Unknownfate
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Chapter 2
🕑 Added 2025-03-28 23:57:03 +0000 UTCAs I stood there waiting. A large crowd had gathered around me.
At first, the sheer force of my mana kept them at bay—the oppressive divine aura instilled fear, awe, and respect in equal measure. Yet, it only deterred them for so long.
I felt both disappointment and admiration toward their fearlessness. They clearly didn’t understand what they were sensing, allowing them to overcome it with ignorance and curiosity.
Still, credit where credit is due.
Now, they surrounded me, phones raised, capturing images and videos. None dared speak to me. I could see the desire in their eyes—the longing to ask questions, to understand—but not one among them possessed the courage to do so.
More perplexing was the absence of any mage response. No greeting from the Moonlit World.
No bounded fields manifesting to repel the onlookers.
It was inconceivable that the Clock Tower could ignore such an overt display of divine energy. They should be here by now.
Yet, nothing.
The only consequence of my presence was the crowd growing ever larger. More and more people gathered, some kneeling before me as though I were their sovereign. It was oddly flattering, though it did little to dispel the strangeness of the situation.
Time passed. Hope dwindled.
Even the police had arrived—not to remove me, but to maintain order. They ensured no harm befell the gathering and kept pickpockets from taking advantage of the distraction.
I approved of their diligence. They did their duty well.
Still, the nagging thought persisted. The Clock Tower cannot ignore me.
I couldn’t fathom what was happening. The Clock Tower had to notice me; they couldn’t possibly miss a divine spirit standing outside, leading me to conclude that this wasn’t the Fate world.
A ridiculous notion.
And yet, how else could I explain it?
Why would I, the King of Knights, be reborn into a world where no magus recognized me?
Where was I meant to be? What purpose had brought me here?
A question I had no answer to.
For a fleeting moment, I wished Merlin were here.
But just as quickly as the thought surfaced, I dismissed it. That trickster would sooner withhold the answer than gift it freely. He would smirk, wave his hand, and turn it into a lesson—a trial for his amusement.
I whispered instead another name.
"Agravain."
He could probably solve this; he was the smartest of my knights, the one who crafted our strategies. He would surely have some idea of what to do next.
No matter how I reasoned, the truth became evident: no one was coming.
If I were to seek answers, I would have to do so myself. And so, I returned to my original mission—finding my way home.
The crowd reacted quite strongly to my movement. I hadn’t paid much attention to them, but clearly, the fact that I hadn’t moved for hours had made some people think I might be a statue.
I was thankful that the officers were kind enough to ensure people respected my desire to leave, even when they loudly requested pictures.
I suppose the fact that I moved gave them that extra bit of courage.
Still, I wasn’t about to pose for selfies with strangers, so I left, employing a bit of magecraft to make them leave me alone.
I may not have been a mage, but I had learned a few things from Merlin; not to mention that my own divine nature made such feats as easy as breathing.
Mounting my bike once more, I left Londinium behind, my path set northward.
-----
For most of the journey, I remained on my bike, Riding A allowing me to traverse the great roads with ease. But as I veered away from the highways, toward my destination, I called upon Dun Stallion once more.
Though I had grown fond of the motorcycle, nothing compared to the familiarity of horseback. There was a deep, intrinsic connection—a bond woven into my very being.
And so, riding on the back of my steed, hours passed, and at last, I reached my destination.
It was desolate. Fields of grass stretched endlessly, dotted with scattered trees and distant farmhouses. This was truly the middle of nowhere.
It was disheartening to gaze at the distant hill and see nothing. Merlin created the city with fae help, all in a night.
But turning it into a home required considerable work.
…
I stood there as the sun set, with only the stars and moon for company. With my eyes closed, I envisioned the towering white walls adorned with banners hanging from both the walls and towers.
I could picture the bustling roads leading to the gates, merchants arriving with their goods, and townsfolk heading out to tend the fields surrounding the city.
In my heart, it was a vibrant city, yet now, not a single stone remained.
I inhaled sharply. A gust of wind rippled across the land, my cloak billowing with it. My fingers curled around empty air before tightening into fists.
No. I will not let it end like this.
I reached for my divine weapon.
For my holy lance.
Rhongomyniad.
Light flared in the darkness. The night sky ignited as the divine lance emerged, its sacred glow casting away the shadows. The wind howled, carrying with it the weight of power long dormant. Grass bent, bowing before the lance’s radiance.
I raised the holy lance high, its tip a beacon piercing the heavens. My voice rang out, firm and unwavering.
“By the will of the Holy Lance, Rhongomyniad,
I summon forth the eternal bastion of the righteous.
From the distant horizon of dreams,
Let the sacred kingdom rise once more.
O pillar that divides the heavens and the earth,
Anchor this realm with your unyielding light.
Behold the city of salvation,
Camelot, the invincible sanctuary!”
My words echoed across the land. The winds raged, a storm of raw divinity enveloping me, and Dun Stallion neighed, stamping his hooves upon the ground as if heralding what was to come.
Upon completing my chant, the magnificent lance Rhongomyniad transformed night into day, as for a fleeting moment, the entire horizon was ablaze with a blinding, sacred light of creation.
Then, as the radiance dimmed, I saw it.
Camelot!
The city of my dreams, the city of salvation, the seat of my power, and the heart of my kingdom, it stood once more.
The white walls rose once more, proud and unyielding. The towers stood tall, banners unfurling in the night breeze. Silver and blue emblems, emblazoned with the red dragon under a golden crown—the banner of my reign.
Emotion welled in my chest.
I took a step forward, my voice carrying across the open fields.
“Come, Dun Stallion! Home awaits.”
And though I could have leaped to the gates in a single bound, I did not rush. Instead, I walked, taking in every moment. Every stone. Every banner. Every breath.
For after all this time, I had come home.
-----
The great gate of Camelot, massive in scale, and strong enough that no force can break them stood before me, even now I could feel the divine power in them, reminding me somewhat of Avalon itself.
And yet, with a single push of my free hand, they opened effortlessly, swinging wide to welcome their sovereign home.
The walk through the city was… surreal.
Camelot was as magnificent as I remembered. Every stone was flawless, placed with the precision only the Fae could achieve. Not a single imperfection marred its walls or streets.
The wooden and stone houses stood pristine, the roads smooth and unbroken. The fountains still ran, their crystalline waters forever blessed by Lady Vivian.
Yet, for all its perfection, the city was empty.
No laughter from taverns. No drunken voices singing in the streets. No knights training beneath the moon’s glow. No children rushing home for supper. No merchants haggling over their last sales of the day.
Silence reigned, a hollow echo in place of the vibrant kingdom I once knew.
The absence of life weighed upon me. The stillness felt unnatural. The grandeur of Camelot deserved its people, its heart, its soul. Yet, all that remained was its shell, pristine but lifeless.
It felt wrong, empty like my heart, but the presence of Rhongomyniad in my hand provided me comfort. I left Dun Stallion at the stables and walked the rest of the way myself, passing through the deserted city like a ghost in the night, until I reached the grand throne room.
In my time, I had rarely used it. I had never wished to rule from above, to create distance between myself, my people and my knights. I had wanted to be reachable, not a ruler locked away on high.
That had been my mistake.
I had forgotten my place—not as their equal, but as their king. By denying them the distance they needed, I had unwittingly created a divide of another kind.
I only made them shy away, unable to form the distance they needed, I should have accepted my role, but I would do so now.
This time, I would not repeat the same error.
Finally, for the first time since coming to this world, since becoming Arthuria, I dismissed my full armor.
Allowing some skin to show, the impressive burst that young Arthuria never had, my soft thighs that every man would drool at.
The long red cape draped over my shoulders, the blue cloth that adorned my frame, the few silver plates of armor left upon me—this was the third ascension of Lancer Arthuria. No longer the distant and untouchable Lion King, but still a goddess, still the wielder of Rhongomyniad.
I took my seat upon the throne.
And I felt lonely.
In the antechamber to my throne room, through the great open doors.
The great Round Table stood, its seats empty. A symbol of unity, now a reminder of what had been lost.
Their faces came unbidden to my mind.
Sir Lancelot—the knight who had left, shattering the table’s unity in spirit if not in form.
Sir Gawain—steadfast to the end, his loyalty unshaken.
Sir Tristan—forever sorrowful, a man who had known no love despite being surrounded by it.
Sir Bedivere—who had held onto his king, unable to let go, granting rise to a goddess in place of the king who had fallen.
Sir Agravain—my trusted advisor, cold by necessity, so that I could remain warm.
Sir Gareth—so young, so full of life, eager to prove herself among her brothers.
Sir Kay—his wit ever sharp, always there to remind me of my humanity.
Sir Galahad—the purest among us, yet forever marked by the theft of the Holy Grail.
Sir Percival—who sought the Grail but never grasped it, a knight noble in heart above all else.
Sir Palamedes—a Saracen knight of honor, proving that worth knew no borders.
Sir Lionel—loyal to Lancelot, torn between love and justice.
Sir Bors the Younger—a man of unmatched piety, unwavering in his devotion.
Sir Ector—a father figure I had never truly thanked.
Sir Lamorak—gallant and powerful, undeserving of his tragic fate.
Sir Gaheris—another of Morgan’s sons, yet as devoted as his siblings.
Sir Dagonet—who called himself a jester, yet brought more wisdom than he knew.
Sir Lucan—the butler, loyal to the end, and one of the few to survive me at Camlann.
Sir Mordred—the knight of treachery, the one who ended my reign. My own flesh and blood. My failure as both king and father.
I was divine. A goddess. I had wielded Caliburn, the sword that had frozen my age at fifteen. I had held Excalibur, the blade that had granted me eternal youth. I had Avalon, bestowing me with near-immortality.
I required no sleep.
Yet as I sat upon my throne, surrounded by the ghosts of my past, I closed my eyes.
And sleep found me.
