaking.
Camelot had returned to England.
-----
“Sir, we have a situation,” Phil Coulson announced as he entered his boss’s office.
Nick Fury, the legendary spymaster, barely looked up from his paperwork. “We always have a situation, Coulson. What is it this time?” He was exhausted, overworked, and, in his own opinion, severely underfunded.
How the Security Council expected him to protect the entire world with their meager budget was beyond him. Didn’t they understand how expensive it was to maintain flying aircraft carriers?
“Yes sir, it’s in England; a rather… unnatural situation is unfolding there,” Coulson replied, still grappling with the odd circumstances himself.
“Any casualties?”
“None, sir, at least none that we know of,” Coulson quickly responded.
“Then why are you bothering me with this? Can’t you see I’m busy?” Fury queried, perplexed as to why he was being informed of something that didn't involve fatalities. If it didn’t involve death, he truly had no time for it.
Coulson hesitated before answering. “Sir, it’s making national news. Probably going to be a global story soon.”
Fury exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. “Alright, what is it? The Brits lose all their tea?” He smirked slightly, unable to resist taking a jab at the UK.
“Not as far as I know, sir, but they might have missed it because of this.” Coulson handed Fury a tablet.
Fury studied the screen. It displayed two satellite images. One showed an ordinary expanse of rolling green hills. The second, showed something completely different—an enormous medieval city with pristine white walls and red-tiled roofs.
“…What am I looking at?”
“Those are images of the same location, sir. The first was taken yesterday. The second was taken this morning.”
Fury frowned. “That’s impossible.” But impossible didn’t mean untrue—not in his line of work. He had seen too much to dismiss something just because it shouldn’t be real. “Has this been confirmed?”
“Yes, locals are reporting it. We even have amateur footage.” Coulson tapped the screen, playing a shaky video from what appeared to be a teenager’s phone.
“This is insane! Are you guys seeing this? Behind me is a massive city—like something straight out of history! This wasn’t here yesterday! What is this?! Magic? Aliens? No idea, but it’s wild!”
The boy moved closer, placing a hand on the smooth white stone of the city walls.
Fury watched the footage in silence before setting the tablet down. “So, this isn’t just some visual glitch on the satellite feed.”
“No, sir.”
“Any idea what we’re dealing with?”
“Not yet. We’re combing through historical records to see if any ruins once existed in that area. But we do have a lead.”
Coulson swiped to a different video. “Yesterday, a strange event took place in London. A lone knight in full plate armor appeared outside the British Museum. Witnesses say they stood motionless for hours, like a statue, before leaving. No one knows where they went—just that they disappeared. And then, this morning, this city appeared.”
Fury drummed his fingers against his desk. “You think they’re connected?”
“The timing suggests it.”
Coulson showed him a new set of images. One displayed the armored knight standing still, surrounded by curious onlookers. The next image showed them riding an incredibly sleek motorcycle through the streets of London.
“Not something you see every day,” Coulson remarked.
“No kidding. What do we know about the armor?”
“Now that is more than just impressive, I had some look at the pictures, and that thing is well made, like art level of well made, few people can make stuff like that, the work is jeweler level, on a large scale.”
“We are investigating this matter, but so far there hasn’t been a match, aside from this one knight. There are no online posts from anyone creating it or a buyer displaying it, but it would have been costly, very costly. We believe silver was used for the whole piece, an alloy, but still, only genuine silver and gold can achieve that shine.”
Fury narrowed his eye. “That’s a hell of an investment for a cosplay.”
Fury exhaled. “Alright. Do we have aerial surveillance on the city? Any signs of life inside?”
“Negative. We have plenty of images, but the entire city seems empty. That said, we can’t confirm that just yet.”
Fury tapped his fingers on the desk. “We got anyone on the ground?”
“Local law enforcement is en route. Our agents are right behind them. We should have a full report soon.”
“Good. Double our presence. I want every inch of that city searched, and I want that knight found.”
Fury’s mind was racing. A city appearing overnight? That was more than just unusual—it was world-changing. If this was some kind of new technology or phenomenon, he needed to be ahead of it.
Because whatever—or whoever—had the power to create a city overnight was not something SHIELD could afford to ignore.
-----
While the world reeled from the sudden rebirth of Camelot, within its castle, in the grand throne room, an angelic figure slept upon the throne.
Her golden hair cascaded over the armrest, strands catching the light of the morning sun, while the shining crown upon her head shifted ever so slightly with the rhythm of her breath.
Yet, nothing lasts forever.
Slowly, her emerald eyes fluttered open, gazing once more upon the empty hall. A silence stretched before her, vast and absolute.
“A dream, huh?” she whispered, her voice filled with heartbreaking sadness. For in her dreams, that hall hadn’t been empty.
“Yet Camelot itself is a dream, Avalon is a dream, yet real, so I too shall make my dreams a reality!” she declared, her voice clear and filled with authority and certainty!
Standing up, the sacred sword of promised victory appeared in its sacred sheath: Avalon: The Everdistant Utopia hung from her hip.
Caliburn, the Golden Sword of the Victorious, appeared at her other hip. In her hand, she held Rhongomyniad: The Lance that Shines to the Ends of the World.
Finally, in her last hand, a soft golden glow manifested and settled into the form of a golden goblet—the quest she once sent her Knights on, the Holy Grail, a wish-granting treasure, and the prize of the Holy Grail wars.
“Hear me, O Knights of my Table,
Brave souls who stood steadfast in life and in legend!
By the bonds of loyalty and chivalry,
By the light of the Holy Lance that anchors the heavens and the earth,
By the promise of the Everdistant Utopia, Avalon, eternal and true,
And by the sacred blessing of the Grail,
I call thee forth!
Rise now, stalwart defenders of Camelot,
Wielders of swords, shields, and unwavering honor!
Return to this world to uphold justice, to defend the dream,
And to reignite the glory of the Round Table!
By the power of Excalibur, Caliburn, and Rhongomyniad,
I command thee—answer my call!
Stand by my side, united in purpose, and together we shall bring light to the shadowed lands!”
As she spoke, her voice carried to every corner of the city, though only her noble steed could bear witness. The commanding, regal tone of the promised king did not summon a storm, but rather an overwhelming sense of holiness. The sheer power of her armaments, the weight of destiny she carried—it was staggering.
It was perhaps a mercy that the city remained empty, its gates sealed, preventing any curious locals from wandering in. The power unleashed was beyond what any mortal soul could hope to endure.
Inside the throne room, golden light shone endlessly, illuminating the space in pure sacred radiance. Slowly, one by one, figures emerged in the light, answering the call of the Holy Grail—the knights of the Round Table.
-----
As the light faded, I looked down at them. Only a few steps separated us, yet it felt as if we were worlds apart. I willed the Grail to disappear and held my lance with both hands.
"My knights, I thank thee for answering mine call."
They all turned to look at me, and I, in turn, looked at them. The shock on their faces was palpable, for I was so different from the last time they had seen me.
Gone was the young girl who had hidden behind the guise of a man. Now stood before them a woman impossible to deny, radiant with divine presence. Though many had known the truth, not all had lived long enough to witness it.
And yet, my identity was irrefutable. The swords at my hips, the lance in my hand—each artifact spoke for itself.
"My king…" The first to speak was Bedivere, though his voice barely carried. Tears glistened in his eyes, tracing silent paths down his cheeks.
(Bedivere)
His words seemed to stir the others. Sir Agravain was next, stepping forward and kneeling with practiced precision. "Your Majesty."
( Agravain )
I couldn’t help but smile at them, seeing them all again was touching. Sir Ector looked proud to see the girl he had raised now a grown woman.
(Ector)
Poor Sir Kay seemed completely at a loss as he absorbed the sight of the woman I had become.
(Key)
"My knights, I have called upon you once again and ask if you are willing to serve me once more. I know that some of you once turned your backs on me, that some of you I slew with mine own hands." My voice was clear, yet somber.
"Yet, I forgive you all and offer this chance: you may choose to stand by my side once more, to continue the great work we left unfinished, to once again safeguard this kingdom. Or, you may leave, and I shall not stand in your way. Such is my mercy."
I let my gaze sweep over them as I spoke, studying each of their expressions. But then, my eyes locked onto one in particular.
"All except one. All except you… Mordred."
(Mordred)
A heavy silence fell over the hall, the weight of my words sending a shiver through those assembled. All eyes turned to Mordred, whose own widened in shock.
"You, Mordred, are not afforded a choice," I declared, my voice firm and unwavering.
"Mordred, you are my heir; you were born to be king one day—a burden you must bear, just as I have. As my heir, you cannot turn your back on my throne since it will one day be yours. Thus, you alone must stand and work for the kingdom's good, for it shall belong to you one day."
Mordred's expression shifted—shock, conflict, and something deeper flickered across his face. He, like me, had once been forced into a role not of his choosing, bearing expectations greater than he could comprehend.
He had sought my approval once, a validation I had denied him, blind to the intricacies of the human heart. That had led to his rebellion, a tragedy that had torn the kingdom apart.
Now, I saw my error clearly. The defiance of youth is no sin, and I had failed him as both ruler and father. For that, I forgave him. Yet, it was evident he struggled to accept my mercy.
His heart was a battlefield of emotions—respect, resentment, and a love too tangled to be easily unraveled.
"However," I interrupted before any could speak, sensing the charged silence around us. I knew my knights’ feelings toward Mordred were as divided as his own towards me. His hands were stained with blood, and many would not easily forget that.
"I once deemed you unready," I continued, my gaze unwavering. "And in your rebellion, you proved me right. You nearly shattered this kingdom. Now, you must prove yourself, not just to me, but to all who stand before you. Mordred, my knight, my heir—heed my words, and heed the judgment of your king."
The air in the throne room grew heavy. No one spoke. The weight of my decree settled upon them all.
"You must earn the respect of every Knight of my Table. Only then will you have mine. Only then shall you be deemed worthy of the crown."
Mordred tensed. "Everyone? Even him? The adulterer?" His mind, sharp as ever, latched onto the one knight he despised most—Lancelot.
"If he kneels, if he returns to my Table, then yes—even his," I answered, my gaze sliding toward the disgraced knight.
(Lancelot)
