Chapter 34

Chapter Thirty-Four

ARTHUR

My body arched, and when my mouth opened, the voice that emerged was not my own. It was a chorus of voices, layered and resonant, speaking with the weight of eons. The words reverberated through the chamber, each syllable crackling with raw power. The language of the Old Religion flowed from my lips.

As suddenly as it began, the surge of power receded. I dropped to the ground, my legs buckling beneath me. The stone floor was cool against my palms as I struggled to catch my breath, my entire body trembling.

But there was no time to recover. The skeletal kings advanced, their bony fingers reaching for me. My knights fought valiantly, but their magic seemed to have little lasting effect on these ancient, cursed beings.

I pushed myself to my feet, swaying slightly as I raised Excalibur. The sword hummed in my grip. I felt the remnants of that otherworldly power still coursing through my veins, mingling with my own magic and the ancient strength of the blade.

With a cry that was part battle roar and part primal scream, I lunged forward. Excalibur carved a blazing arc through the air, its edge trailing streams of golden light. As it connected with the first skeletal king, there was a sound like thunder.

The undead creature exploded into a shower of bone fragments and tattered finery, but this time, it did not reform. The crown that had sat askew on its skull clattered to the ground, rolling away into the shadows.

The chamber echoed with the sound of breaking bones. My wings spread wide, lifting me off the ground and allowing me to strike from above. As I fought, I noticed the power of the old gods surging through me.

The skeletal kings fought back with the desperation of the eternally damned. Their bony fingers clawed at me. But where before their touch had been deadly, now it simply crumbled against the radiance emanating from my skin.

For the first time in my short life, I felt powerful. For the first time since this quest began, I felt like the queen I was fated to become.

As I fought, the world around me seemed to blur into streaks of color and shadow. Excalibur moved as if it had a will of its own, guiding my arms with each swing. The blade sang through the air.

Skeletal kings crumbled, their ancient bones nothing but dust. My knights held the kings off until I could reach them, wearing themselves down until I could tell their energy was waning.

As the last one finally fell, an eerie silence fell over the chamber. My chest heaved as I tried to catch my breath, every muscle in my body aching.

I turned slowly, surveying the destruction. Shattered bone fragments and tattered bits of ancient finery littered the stone floor. But my gaze was drawn to the center of the chamber, where the stone altar stood untouched amidst the chaos. The Holy Grail rested there. Calling to me. Begging me to take it.

I drifted towards the altar, drawn by a force I couldn't explain. The closer I got, the more I sensed the raw power radiating from the cup.

"Arthur, be careful!" Tristan shouted. "Kings have fallen to the Grail's power. I don’t—" He paused as I peered over my shoulder, meeting my mate’s eyes. “Just be careful.”

All I could give him was the barest hint of a smile before I turned back to the cup. I knew, with a certainty that went beyond logic or reason, that I was worthy. This cup, this ancient relic of unimaginable power, had been waiting for me.

I tentatively extended my hand towards the gleaming Grail, feeling a pulsating energy emanating from it. My fingers finally made contact with its cool metal surface, sending a jolt of power through my entire body.

The Grail seemed to come alive in my hands, its golden exterior swirling with intricate patterns and runes. As I lifted the cup, the weight of centuries pressed down on me.

A flood of visions raced through my mind: scenes from past, present, and countless futures. I saw the glory of Camelot and its eventual downfall into darkness. I saw myself as queen, draped in regal radiance, but also as a broken warrior on a battlefield drenched in blood. The visions blurred into a sea of possibilities. I saw my men lying dead around me, but also in my bed as they brought me pleasure beyond my wildest dreams.

I was consumed by blinding light erupting from the cup. Despite the shouts of my knights, I felt distant and detached as the world shifted around me. For a moment, I even questioned my own existence.

The stone walls of the temple began to ripple and fade. The air shimmered and warped, filled with swirling motes of light that danced and twirled in complex patterns. At that moment, I understood why kings had fought and died for this relic. It was more than just a cup; it was a conduit to something greater, something beyond mortal comprehension.

The stone floor beneath our feet melted away, replaced by soft, dew-kissed grass. The oppressive darkness of the temple gave way to the ethereal twilight of Avalon. I blinked, momentarily disoriented by the sudden transformation.

We were back in the grove where we’d made camp, surrounded by the midnight-blue trees with their shimmering leaves. The air was thick with the scent of night-blooming flowers and rich, damp earth. Tiny luminescent creatures flitted between the branches, their glow casting dancing shadows across the forest floor. Gone were the stones and the statues. Gone were the bones of the fallen kings.

As my eyes adjusted to the sudden change, I spotted a dark figure crumpled on the forest floor. My heart clenched as I recognized Mordred's blood-red hair matted and tangled around her pale face. Dark liquid seeped from the corner of her mouth, staining the moss beneath her head a deep crimson.

Without thinking, I rushed to her side, setting the Grail carefully on the soft bed of mossy ground. Dropping to my knees, I cradled Mordred's head in my hands. Her skin was clammy and cool to the touch. Her emerald eyes, once blazing with fury and ambition, now flickered weakly as she struggled to focus on my face.

"Arthur," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the gentle rustling of leaves. A trickle of blood escaped her lips as she spoke, and I gently wiped it away with my thumb.

"Shh, don't try to talk," I murmured, my throat tight. This woman had tried to kill me, had threatened everything I held dear. Yet at this moment, all I could see was my sister. Broken, dying, and terribly alone.

This woman was all that was left of the blood flowing through my veins. The last living link I had to my past. To my family. When she was gone, it would be only me, and that weight of that settled like lead boots.

Mordred's hand trembled as she reached up, her fingers brushing against my cheek. "I'm sorry," she breathed, each word seeming to cost her dearly. “Maybe Uther was right to despise me.”

A tear slipped down my cheek, falling onto Mordred's face and mingling with the blood at the corner of her mouth. “I’m sorry too.”

My hand trembled as I reached for the Grail. The cup felt impossibly light in my grasp, as if it were crafted from sunbeams rather than metal. With my other hand, I fumbled for the water pouch at my hip. The leather was soft and worn. As I uncorked it, the scent of fresh spring water filled the air.

"Arthur, no," Merlin's voice cut through the stillness. "The Grail's power is unpredictable. We don't know what it might do."

I met his gaze, seeing the concern etched deep in those ageless blue eyes. Around him, my knights shifted uneasily, their hands hovering near weapons as if unsure whether to intervene.

Returning my attention to Mordred, I gently lifted her head. Her eyes, once so full of fire, now held a quiet acceptance. She knew, as I did, that this was the end of her journey.

With trembling hands, I poured the crystal-clear water from my pouch into the Grail. Then, I gently cradled her head in one hand while bringing the Grail to her lips with the other.

Gawain stepped forward, frost crackling around his clenched fists. "She tried to kill you," he growled, his steel-gray eyes flashing. "She doesn't deserve the Grail's power."

"It's alright," I murmured, tilting it gently. "Drink, sister." Mordred's lips parted, and I carefully poured a small amount of the glowing liquid into her mouth.

Black tendrils of power erupted from the wound in her chest, writhing and twisting like living shadows. They latched onto her limbs, her torso, her face. Anywhere they could find purchase. Mordred's mouth opened in a silent scream as the darkness spread rapidly across her pale skin.

I scrambled backwards; the Grail slipped from my grasp and spilled its glowing contents onto the mossy ground. Where the liquid touched, flowers instantly bloomed.

Mordred's skin began to crack and flake, dissolving into fine gray ash that drifted away on an invisible wind. The process moved swiftly, revealing glimpses of stark white bone beneath.

Her blood-red hair withered and crumbled, scattering like crimson leaves in an autumn breeze. Then she was bone. A skeletal husk draped in fine jewels, and a dress made of emerald silk.